180 Days.

We made it!

180 days later and here we are. After what felt like the longest year of our lives, we had finally come to the 180th day.

Students, teachers, administration all snuck glances at the clocks, watching the seconds tick away slowly, hiding beaming smiles behind masks. It was 8:30 am on the 180th day of school - the very last day in what felt like the longest year of everybody’s lives.

180 days of uncertainty.

180 days of unknown schedule changes, conflicts with the school district itself, a mini strike when the superintendent declared unsafe schools full of asbestos, poor air quality, mold, and infested with mice perfectly acceptable for students and teachers to return to.

180 days of teachers, parents, and students navigating blindly through virtual education.

The end of the Covid19 school year could not come fast enough. The seconds ticked loudly against eardrums, impatience increasing as the seconds agonizingly passed by ever so slowly.

And as each person impatiently awaited that 3:30 bell that signaled the end of the longest school year of their lives, an air of quiet reflection thickened the air, connecting each body in an experience that only they would ever truly understand.

Anna was no exception.

As music played and the 3 students who were in-person and teacher all packed up the classroom for the summer, her mind wandered.

Covid19 had certainly threw a curve ball at them all.

Parents had to learn computers, had to often sacrifice work hours in order to log their children into virtual schooling.

Teachers had to learn how to teach virtually and engage students in this new, confusing platform.

Children had to learn resilience, losing one of the most valuable skills taught in elementary schools: social-emotional skills.

As Anna stood behind the box labeled “Place Value Unit,” quietly reflecting with wonderment and awe over the last 180 days and the journey they’d all been through, two voices broke through her thoughts. Jhaina and Mikhail were laughing as they read sight words in silly voices, enjoying their last day of second grade. Anna watched.

Rarely do we appreciate the resiliency of children.

Rarely do we acknowledge their perseverance and their ability to overcome obstacles thrown at them, no matter how big or little.

Truth is, it was them who kept everybody going. It was the students who kept the teachers pushing forward, the students who kept their parents from quitting from aggravation, the students and their innate thirst for knowledge that kept everybody together during one of the most trying school years. They were, in fact, the pillar of the education community and were not given the acknowledgement they deserved.

Truth be told, without students like Jhaina and Mikhail, the entire system would have fallen apart at the seams. Teachers and parents were the fabric - students were the carefully constructed stitches who wove together the two pieces of fabric, creating one beautifully constructed blanket, each stitch it’s own story, each square on the blanket a colorful reminder of the year that nobody could have ever imagined.

Anna looked over at the box of gloves, the army of hand sanitizer, the pile of kids masks for those who entered her classroom or others without one. She looked with sad eyes at the gifts on her desk, gifts from students who she only knew virtually until that morning when they stopped in to give her gifts, thanking her for her support and patience, wishing they could have hugged her, seen her, read with her, and made friends beyond a Brady Bunch looking Zoom meeting.

Anna will never forget this class. This class that taught her patience, taught her resilience. And she hoped they’d never forget her, either. Together, her students and their parents and herself supported each other, holding each other up through a year that blinded them.

Watching her two in-person students read sight words while helping pack away the untouched materials that lay dormant in her ghost classroom since the pandemic began, Anna recalled logging onto Zoom the very first time, heart pounding, sweat beading her forehead, suppressing an urge to run away and escape.

She recalls feeling like they were in a dysfunctional Hollywood Squares as students in tiny boxes popped up onto her screen one-by-one, awkwardly eyeing their new second grade teacher and their virtual peers. Students in pajamas, parents looking frustrated, anxious, as they had more than one child on multiple computers. Expectations were different. Social learning was different. Everything was different.

And it was hard.

It was frustrating.

But throughout the year, Anna found the time, money, and energy to visit students and bring them supplies, living in the hope that they will leave her class with knowledge.

But most of all, they were all leaving with a sense of personal growth and maturity. Students will grow with an experience that allows them to maneuver any situation thrown at them. Adults are able to navigate the computers.

Most of all, the support for teachers was felt this year. Teachers respected parents this year.

Anna was brought back to the support she was given this year by her parents and the support she had hoped she gave to them.

She remembered helping crying students, anxiety-ridden, frustrated, afraid.

She remembered getting back on Zoom at night, maintaining flexibility for a student whose mom worked during the day and asked for some help, desperation in her tone and messages.

Anna will take this year and use it for growth. She learned patience. She realized how much she loved being a teacher. She’ll take all that happened and use it to help her continue to grow.

A class she’ll never forget.

A class she’ll regret not having in person.

But the class that taught her the most.

Anna was brought back to Jhaina and Mikhail, finishing placing dusty sight words manipulatives carefully in the closet, moving on to the next task, excited to stack chairs in the back of the room.

Anna sighed.

She resigned herself to the end of the year.

180 days.

She glanced at the clock.

Fuck. It was only 9:00 am.