Stages of Corona

I drove to the grocery store when I left work on Friday the 13th.  I feared it would be like a snow day situation, but decided to try it out anyway.  A man sat out front, playing a saxophone.  I hadn't seen anyone do that at my grocery store before.  The sounds kind of drifted through the parking lot, like some sort of swan song.

I felt accomplished, because I already had a lot of online assignments and had worked hard on Friday, so I really felt like I was set up.  I remember being surprised when the state immediately called for classes to be suspended for two weeks, TWO WEEKS!  Not a day or two like at the county I live in originally did, but two weeks!  I intended to be vigilant and my previous work made this easy.   I guess I thought we would just ride this out and go back in two weeks, or maybe after Spring Break, in the second week in April.

Monday started making me wake up.  I had originally asked for it off as a personal day, but clearly was going to do the telework thing.   The district really had us structured, telling us to answer text messages within minutes, sign-off on spreadsheets that proved we were working, increasingly changing demands that we usually found out about after we hadn't done them.  It stressed me out and sort of pissed me off.  I'm not a slack-ass.  I'll do what I'm supposed to, because I care about it.  No one has to create tasks for me. I assumed I'd be checking email a couple of times a day and grading assignments and entering those who did the assignments in our grade books, since my district really only cares about percentages.  Those who couldn't get on the internet or just didn't for whatever reason, we'd catch up in two weeks.  I was surprised when we were told not to be out in public during work hours.  I didn't want to like, cocktail lunch it out, but I wanted to jog and try to get to the grocery store during non-peek hours, and I work after hours, anyway.  Optics.  Then I felt like an asshole because we were reminded over and over that we are still getting our paychecks and benefits, which most people weren't.

Things became more frightening when they started asking us to aggressively check-in on students that hadn't logged-in on our online platforms.  I guess that's when it dawned on me that we might not being going back to school this year.  And that a lot of my students, I might never see again.  That we would have to end it like this, with no warning.  Not just the fifth graders that will go to middle school even if I don't get to see them at the end of their school year, but the ones that get evicted when their parents can't make rent in a couple of weeks and scatter, to god only knows where.

It was dark out one night, earlier in the week, I don't know which day, when Alec's work called and said to not come back, and that he needed to file for unemployment, and that his health insurance coverage would end on April 30th.

The municipality where my sister and niece work sent home restaurant workers shortly after, but were more ambiguous about unemployment benefits.  My niece continues to work running takeout, though she doesn't have health insurance, but obviously needs the money and apparently, isn't even getting unemployment.

I emailed the parents of my students that hadn't connected on the online platforms, writing the Spanish part myself but using Google translate for Burmese, French, Arabic and Amharic.  I asked them to get their kids online and to take care of themselves.  Some of the languages my kids speak aren't even in Google translate.  I found out later that we weren't supposed to do that but in my opinion, extraordinary times call for extraordinary means.

I sat in the Conservatory, calling individual parents on my phone without guarding my number.  Honestly, they can call me whenever they want, with whatever they need.  I had already been texting them, hoping that the English might be easier that way, but I had a number of good conversations in slow and broken English, or in Spanish and they reassured me the kids were okay.  I asked them to call me with anything they need.

They made us do a Zoom department meeting on Friday.  I tried to be positive, but said little.  I noticed that the new Spanish teacher had really nice crown molding in his house and that some of the other teachers looked a little puffy and worn, like I knew I did.  The coach of course looked amazing, sitting out on his back deck like he'd just completed his workout.  People speculated about when we'd be back and what it would look like.
I finally spoke up.
"I don't know what we are going to be walking back into, whenever we go back.  Our students are low income.  They rent.  We see their stuff piled up in front of the houses every time we drive to work after the first."
"Well no... no, I just don't see that."  a teacher answered, one that usually hates me.
"They can't just put them all out....the government will stop that."
"Landlords can be very unethical."  I responded.
"And, many of our students are undocumented.  The will avoid anything the government might be willing to provide, based on their status.  Because they have to.  And those are some of the kids that have gone radio silent, the ones I haven't been able to get in touch with."
She paused and I watched realization wash over her face.
"Ms. Wagner, anything you hear, anything you hear, please tell me.  I can try to get my church involved.  I'm sorry but if anyone does not object, I know that we are in a public school environment, but I would like to end this with prayer."
"Prayer is what we need!"  the new teacher called out.
"He is the only one that can help!"
"Would you like to lead it?"  she answered.

And the teacher launched in to a prayer, a long prayer in his beautiful accent.  It was impassioned, begging God specifically for the undocumented kids, asking him to fix this.  It was very surreal, looking at my colleagues with their eyes closed and faces bowed in prayer, over Zoom.  I'm not into that kind of thing, but I definitely wasn't going to speak against it.

I stared straight ahead, as Mr. Bakwamba try to heal my world, heal us and save my students.  I wasn't ungrateful.