Month: December 2020

I have friends who are strictly quarantining… like “don’t leave your house” quarantining.  And they’re pretty adamant about how important it is, because Covid is literally killing people.  It’s terrifying.  I understand. 

I also have family who are in the “You gotta live your life.  We could all get hit by a bus tomorrow.”  And I understand that, too.  Living in perpetual fear feels like wasting a precious gift.  

Ultimately, I think I fall somewhere in the middle… like most of us probably do.  

Let me be clear… I’m a rule-follower.  Teachers generally are.  If there is a law or a regulation or a mandate, that’s not debatable.  Wear your masks.  No large gatherings.  No more than 10 people in your home.  If you live in a place where there are rules, you follow the rules.  

But I’ve been thinking a lot about how your privilege plays into your more subjective Covid choices. 

I am a middle-class white woman who spent her formative years in a trailer park.  My people are blue-collar people, but I’ve found myself in an upper-middle class suburb of Boston, often baffled by the entitlement that surrounds me.  

And I’m a little ashamed to admit, that entitlement is often mine to own.  I was exposed to Covid at work about 10 days ago.  I didn’t find out until Sunday night, so I’ve basically been self-quarantining for 3 days.  And I have four days to go.  

I’m not considered a close contact, because (although I spend 30 hours a week with this kid), I had no contact in the 48 hours before his positive test.  I’ve chosen to self-quarantine, but I’m not required to.  Ugh.  The privilege.    

I’ve ordered my groceries on Instacart.  Even with my subscription, that costs about $50 a week more than it would if I just went to the store.  Luckily, I can afford it now.  Ten years ago, I would have had to haul my ass to the grocery store.  

I’m pretty set on Christmas gifts, which is another change for us.  Up until a few years ago, we did much of our shopping on Christmas Eve, when my husband got his bonus check.  

I can work from home because I have reliable internet and I could afford to purchase a Wi-Fi booster that allows four of us to Zoom at the same time in our house.  And we’re blessed to have a home with enough space to have four people on virtual meetings without shouting over each other. 

Regardless of our privilege, we’ve all had to make our Covid rules.  We’ve all had to weigh the risks and benefits to each of our interactions.  And here’s where I landed.  I allow each of my children to socialize with two friends.  For my oldest, her two closest friends have already had Covid, and whether it’s reliable or not, I feel like they’re less of a risk to our family.  My middle child conquers depression and social isolation on a good day; during Covid, it’s a constant battle to balance his mental and physical health.  He spends time with two close friends, primarily because his risk of dying by suicide is much higher than his risk of dying by Covid.  My youngest spends time masked, outdoors, with two friends whose parents are incredibly Covid-conscious.  We purposely don’t see family who are at risk.  

Those are the Covid rules in our house.  They’re much stricter than the state guidelines.  They’re much looser than a strict quarantine.  But that’s where we landed, after assessing the risks.  

We could all argue about acceptable levels of risk. Nothing is fool-proof. If you follow all the state guidelines, is that enough?  Should we all be doing more? Are grocery stores really safe?  Are schools?  Family gatherings?  Who counts as family?  My stepsons don’t live with us.  We haven’t seen them in 9 months.  Is that reasonable?  Necessary?  Reasonable people could argue different perspectives on this.

But I think there is a missing piece in this conversation, and it has to do with class and privilege. 

Just imagine a few scenarios.

Number one is an upper-middle class family.  Both parents are professionals, banned from the office and working from home.  Kids may go to school from home, or maybe part time.  This family orders their groceries and occasionally orders restaurant take-out. They go for walks and play in their yard and interact with friends and family virtually.  

Number two is a middle class family. The father is a cop and the mom is a nurse.  The kids go to school part time and when they’re not in school, they’re part of a small learning ‘pod’ where a few families share childcare responsibilities.  They order groceries when they can, but they also take some masked trips to the store when needed.  The kids’ soccer teams still play, masked and distanced, so they get some exercise and maintain social connections. 

Number three is a struggling family.  A single mom, working at a grocery store.  While she works, her two kids are in daycare.  Ordering groceries is cost-prohibitive, so mom shops with her coupons on the weekends.  Elder care is unaffordable, so the grandmother lives in their small apartment, with family pitching in to provide supervision and care.  

When I imagine these scenarios, it becomes impossible to judge other people’s choices. 

I think about the teachers and cops and nurses I know.  Each of us is ‘required’ to accept a certain level of risk. Because we’re ‘essential,’ we feel obligated to accept these risks, and we do.  Teachers interact with hundreds of students a day.  Police intervene when people refuse to follow regulations.  Nurses hold the hands of dying patients, knowing they’re putting themselves at risk. 

And in my mind, the key point is this….

How can we encourage these ‘essential’ employees to take on unimaginable risks to protect us and provide for us, and then ALSO expect them to share the risk perspective of the privileged?  

How can we expect a nurse to hold the hand of a Covid patient, and then judge her for having coffee with a friend?  How is one of those risks acceptable, and the other is not? 

How can we ask a teacher to work with 300 students during the day, and then not allow one child in her home in the evening?  

How can we ask police officers to tolerate being spit on and assaulted and then tell them that a beer around a fire pit is too risky?  

How can we expect a single mother to interact with hundreds of people at work and expose her children to dozens of children at daycare and then tell her she can’t ask a relative to come to her home to help with her aging mother?  

I keep hearing about ‘the science.’  And I have to say, I think that’s too simplistic.  Because human nature is so much more complex than that.  It’s not about whether you ‘believe’ in COVID or not. 

If the risk you are FORCED to accept professionally is greater than the risk you’re ALLOWED to accept personally, there’s bound to be a disconnect. 

That’s where I find myself.  I’m trying to make decisions that put my family and my community at the least risk… given the risk I’ve been forced to assume.  

I find myself in the same position as everyone I know.  Trying to make the best decisions I can. 

And reminding myself over and over again, that judging other people’s choices is not my responsibility… and it shouldn’t be my privilege.  

The school where I teach was closed for most of the week.  Well, that’s not entirely true.  The school was closed to students for most of the week.  

The health team identified a case of possible in-school transmission of COVID, so they shut down for three days.  Students switched to a remote learning model.  But teachers needed to be in the building.  I taught my classes, sitting at my desk, wearing my mask and my coat.  And I’m kinda pissed.  

I’m not pissed at my principal or my superintendent.  I’m not pissed at my union reps or the school administration.  I’m pissed about the plethora of OPINIONS out there that impact MY ability to do my job.  

When the teachers asked why we needed to be in the building (we already teach from home one day a week), the answer was, “The taxpayers like to see your cars in the parking lot.”  No joke.  

So when our custodians SHOULD be deep-cleaning an empty building, instead, they have to deal with all the doorknobs and handles we’ve touched.  They have to disinfect in the evenings after we leave.  They have to re-wash everything they’ve already washed. 

Three teachers work in my classroom.  We need to remain masked all day.  We’re each hosting different zoom classes, so we don our headphones and shout over each other, literally tethered to our computers. The masks make it even harder to communicate with our students over glitchy connections and mediocre technology. 

If we have a five minute break, there is nowhere to go.  We don’t visit or talk with each other.  Everyone has a sign on their door, stating “Zoom Class in progress.  Please do not disturb.”  The teacher’s room is sad and lonely.  Nobody sits there anymore.  There are three labeled, socially distant spots to sit in case you don’t want to eat in your classroom.  They are almost never in use.  

To help with ventilation, we’ve been told to keep our windows open at all times.  This is not a suggestion.  It’s an expectation.  Regardless of winter temperatures, the windows stay open.  On really cold days, we wear our coats.  One of my partner teachers brings a blanket to work when the kids aren’t there.  We dress in layers and wish we could at least move around… but we are stuck in front of these computers, trying our best to communicate through the noise and the masks and the cold.  

When I teach from home, I have a great little set up.  I have a document camera that allows me to take notes or explain concepts in real time.  I have a desk in the corner of my bedroom with a white board and a stack of middle grade novels and resources.  I can light a candle and sip my coffee and teach without shouting over other people in the room.  When I have a five-minute break, I can chat with my kids or switch a load of laundry or pet my dog.  My workspace is warm and I can smile and laugh with my students, unhindered by a mask over my face.  

I know that’s not the case for all teachers.  Some much prefer to be in the classroom while they teach.  They should have that option.  But requiring teachers to physically be in the building when students are not?  That’s demeaning and punitive. 

We are educated professionals.  Educated professionals all over the country are working from home.  Working from home doesn’t make any employee less accountable.  If you don’t do your job, there should still be consequences.  Systems for evaluation should still be in place.  Actual, effective supervision is still possible.  

So when you drive by a school with no students and a full parking lot?  That’s not proof that teachers are hard at work.  It’s proof that a lot of unfounded, uneducated opinions won out over the voices of the teachers in the trenches.  It’s proof that educators are being treated like children. It’s proof that a visible car in the parking lot is more important than the health and well-being and safety of the teachers who care for and educate your children.

And maybe you should be pissed, too.