Here we are in the midst of a global pandemic, and I keep hearing "unprecedented times". The thing is, throughout my years of teaching, I have experienced many unusual times: things we half-way prepare for, but never expect to happen. Though, when they do happen, we as teachers, are here, quickly adapting and working to make sure that our students are safe, physically and emotionally. Meanwhile, hoping and praying that our own children are being cared for.
As I reflect on the 7th anniversary of Snowmageddon 2014, I’m surprised at how few things have changed. Much like today, many Superintendents of Schools and community leaders made decisions and gave directives from the safety of their own homes, leaving the heavy lifting to school level personnel. Much like today, school staff were asked to set the needs of our own families aside and care for the children of our community.
My oldest was a sophomore in high school. Her teachers, recognizing the impending disaster, went against directives from county office and told their students to go home. They chose to prioritize the safety of inexperienced drivers over following county protocol. My daughter, not yet driving, waited at school pleading for me to come pick her up, as I watched the elementary school buses arrive and turn around, leaving without a single child. The roads were already too dangerous.
My youngest, in middle school, typically rode the school bus home with my niece. Their bus was able to get them home safely and though it took my sister until midnight to finally make it home, the girls were safely at home.
Though I was desperate to get to my oldest, with 400ish of students left in the building after dismissal, teachers were called to the library. Our principal, who had been a principal for five whole months, mustered her courage, knowing compassion for staff was the only way to lead,
“We all have families and responsibilities. You don’t have to give me an explanation or excuse. I won’t be mad at you or hold it against you later. I’m going to walk out of this room and check in with the superintendent. If you need to leave, I understand and please be safe. When I return, we will make a plan, with whomever is able to stay, for what to do next.”
I was walking to the door when my ex husband texted saying he was on his way to pick up our oldest. I went back and sat down with a dozen other teachers and waited for her return.
The rest of the night was a constant movement. As we waited for help, we had a Snow Ball, dancing with the music blasting. We made snowballs out of paper and had a snowball fight. We did anything we could think of to distract the students from the fact we could not go outside and play in the snow, because we had no dry clothes.
The cafeteria manager lived nearby and returned to cook. We ate first snack, then dinner, and eventually breakfast. Excitement bubbled from the kids as they chose from their school lunch favorites. Quesadilla and a hotdog? OK!
As the day wore on, medication that makes school bearable to certain students had long since worn off. One such student ran frantic through the building. The two of us became in charge of counting students. For hours, we went from room to room counting children and reporting back to the principal only to start over.
With darkness settled in, we brushed teeth with a stash of toothbrushes sent by Colgate for a dental hygiene lesson. Our students rubbed their eyes, sleepy from a long, hard day as we settled them down to rest. We held a few little ones, whimpering and crying missing their routine and the safety of their grownups. As they drifted off to sleep we placed them on the floor with the other children without mats, pillows, or blankets.
Cursing my skinny jeans and boots, I went to the restroom about 11pm. I sat down on the toilet and my whole body relaxed in the silent stillness. I rested my head on my hands and closed my eyes for a second. As I opened my eyes, I noticed my undies were inside out. Isn't funny the things we remember?
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