It was a strange twist of fate–no, more like an unconscious coincidental choice, but that sounds far less romantic. Let’s go back to the first one. In a strange twist of fate, on this 30th day of March, this 30th day of the Slice of Life marathon that this sprinter who could never finish a marathon appears to be finishing for the third consecutive March, I began recording a read aloud for my class this evening. The title? I Survived. The title has more words, but they do not go well with the “strange twist of fate” theme that I am struggling to develop. I recorded the first 3 chapters, my daughter filming, my puppy adding odd squeaking sound effects at ill-timed moments of drama, and felt that, yes, this is a March where it feels like the theme is survival.
I had written-off this writing challenge before I had even started. I began the month listing my excuses, granting myself permission to fail. It sounded like this:
Logic says that this is not the year for me to try to write a story every day in March. I have report cards to write this weekend. I have parent-teacher conferences later in the month. I have a wife who’ll be having foot surgery in a little over a week, and, because the timing makes no sense, or because his ears look too floppy to resist, we’ve decided that this month will be a good month to adopt a new puppy.
Notice that there was no reference to a pesky pandemic looming just beyond our shores. I assumed my biggest challenges would be doing the chores that my wife normally handled or cleaning up after a leaky puppy. Maybe juggling conferences and teaching, too. Yes, it promised to live up to the name: it’s called a challenge for a reason.
Now, I sit in my former-sports-cave-turned-virtual-classroom and contemplate the strange journey that this March has been. I listened to the Grateful Dead this morning as I wrote an email to the parents in my class. I don’t usually listen to music while I work (unless it’s Deep Focus). I am prone to taking cosmic meaning from song coincidences, so “Box of Rain” seemed somewhat fitting, but later, when “Truckin'” came on, and that “long strange trip” line broke through my semi-concentration, I had to pause. “Indeed,” I thought. Profound moment.
But it certainly has been strange. March 10, I take a day off from school, sacrificing some poor sub to the wolves that a few of my students become when I’m not around. Nancy’s surgery goes well. March 11, I return to school for the oddest of days. “Teachers, please check your email for an important announcement,” followed by scurrying teachers carrying ominous red folders, students pinballing between “snow day” exhilaration, disorientation, confusion, sadness, and fear. Kids, who could see farther into the future than I, were hugging their friends goodbye. We emptied lockers, loaded backpacks, and I stupidly gave a speech about taking this “distance work” seriously so that the missed days didn’t count as snow days, but instead as school days. Yes, because that’s what was really important.
I knew little of the story then. We wondered if the closure would last a few days, a few weeks. The next day, my dutiful students waited at the door of their Google Classroom, and I was late. I was posting a story and commenting on others. I came to my new classroom in the basement and found 83 comments, all so impersonal in their tone:
Where is he?
He said to be here when school started.
He’s probably overslept.
Maybe he forgot to reset his clock to Daylight Savings.
For some reason I really didn’t like the way they said “he.” It sounded cold. It sounded distant. So this was remote learning?
I’ve been on time every day since. We’re all working to make it seem more personal. More like real life. I have certainly realized how much my eyes tell me. The sensation of reaching someone through the wires and the waves with only the typed word is very eerie, like feeling around the house in a blackout. A classroom without faces deprives me of so many cues. I’m grateful for Google Meet (even if it is clearly inferior to Zoom, as some continue to remind us). We’re learning slowly to adapt.
At home, too, I feel sorry for myself at times, but realize I’ve gotten incredibly lucky, too. This puppy that seemed so ill-advised in my first imagining of the month, now seems like a savior. His goofiness, his affection, his need for contact, his exuberance. They are all the things we’re craving. For him, too, this new work set-up has been a blessing. I cringe now when I think that I’d been planning to head off to work, my daughter, too would have headed to work, and my wife, planned to be home for one week and then head back work. I can’t imagine this puppy being left at the house. Yes, we had arranged for a dog walker, but still.
It has been a month of togetherness but a month of separation; a month of sitting together but a month of solitary walks; a month in front of screens but a month with no sports; a month of “what me worry?” and a month of relentless worry. It has been a strange trip…but so far, we have survived.
FiveHundredaDay 