As with many experiences woven into the fabric of who we are, the value of our children’s relationships and interaction in public schools with teachers, support staff, and a vast spectrum of others from our local community is hard to tally until it is profoundly altered, as it has been during the recent crisis and school closures.
My daughter is a student at JFK Middle School, and her education (and educational routine), while significantly altered, has continued throughout the closure due to the heroic efforts of her teachers. These teachers have had to immediately learn new techniques (and technologies) for reaching out and providing connection, continuity, and, perhaps most importantly, a recognition that every student under their care is experiencing this crisis in a unique way.
These experiences are based on students’ personal situation, coping tools and supports they have in place, special needs (educational or otherwise), and the privileges (or lack thereof) they knowingly or unknowingly benefit from. Public schools, unlike charter schools or private schools, are uniquely situated to provide this valuable perspective to our children because they are required and committed to teaching all the children in their community, across all spectrums and with very few exceptions.
My daughter, who is in sixth grade, receives challenging and creative daily work from all her teachers, followed up by support and feedback: video, email and other. She has been made to understand that this work, while rigorous, is important, but also somewhat flexible because public schools, by nature, law and tradition, are sensitive to the fact that families do not live in a bubble and that real life, to a greater or lesser extent (depending on individual circumstances and access) imposes itself significantly — especially during times of crisis.
Our family has been privileged to have the opportunity to work from home and continue to receive a paycheck during these uncertain times. This process, of course, has been complicated by having our daughter home with us, but this complication is minor compared with those families who have situations where one or both parents have lost their jobs, or where they are required to continue to leave for work each day. Routine and a sense of safety are both privileges taken for granted by those who have them, but sorely felt by those who do not.
Our family’s experience of the anxiety and pain of this situation is significantly less than those who travel into danger each day (or watch their parents do so) and then return home with the threat of carrying with them an invisible intruder. It is far less than those whose families have a member who is sick or dying. We are able to provide significant support to our daughter, where those who must care for a sick loved one, or leave for work each day in profoundly high stress situations do not.
Normalcy during such times is a nasty illusion, and the call for it indicates a blindness to our own privilege.
Bill Brown lives in Florence.