Creating an Environment Conducive to Learning

“Mrs. Essalat, you worry too much.”

Oh, how many times have I heard this?! Being an educator for over 14 years and a worrywart since I left the womb, my throw-caution-to-the-wind Seventh Grade students used to love to tease me. Some of my most memorable points of panic:

• “Don’t lean back in your chair—you’ll crack your head open.”

• “Don’t run in the classroom—you’ll either trip yourself or someone else.”

• “Pens are for paper, not for people—don’t let that ink absorb into your skin.”

• “Don’t throw a pencil across the room—you’ll poke someone’s eye out.”

• “Playing basketball with a Jolly Rancher in your mouth—you’ve got to be kidding me!”

And, of course, my all-time favorite:

“No running with scissors!”

But, I mean, how can you blame me for being concerned?

A student sliced their finger wide open one day trying to cut a pencil with a pair of craft scissors. Another, while walking backwards on a school trip to Yosemite, broke their ankle and had to head home early. Countless kiddos would collide into each other at recess, use Sharpies to tattoo their hands and kneecaps, go bounding out to the play yard after cramming three Starbursts into their mouths at once. And don’t get me started on the number of erasers that would go flying across the room.

Kids will be kids. Believe me, I get it. Pushing the boundaries of safe play and goading me into having a heart attack are all part of the developmental process of exploration.  But, as we are staring down the barrel into a school year unlike any that we have encountered in our lifetimes, those with a propensity for apprehension—like me—are running at an all-time high.

It’s not so much my fear of getting sick, though believe me, I think that is something that weighs heavily on the minds of educators everywhere. No—it’s far more than that.

• It’s the worry about whether my students will get sick.

• It’s the fear that they will, in turn, spread the virus to their family members, especially grandparents or older relatives.

• It’s the concern over logistics—one way hallways, fewer desks, cohorts of students on alternating days, recess and lunch indoors with no shared supplies.

• It’s my trepidation over the cost of opening under such strict (but necessary!) guidelines—1:1 technology and textbooks; revamped cleaning supplies, staffing, and protocols; hand-washing stations; thermometers and an isolation area for students who are sick.

Compound that with the anvil that is sitting on my chest over the thought of Kindergarteners not being able to learn how to share by collectively pouring through a basket of plastic dinosaurs; Middle School students navigating what would normally be a collaborative art project, now done solo. Classroom birthday parties—stifled; field trips—offline; morning assembly and first day of school festivities—poof! How will my students know when I am beaming with pride over a concept they have finally mastered, or laughing out loud at a joke they tell, when my emotions and facial expressions are veiled behind a face shield and goggles and mask? What do I do when they are sad and so desperately need a hug? No handshakes, no high fives. 

At first I thought a wave and a wink would suffice—I’m not so sure anymore.

All of these hallmarks of the rich vitality that exists beyond the textbooks and homework assignments of an academic community are put on the back burner until who knows when, and I worry that, when we are able to finally regain normalcy, we will have forgotten what those traditions even look like. 

I don’t think that there are many people who are misaligned around the fact that we want to see kids back in school. That is a sentiment that seems to be universal. Students and teachers working together in the same space, sharing, in real time, questions, answers, and anecdotes. We teachers know that we are the most impactful when we are right there, by our students’ sides, helping them navigate through a Math concept, decode the vocabulary in a novel, discuss the evolution of characters or plots in reading. We want to watch how our youngest students learn to grip a pencil and begin forming their letters. 

We want to be there.

We need to be there.

But, the worrier in me has to ask at what risk are we willing to get what we want? Where, in the narrative of reopening schools and reducing funding for those that remain at a distance, is the dialogue around the health and wellbeing of the teachers and staff who run these academic institutions? Educators are essential workers.  

The stance on reopening schools has to take into account how to protect teachers. How to effectively disseminate the PPE, funding, and training necessary to keep teachers and students healthy and virus-free. The Kaiser Family Foundation has said that “nearly 1.5 million teachers are at a greater risk  of serious illness if infected with the Coronavirus.” That’s one in four teachers. 

Big. Time. Worry.

The CDC doesn’t have the answers. The Department of Education doesn’t have the answers. I don’t have the answers. But, what I do know, is that we must, must, must take into account the health and wellbeing of our teachers and educational staff as we talk about the safety of students. Our teaching staff has to feel equipped to handle the COVID crisis within their classrooms. They must feel protected by the gear that we provide to them to ensure that the virus has to fight hard to make its way into their bodies. They need to know that they are essential and that we will care for them, like we care for our students—giving our all to ensure that they remain the vital lifeline to our future they always have been.

So, what’s a worrier like me, and maybe like you, to do? Well, for starters, we need to model for our kids the bravery it takes to overcome fear. They will look to us to set the example, the tone, the courage to forge into the actual unknown. We have to put one foot in front of the other and carry on.

As an educator and administrator, if I am given the green light to open under a hybrid model this Fall: 

• I need to buckle down and get to work implementing the safest learning environment I can for my students and teachers while they are on campus. And, when they are at home, I need to make sure that I am bridging the digital divide—checking in on them with frequency while they work from a distance, making sure that their access to reliable wi-fi and technology is sufficient. 

• I need to educate my students, their families, and my fellow colleagues on how to best protect themselves and one another from getting sick and potentially spreading illness to those in our community. I need to seize this teachable moment as a lesson in benevolence and compassion and empathy, all the while giving everyone practical tools and strategies for staying safe.

• I need to partner with the parents and guardians of my students, maintaining honest and transparent communication to ensure that, if their child is sick, they will honor the process in place for addressing that-- no matter the inconvenience that comes from having to leave work early or stay at home altogether to allow their student to heal.

• I need to work with leaders of surrounding academic communities—to share any insight that I have been given and gain from their perspectives, too. We need to collaborate when it comes to finding and stocking PPE supplies on our respective campuses and create a workable schedule that takes into account the best way for our students to learn and our parents/guardians to work.

• I need to get creative—how can school continue to be the rich, immersive experience that it always has been? Can I run morning announcements via YouTube and have Art class via Zoom? If this extends into Halloween, can we do a virtual parade or costume contest online? How can I get the vibrance of our annual Scholastic Book Fair to translate from behind a screen? I have to make these traditions come to life even if they look far different than usual.

That’s what I need to do. 

But, there’s more. Together, you and I, need to keep reassuring our kids that we are protecting them and working to create an environment as conducive to learning as possible. Because we cannot let COVID, or any other hurdle, get in the way of their academic growth and development. Not to be hyperbolic, but their very future depends on this moment, right now.

Erma Bombeck once said, “Worry is like a rocking chair: it gives you something to do but never gets you anywhere.”

There’s plenty to do to get ready for whatever the Fall has in store, and it is going to take a village to get our kids, our schools, and our routines up and running. So, let’s stop rocking and start moving.

An Open Letter to COVID-19 From an Overly Honest Teacher

Dear COVID, I’m Angry.

I’m certainly not the only one, as I know you are the recipient of hate mail from the masses. Countless emails, texts, and Tweets, all espousing complete and utter disdain for you and all that you stand for.

As a teacher and school principal, you have completely changed the landscape of education as I know it. You have forced myself and my fellow teachers to do what we have challenged our students to strive against—working from a distance, from behind the filter of a screen. Communicating with one another outside of the physical space we find so essential to emotional, tactile, interconnected development.

You have robbed us of the chance to watch friendships bloom, witness moments of spontaneous kindness unfold, delight in the jokes, antics, and banter between ourselves and our students, each moment so essential to our craft. We teach our children that humans are not meant to live in isolation, but instead, to thrive in community with one another. COVID—you are really getting in the way of that.

Sure, you’ve challenged us to get creative—to roll up our sleeves and dig deep to find ways to keep our students engaged. We’ve had to rely on apps to collect assignments, YouTube videos to instruct students about Art projects, Zoom workouts to prevent them from developing habits of the sedentary. Sure, an iPad and a stylus can help a child form letters, and digitally, we can witness the results of that, but it’s not the same as us inhabiting the same classroom, the same air, the same shared elation when that letter formation evolves into the crafting of a sentence, a paragraph, an essay. Emailed certificates are standing in for the ceremonial celebration and validation that comes from a job well done, and virtual stickers and “thumbs up” on a conference call just don’t have the same oomph.

I speak for myself when I say—I wasn’t looking for another challenge, COVID. Working to shape the next generation into humans of kindness, compassion, empathy, and determination was a big enough challenge on its own.

But now, you’re asking me to do that from afar, all while trying to find ways to get my kids to show up to daily Zoom meetings, hoping that they are being honest and forthright when they tell me that, “Of course I am taking notes!” and “Yep! I am following along with the book we are reading together.” You and I both know, COVID, that you’ve lifted the veil of accountability that was and remains so essential in my classroom. I can only do so much from behind a screen in terms of making sure that the eyes I see glued to the camera as we are speaking are not really gazing just beyond to their cell phone while Instagram stories run continuously in the background and capture their attention far more than my Vocabulary lesson from a distance ever could.

I’m mad at you, COVID, because you have placed an incredible burden on my students’ parents.

The hardworking moms, dads, and guardians who now have multiple jobs to balance. While I have always relied upon teamwork with my families, now more than ever, we are calling upon them to step-in in our absence. To not only continue doing that which commands their attention from 9-5 each day, but now, to also play teacher, counselor, referee, coach, mentor, mediator, nurse, and playmate. You’ve robbed many of my parents and guardians of their incomes, their jobs ripped out from under them with no way to prepare. And, what you’ve stripped away in terms of professional fulfillment, you’ve instead replaced with the worry, and fear, and anguish, and heartache that comes with wondering how they are going to keep their families afloat until you go away.

Go away, COVID. Can’t you take a hint? You’re not welcome here, or anywhere, and it’s time for you to leave. Don’t worry, you will long be remembered, though you’ll likely find yourself mounted on the wall of infamy with the likes of those who came before you and sought to destroy the human spirit. The human connection. The collective human voice that bands together and rises out of the ashes of your failed attempt to destroy us.

So, COVID, I’m writing to tell you that we will not be deterred. Sure, it will remain difficult and unideal to educate from afar. It will not cease to break my heart each time I have to send an email to a student instead of chatting with them in the school hallway, or stare blankly at a virtual facade of them in lieu of their actual face on a conference call. It will continue to boil my blood at each opportunity lost, news of each family that struggles, each report of another who has succumbed to your wrath.

But, we will keep teaching. We will keep creating. We will keep striving to expand the hearts and minds of our students everywhere. We will keep going because, as teachers, that’s what we do. We don’t give up when it’s hard; we don’t throw in the towel when a hurdle is tossed in our lane.

We rise, we jump, we pivot, we persist, and we teach our students to persist, too. And, no amount of social distancing is ever going to change that.

Cold regards,

Meredith

3 Parenting Hacks For Scheduling Gratitude Into Your Child's Routine.

You Can Stand Under My Umbrella

I went out for a walk this morning. In the rain. In this new age of social distancing. And, on my way back home, I gave my umbrella to a stranger, sitting on the soaking wet sidewalk, clutching a newspaper to cover his matted hair. I didn’t really think about it—no preconceived plan about how I could extend a helping hand to another human. No thought before I left the house of what I could do to shift, ever so slightly, the permeating negativity that has shrouded us all in such a pall. None of that. I just handed my umbrella over to him, knowing it was the right thing to do. 

Now, I don’t bring this up to pat myself on the back. Not in the slightest. I will say that I have never been less bothered by the rain than I was in the moments that followed our encounter. But, being without that umbrella got me thinking about all that I am grateful for. Even right now as we all face the COVID-19 crisis together, there are still reasons to be glad. 

“And most generally there is something about everything that you can be glad about, if you keep hunting long enough to find it.”

― Eleanor H. Porter, Pollyanna

It was easy to give that stranger my umbrella because I was walking home to shelter, and warmth, and a modicum of security. I acknowledge that. But, outside of that, do I give myself the space to continue to stand in gratitude and appreciation on the regular? Do I carve out time to focus on that for which I am thankful? And, even more so—do I teach my students, your children, to find joy in the minutia often enough?

Gratitude needs to be overt. 

The practice of being appreciative is not a given anymore—no, it is a concept that requires modeling, discussing, outlining, and referencing over and over again.

Here’s how I approach it at school:

• When I ask a student for something and they deliver: “Thank you so much for listening to what I said that I needed you to accomplish.”

• When a student complains about “having” to take a Literature quiz: “Oh, you don’t have to take it. You get to take it. Aren’t we grateful that your brain can grow in knowledge!”

• When a classmate holds the door open for them, but they just pass through: “Hold up. You need to thank [student’s name] for helping you out there.” 

In this time of uncertainty, your children will feel a sense of worry, of fear, of panic. Social distancing is a far easier concept for us adults to comprehend than your child who wants to run and play and hang with their friends and go to the park. 

The practice of thankfulness can not only be a great way to re-establish the routine that all kids are craving during this time, but it also is a terrific way to quell their anxiety, too.

According to Psychiatric Counselor Madhuleena Roy Chowdhury, in her article The Neuroscience of Gratitude and How It Affects Anxiety & Grief,  

“Significant studies over the years have established the fact that by practicing gratitude we can handle stress better than others. By merely acknowledging and appreciating the little things in life, we can rewire the brain to deal with the present circumstances with more awareness and broader perception.”

Increasing your kiddo’s capacity for joy and gratitude is a great way to maximize the learning that is going on, both during our quarantine and beyond. To do so, start by creating a schedule that promotes communication, accountability and engages them in regular offline fun.

Below, I have compiled some best practices for each focus and created a helpful downloadable schedule for you to use day-after-day in creating a routine for you kids.

Communication activities that inspire gratitude.

1. Have them write letters. Maybe you set-up a pen pal network with friends and classmates and have kids write letters to each other (note: the postal service is not considered a transport of the virus). 

2. Have them maintain a positivity journal and write about one thing each day that was great, special, or made them feel glad. Go on a scavenger hunt around the house to scope out items, photographs, etc. that hold meaning and special memories.

3. Have them correspond regularly with their teacher(s). Educators feel just as worried during these times as our students do, so having your student be on the giving end of encouragement is a great way to flip the script and nurture in them a sense of giving care to others. 

Household activities that ignite accountability.

Additionally, use this time of quarantine as a means of reestablishing your child’s role within your household. In the hectiness of life between work, school, basketball practice, piano lessons, and four birthday parties every Saturday, it’s easy to let things slide and give everyone a pass from contributing to the inner workings of your home and family. Use this time to get everyone back on board! 

• Empty/load the dishwasher

• Make beds

• Fold clean laundry

• Wipe down bathroom countertops

• Help with meal prep

Not only will it be a great way to cultivate a spirit of giving and appreciation for the work that you, as parent, do on a daily basis, but it will also nurture a sense of teamwork that is so necessary in times of turmoil.

Offline activities that spark joy.

And, finally, use this time of social distancing to serve as focused breaks from social media, too. Your child’s exposure to online content can certainly fuel their feelings of anxiety and uncertainty as well as increase their consumption of misleading information. Carve out time for activities that engage one another in conversation and communication—time to be grateful for family.

• Games

• Puzzles

• Arts and crafts

• Cooking together

• Daily/nightly read-alouds

• Watching home movies

So, while you can’t actually stand under my umbrella (remember that 6ft. of space rule), we can rely upon each other for moral support and solidarity in this time of crisis. Let’s use the quarantine as a means of reminding our kids how much we have in life to appreciate.

To put these tips into action, I have created a downloadable schedule for you to print out and use day after day. With your download comes a sample schedule showing you how to apply these tips to your child’s routine.

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Sources:

https://positivepsychology.com/neuroscience-of-gratitude/

Musical Chairs

What is at risk when schools start closing? The futures of our children.

A local high school is closing at the end of the year.  One of the remaining few single gender schools left in the Bay Area, as an elementary school administrator who works with Eighth Grade students trying to find the perfect homes for their high school careers, I am concerned.  Concerned about the dwindling number of single-gender schools that provide both an academic and social haven to so many students. Concerned about how we, as an evolved society, can allow schools to fledge while corporate earnings are at an all-time high. Concerned about the message it sends to our kids when we rip the proverbial carpet out from under their feet as we parcel them off to another school like luggage misdirected during a layover.

Where are our priorities?

It’s a lot like the childhood favorite—musical chairs.  You remember—everyone walking around a circle precariously adorned with folding chairs as some current pop song blasts from a plastic boombox positioned precariously on a table adorned with bowls of Doritos and Cheetos.  Each time the song is played, another chair is removed, and another unlucky seat loses, well, its seat. And, all’s well and good until it’s you out in the cold. You can giggle and smirk at the poor losers who get out of the circle first, but when it comes time for you to be booted from the game—it’s not so fun.

When we allow schools to close their doors, we are letting far more than a few party goers lose their chairs. We are abandoning our children.  We are allowing fate to be the judge and jury with regards to where these kids go next and how they deal with such unrest. We adults, we’ve grown accustomed to change. Our kids? During their formative elementary and even high school lives—forcing them to relocate schools due to a closure can rock their academic worlds.

In the article, “Five things we’ve learned from a decade of research on school closures”, Chalkbeat describes the outcome of school closures like this: 

In a few cases, students whose schools closed benefitted in at least some way. That was true in four studies Chalkbeat reviewed: in Ohio, for instance, students saw major jumps in test scores post-closure; in New Orleans, closures boosted high school graduation rates by about 20 percentage points.

But these results were more exception than rule. In several other places, displaced students were harmed in measurable ways.

In Milwaukee, for instance, high school closures caused steep declines in high school graduation and college enrollment rates. A recent Chicago study — focusing on the highly controversial round of nearly 50 school closures in 2013 — showed that affected students had lower math scores even four years after the closure.

Consistency and routine are two pillars upon which our children rely.

They provide comfort, a sense of security. And, once those are established, working with them on being flexible, adaptable, and open to change can occur. But, for our high school teens who only have a few short years to get settled in, find their place, and form crucial relationships, closing the doors on their school and shipping them off to somewhere else can be truly detrimental.

Let me explain.

First, no matter how eager an adolescent is to leave middle school behind and head off to high school, it is a transition. They go from being on the top to right back at the bottom, so navigating the perils of a whole new social hierarchy come into play. Secondly, the anticipated grade drop that occurs for most high school freshman is inevitable as they are adapting to a new set of academic expectations and instructional methodologies. The same thing occurs when they head off to college. Compound that with the expectation that the relationships students form with the staff at their respective high schools are a necessity when they begin scouting colleges and filling out applications. If the teachers and staff of a school are unfamiliar with a student’s strengths and talents come application season, our kids could be sunk when contending with the ever increasing competition pool that defines the college admission process.

Take into account, too, proximity to the home environment. For the aforementioned example, if students want to continue pursuing the single-gender pathway, only two options remain within San Francisco’s city limits and any others require a southbound commute. If a student lacks access to reliable transportation, they are already limited in terms of where they can go.  And, this can be said for any school that closes—whether it be single gender, co-ed, charter, or otherwise.

Add onto that the fact that these particular students were officially notified of the closure past when high school application deadlines were due, and now they’re left absolutely scrambling. High schools are already flooded with a larger number of applicants than ever before. And, showing up to the party late is never a good look on anyone.  So, these kids are left holding the proverbial bag and giving fate far too much credit.

So, what’s my point?

We need to make education our priority.

And, I fully recognize that I am not saying anything new with that statement.  But, what I am bringing to light is the desire for us, as a collective community, to stand up and take notice. Recognize that all children and adolescents deserve a seat at the table—the right seat for them. As individuals. As scholars. As humans with the capacity for a myriad of talents—art, drama, Mathematics, coding, language acquisition, and athletics.  The pendulum has shifted away from a one-size-fits-all mentality to one that is, instead, aligned with the idea that unique learning styles deserve differentiation and every student has the right to options when selecting the best school for them. 

When we shut the doors on academic institutions—both long-standing and new on the scene--  we are risking dimming the lights on our students’ horizons. And, if history has taught us anything, it’s that when we limit people’s capacity for education, we limit their propensity to acquire knowledge. 

Sources:

https://chalkbeat.org/posts/us/2019/02/05/school-closure-research-review/