It was a typical day in this world we’re calling “the new normal.” The school where I teach had been 100% in person since August, but as cases exploded across Iowa, my administrators had decided to go totally online — for the students, that is. Teachers were still required to show up to the building and teach from their empty classrooms. I was busy with my role as an instructional coach, student interventionist, and substitute teaching science (not my subject area) for a colleague who was hospitalized with COVID-19. My husband was teaching fully online from home, so he was home with my daughter, working and doing some of her kindergarten schooling. So yeah, normal day, right?
My phone rang. It was our local family clinic, where my entire family receives care. It was one of the nurses, Nicky, that I’d met several times.
“Hi, is this Amelia?”
“Yes.”
“Your husband brought Alyssa in yesterday for a COVID test.”
Monday of that week, the students had been in school
It was Monday afternoon that the district announced it was going online. That meant that Alyssa was in school with her classmates 72 hours before she first had symptoms. New guidance from our county public health service had just come out stating that if an infected person was within six feet of others for more than 15 minutes, even if both of them were masked, everyone has to quarantine. Add on to that the fact that kindergarteners aren’t the most reliable mask wearers (their little noses keep popping out), and the school made the decision to quarantine Alyssa’s whole class for 14 days, including her teacher.
I literally hadn’t thought about it until I happened to be on Facebook on Thanksgiving and saw a post from my daughter’s teacher. She had pictures of a small Thanksgiving spread and her daughter and husband. “Counting our blessings!” the caption read.
Then it hit me like a ton of bricks
So far this year, when students were quarantined, or came to school sick and forced others to be sent home for 14 days, I’d felt an underlying sort of bitterness toward them or their families. Why hadn’t they worn their masks properly? Had they been out eating at restaurants? In some way, a part of me assigned some level of carelessness to them.
Now it was my kid. My kid was sick, and got everyone quarantined, through no fault of her own, or ours. We’d followed the protocols, stayed home, and worn masks. But I couldn’t help thinking about how Alyssa’s mask always fell down below her nose, no matter which style we tried. Now all of those kids, and their teacher, were going to miss Thanksgiving plans.
We’re getting through our quarantine and our first positive test. This is part of “the new normal.” But one thing that has changed is my outlook. While some people do get sick because of their choices about masks and staying home, others get it by no fault of their own. I need to reframe my thinking about students and parents and make sure I’m giving folks the benefit of the doubt — just like I hope they give my family.
