Teacher as Frontline Worker

We were just a few days into March, but I’d just completed a grueling, challenging, and ultimately joyful Spring term with my students as Director of Music. After many rehearsals, practices, and a lot of nerves, I’d successfully led the school community in the production of our first ever talent show. The show was a resounding success, and as we prepared for our highly-anticipated Spring Break holiday, a little-known respiratory disease named COVID-19 was gaining steam. 

I knew about COVID-19. I’d been paying close attention to the news, and had seen the reports of what was happening across the Atlantic. However, I thought that it’d have minimal impact on my own life. Little did I know everything was about to change. 

On the Tuesday before what was to be the “best spring break ever,” concerned teachers gathered for our weekly staff meeting; we reviewed other school closings, and the potential impact of the virus. Two days later, we closed our own doors. A few days after that, all of New York City began a lockdown that lasted almost four months. 

After a spring break of national uncertainty and fear, my colleagues and I returned to a completely virtual school and began remote learning, for one of the most challenging 10 weeks in recent memory.

There was so much that we didn’t know. So much that we had to figure out as we went along. And I soon found that I was genuinely inspired by the incredible dedication of teachers and educational leaders all around the world. 

After 10 weeks of great triumphs and Zoom failures, I was pleased to learn that my school would end up being praised for its delivery of exceptionally innovative, sophisticated, and high-quality remote learning; we’d kept our focus on the children that we served, and on our mission to uphold our principles of high-level teaching and learning under any circumstances. 

The Fall semester has begun, and with “lessons learned” under my belt, I’ve been teaching both in-person and on Zoom for 8 weeks. It’s a joy to see the beautiful faces of all the children, in-person or on the screen.

However, one can see that they’ve not escaped all the upheavals of modern life blemish-free. The children all look more grownup, more resilient. I can see a little bit of anxiety behind their warm smiles. I hope that my presence is one that can ease, soothe, and comfort the children in these uncertain times. 

We’ve been hearing about “frontline workers” since last spring. During the early months of the pandemic in New York City, each night at 7pm EDT, men and women from all over the city would applaud, cheer, and bang pots to celebrate for our first responders.

The movement was called “#clapbeacausewecare.”  It was not only a source of pride, but the smallest offering we could give to honor the daily sacrifices of those courageous men and women.

Frontline workers are the people who work and serve their communities, often at very high risk to their own health and safety. They include those who care for us in hospitals, those who keep our grocery stores open, make deliveries, and I believe our teachers, too.

Teachers have always been on the front lines, ensuring that children do more than just learn every day. We’re responsible for so much of their personal, social, and emotional development—sometimes even the most basic needs of food and hygiene, tasks which at times seem impossible under the best of circumstances. But we show up.

Teachers all around the world, including myself, are showing up to work during this pandemic because of a simple belief: that every child has a right to a quality education. Each and every one of my students deserves my best. 

At the beginning of my teaching career, I kept a “money drawer” in my classroom that always had $12 in it. Every year, I would say the following to my students :

“There are twelve dollars in this drawer, no one should go hungry because they can’t afford lunch. However, you’ll never know when someone else might be in need of some or all of the money in this drawer, so no matter what, there’d better be twelve dollars back in this drawer by each Monday.” 

In the four years that I taught at that school, not one week passed where that drawer wasn’t emptied and filled by each Monday. We were a community that respected and looked out for each other, no matter what.

It’s been said that “teaching kids to count is fine, but teaching them what counts is best.” In every way I could, I endeavored to teach my students that they mattered, that they were precious, and that they should believe in the intrinsic value of each and every person they encountered.

I love being a teacher. It’s a job, but it’s also a call to action, service, and love. Today, while the world seems to be falling apart and everything we thought we knew about connection and community appears to be unraveling, teachers have gotten up every day, all grabbed their gear, kissed their families and loved ones goodbye, and taught their students.

Despite everything, including their own fears and challenges, teachers are offering our children hope, cultivating creativity, and nourishing bodies and minds. They do this because they know that growing the hearts, minds, and souls of children is more urgent than ever. This work is our duty, calling, and responsibility, and we’ll not be deterred by man, mother nature, or a pandemic. 

When this is all over, I hope that one day we can applaud one last group of people each evening at 7pm EDT. Let us recognize and honor the women and men who show up everyday for our children, who work tirelessly to bring the joy of learning to our children, and who seek to make sure that every child knows that they are loved and appreciated.

Let us salute and celebrate our teachers.