Sometimes things that seem easy, are hard. Like saving a bench for someone elderly in a community with a lot of other elderly people. No matter how many times you tell the lady in red white and blue everything, that you were asked by the embroidered dog sweatshirt lady to save her bench for the band concert, you will not win. Adolescent eye rolls and dagger looks have come to be a part of my job - much like the pizza chef who gets the cheese with the little straight lines stuck to her all day (shredded cheese when not talking to Solly). But to get eye rolls from red white and blue everything lady because you’re trying to defend dog sweatshirt lady’s seat, is hard.

Sometimes things that seem hard are easy. Like doing home visits to 9th grade students. You just get the family’s addresses from a google excel spreadsheet, have them sign up for a time slot, drive there, and let them know that their child will be loved and cared for. Easy.

Sometimes things that seem hard, are hard. Like being on the adolescent post pandemic clean up crew (teacher) for “The Missing Year.” For some students, it’s a missing year and change if they went from March 2020 till August 2021 without ever reentering physical school. There were many lively moments in virtual school. But often, cameras were off. And I had no idea what learning was taking place.

I teach 9th and 10th grades but oversee our whole theatre department (9th-12th) where we teach three hours of arts daily. Here are the realities:

9th graders whose last physical and social school experience was the middle of 7th grade. Last full year of school was 6th.

10th graders who have never set foot in the building and seem like 9th graders because they’re lost, anxious, and doing the nervous “who is my good friend gonna be” search because they didn’t find one last year. Last full year was 7th grade.

11th graders who have only spent a total of 6 months in their physical high school. They walk around taller, but with none of the confidence or gravitas of newly crowned upper class people. Last full year was 8th grade.

12th graders who are the only current grade who have spent an entire year going to high school in person. And who still haven’t fully accepted that they are now the oldest. Last full year was 9th grade.

Teachers who lost loved ones, had very difficult times with depression or loneliness or had home spaces too crowded and those who worked while overseeing their young children’s learning.

I worry most about the 11th graders. 10th grade is a big deal. It is the epitome of high school. Turning 16. Raging hormones, little logic, and lots of passionate energy. And my current 11th graders sat at home and watched Netflix and Youtube for the year this was supposed to be happening for them. 

I wonder what The Missing Year will do to all grades, but particularly this one. Will the 11th graders find themselves living out their missed 10th grade year at 24, 35, or 62? And what will that look like? And until then, will they have this drive to do insane and irrational things their whole lives?

I wonder what The Missing Year will do to parents. I’m getting angry emails about various things and we’ve only had a couple weeks of school. Why? My guess is general frustration left over from this last year and a half and schools are a safe place to vent because we never vent back. Is letting children out of the house again causing a resurgence of over-advocating that is usually more common in elementary school? Whatever the case may be, this too, is hard.

There are physical challenges to teaching right now that I’ve never encountered. Going for 3 hour stints at a time in a mask with car horns, sirens, the AC unit, and a noisy air purifier takes a level of superpower that I’m not sure the Amazon women even had. Unfortunately I can’t see through solid materials, which would be really handy for giving acting feedback to masked students. We tried buying students clear masks and coming around with anti fog drops at the top of each class… But they still fog up… And they lose these just like they did their executive functioning skills last year. I can tell some students don’t understand everything I say through the muffled mask. And they’re resigned to that fact instead of raising their hands to tell me they need something repeated, and that’s hard to realize.

There are internal things happening with the new ninth graders that point to the effects of 18 months without the consistency of caring, safe adults around. Three weeks into school this group shared some vulnerable stories with each other. This usually happens much later in the year. There are tears almost daily from a few who are pouring out grief from trauma that they had nobody to process with as they sat alone in their rooms for a year and a half. So I walk up and down the halls with them as they cry, because they don’t want to sit. Maybe sitting reminds them of the solitude of the last year. There have been two fights in the last week. There is a great deal of pent up aggression and sadness. It’s heartbreaking to watch a kid’s tears pour down under their mask.

And the little ones. What are the effects of their missing year? Maya might be the one beneficiary here. Even though she didn’t get to see extended family like we wanted, she got more of me - and I never had to pump in the 10 months I nursed her! Solly seems to be integrating into preschool, though I will always wonder if the Cars movie characters he’s held onto tightly for the last 18 months, will leave a lasting mark as they were his only friends for over a year.

I wish I had an easy answer for The Missing Year. Like buying extra boxes of maxi pads so Maya can unwrap each one while I get ready in the morning. It’s not cheap or good for the environment, but it’s an easy answer. I wish someone could sum up what to do in the embroidered oval picture on a grandma sweatshirt. My Grandma Sharp used to wear these on the regular and I miss her. And her comforting sweatshirts with dogs and forest animals who always seemed very cuddly and tame. Maybe we’ll all just spontaneously figure out what to do about The Missing Year at the same time - like that communal agreement we all share to look up at a plane that’s loud, say “I think it’s raining” when it’s already raining, and frown at a dog peeing on a baby? I hope so. In the meantime, I will keep buying mask de-fog drops and smiling as big and as clear as I can. Even if I can’t see any smiles back.

PS: To Solly for Son’s day and Maya for Daughter’s days this week:

Solly, you are my sun. And part of your name means that. And thanks for letting me sing “tomorrow” from Annie every night before bed because my son will always come running out tomorrow. Possibly half dressed and dragging every cars character with him, but out he runs.

Maya! My baby born in the sunshine and lover of water! Here’s to a one year old who does her share of the heavy lifting in the humor, joy and “no mama, why mama” categories. You are so intelligent…

Because of you both, I’m a Mama. Magical stuff. Forever changed and forever finding stickers on my shirt edges while teaching. We party so hard my clothes end up inside out at work. Twice this month.

Please eat your eggs tomorrow. They legit make you stronger. So does crying. I love you both so much I could burst.