No one I know that works in education right now is sleeping. Like most people, I have tackled some hard things in the last several years. I have had brain surgery. I have a chronic pain condition that is better now, but likely to return. My father had cancer. I finished my doctorate. It’s been a while, but I have run several half marathons. My track record says that I can do hard things and I just keep telling myself that. Our hard things are different, but they often make us cry, question ourselves, and want to quit. Right now, on the cusp of a new school year….it feels the exact same. It is August, usually, a time mixed with exhaustion and eagerness, now feels as hard as a hole in my head, defending my dissertation and running 13 miles. Only this time no one is showing up with a casserole, a high five, or a cup of coffee. I look around and my peers all seem to be feeling the same. That is somehow encouraging -- because the only way I know how to get through this is together.
We are all kept awake at night or chained to our computers for different reasons. Funding. Anxiety. Impossible scheduling. New protocols and procedures. Completely revamping every system we know. And then doing it again. And then again. I am in a cubicle and I recognize my privilege in that. I also recognize the weight of decisions that are landing on the shoulders above me. The weight on my own feels crushing, but I can see that others are still having to carry even more. But one of the things that have kept me up is how do I face my teachers in a time such as this. How do I talk about curriculum and pacing guides without acknowledging all the things that also feel so heavy? How do I attempt to carry some of their load without sinking myself? Like so many things these days, I don’t have a good answer….but this is where I landed:
Learners Permit
My son turned 15 this summer and we have been teaching him to drive.
This summer I have also been googling phrases such as:
How do I know if I need blood pressure medicine?
Am I having a panic attack?
Calm breathing exercises.
Coincidence? No.
He desperately wants the freedom of a car and I desperately want to stop being his unpaid uber.
He is afraid to drive on busy roads and going over 50 mph.
I am scared as hell of him just driving down the driveway.
He wants to go, I want him to go, but we are both apprehensive.
When he is driving - I sit in the front seat and try to pretend to be calm so he will feel that way too. However, inside my heart is hammering and I am imagining 100 things that can go wrong. I am not usually a worrier, but sitting in the same car as a kid with a brand new learner’s permit can change that for you fast.
He does not have much experience. He can barely see over the steering wheel and he doesn’t quite have the lay of the land.
He hesitates to changes lanes and does it with a jerk rather than a smooth transition.
He goes too fast and he then goes too slow. He is so focused on the car in front of him, that he sometimes doesn’t take in the bigger scene.
I can relate.
School starting feels a little bit like teaching my son to drive. I want some control - that wheel or at least that extra brake that my driver’s ed teachers had in the 90s. It is hard to know when to stop or start or what to expect. It is often frustrating - knowing where you want to go, but unsure of the best way to get there. I have already occasionally lost my cool. I am white-knuckling it the entire way. Both in the passenger seat, and in my office chair.
I don’t care how experienced an educator you are -- this year -- we all have about as much experience as my 15-year-old with his permit. And there are only get other people with permits teaching us to drive and making up the traffic rules as we go along.
You will literally have hundreds of backseat drivers. And most of them like to post on social media. This school year has no google maps. There are no practice runs. There are some rules and safety features --- but not nearly as many as I would like.
People want us to go faster, or slower, in different directions or stay home altogether.
My dad taught me to drive. There was a lot of yelling and tears involved.
A lot of yelling.
(In his defense, his life was literally on the line). But, I’m here to tell you that I would have loved a calm voice. Some encouragement. Some guidance. Or at least a better radio station.
I can’t anticipate what the road will look like this school year -- but I do know that so many people are counting on you to show up.
I know we will sometimes make wrong turns. Go too fast. Too slow. Hit roadblocks and detours.
All I can do is this - Sit in the seat next to you. Promise not to yell. Offer you the same grace we would offer to someone learning. Help you watch the road and share maps when I have them.
I’ll even let you control the radio.
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