Family Ties

Not long ago a guy we have known all his life posted a birthday message. Happy 50th to my big sister! it read. The joke was that she is his little sister and she is still several years away from the half century mark. 

Even so, many people echoed his regards, prompting his sister to finally reply in exasperation, I am the little sister! 

We laughed about that today when we visited with those two and their mom. We were there to offer our sympathy and pay our respects to their dad who passed away a few days ago. "What gets me," the sister said, "is that some of the people who replied went to high school with me! Did they think I flunked five grades?"

Later on in the conversation we spoke warmly of the closeness our families have enjoyed for so long;  their parents and ours were dear friends since we were children. "We've known you guys for over 50 years," I said to their mom.

"I. am. not. 50!" her daughter answered.

"True," I agreed, "but we've kind of known the idea of you for 50 years." I shrugged.

Because that's how family works.

Tumble Dry

We always say, "A rainy day at the beach is still a day a the beach," but that attitude was definitely put the to the test today. 37 degrees, with driving rain and wind speed of up to 20 mph made even a short little walk on the beach a stinging trial of fortitude. Amid the blowing foam and flotsam were four sets of wings on the sand literally torn from the backs of the birds they once thrust into flight.

Back at our little bayside cottage we tossed our sopping clothes and even our coats in the dryer before heading out on our next adventure. When the timer buzzed and I opened the metal latch to fetch Heidi's jacket, the metallic smell of static and hot nylon nudged my nose with nostalgia. The heft and warmth of the freshly tumbled coat transported me back fifty years to the snow days of my childhood.  

When the cold and wet got the best of us and pink-cheeked we returned to the house, my mom gathered our stripped snow clothes and popped them in the dryer while we sipped steaming mugs of spiced tea and orange juice served with buttered slices of freshly baked Sally Lunn. And when we were ready to bundle up and go back out to play, Mom held our jackets right from the dryer and we slid our arms into them like receiving a warm hug, and then, so fortified, we readily faced the elements without hesitation.

So Long, Gar

hamburger, hamburger

all red hot

with an onion in the middle

and a pickle on top

 

Zhāo Cái Jìn Bǎo

Just a little while ago, our 8-year-old neighbor Sofia rang the door bell. Resplendent in red, she wished us a Happy Lunar New Year and offered us some homemade dumplings, which we were thrilled to accept.

"How many would you like?" she asked. "They are very lucky."

"Would 2 each be too many?" we asked.

She paused and gulped. "How about three each?" she offered. "Four is a bad luck number! It's like death!"

We were all too happy to adjust our order, plus? What a great reason to eat even more dumplings!

Expecting

I was just reading the meeting minutes, a friend and colleague texted this afternoon, I see you took your new line about expectations out for a walk.

I couldn't resist! I texted back.

And I couldn't, because sometimes those moments of clarity just have to be shared. As I was explaining the new camera-on policy to my class this morning, one of the students unmuted and asked (off camera), "Are you going to enforce that?"

It was his use of the word "enforce" that made me pause and consider the situation. 

"Well," I answered slowly, "if it was a requirement? I would enforce it. But this is an expectation-- it's your job to live up to it; as a member of our community, you have to enforce it for yourself."

There was silence, and I congratulated myself for finally finding a way to explain what "expectations" mean.

My proud moment was quickly cut short. "What if we don't?" he asked.

"Then your community will be verrrrry disappointed," I answered, leaning into the camera and wiping an imaginary tear.

All of the People None of the Time

"The superintendent is going to announce the return-to-school dates today," I told my students this morning, "so I'll finally get to meet some of you guys in person." 

Our system is opting for a hybrid model with concurrent instruction, so at any given time, 2/3 - 3/4 of the students will still be learning from home while their classmates attend school for 2 days a week. It's going to be a lot to juggle, and there will quite likely be something for everybody to dislike. 

"What about our break?" asked one student today. "How will that work when we're in school? Will we just be allowed to walk around the halls?"

"Your break?" I asked in return.

"Yeah, when we work asynchronously," she clarified.

"Um," I shook my head. "We're not going have those."

"I'm glad I'm staying home!" one of her classmates chimed in.

Shutter Lag

After months of not requiring students to turn their cameras on, last week we received guidance on the latest policy, which is that students are expected and encouraged to turn their cameras on, but not required. Such a shift, midyear, promises to be a hard transition to manage. Even in the early days of distance learning only a small number of middle schoolers chose to turn their cameras on, and that number has definitely dwindled as the days have passed. 

To be honest, as much as I want to see some faces, my some of the sights I've already seen have been far from camera ready. This new policy will require some direct instruction and reminders about expected on screen etiquette, which may be a bit of a hard sell to those students who never wanted their cameras on to begin with. 

Will being onscreen increase engagement? From a certain segment of our learners, probably. I know myself some of the shenanigans and distractions I engage in during this meeting or that, but when my camera's on, I am the very model of attentiveness (if you call staring at my own thumbnail image attentive). Still, a solid majority of my students answer me when I call on them, and I know they are paying attention, even if they are hunkered down on the bottom bunk with hanging sheets and blankets creating a little learning cocoon which may not transfer to the image they want to project to their peers.

Practically speaking, it takes a lot of bandwidth to have your camera on and access the learning management system and whatever other apps might be required, especially if you are using your phone as a hot spot. And for those with whom I would like to check in with more directly, there are always breakout rooms; I can pop a kid in there, have a heart to heart, all the while monitoring the main class on my iPad. In that one-on-one space I often ask for the camera to be turned on, so that our connection is more than just vocal.

For my convenience and ease as a teacher, it would be great to see that expanded Brady Bunch view of every child smiling and looking right at me as I impart all my wisdom, but there is no studio audience and we only have one take to get it right. And so I guess what I'm saying is that I have changed my mind about the kids and the camera-- 

just in time to be on the wrong side of the policy.