Missing Our Kids
Three months without students, this teacher wails, is simply not to be endured. "I miss my kids!"
We roll our eyes and understand the not-so-subtle implication that the rest of us sorry chumps couldn't
possibly understand this particular misery. After all, none of us has taken the trouble to truly bond with
our students.
During this strange time of isolation, however, I have to confess. I miss my kids.
One day we were in school. The next day we weren't. There was no opportunity to endure the
or applaud Eli Fox for his stunning rock star performance in the school musical "Bye, Bye, Birdie".
We never said goodbye.
For as long as I've taught, the seniors have been eager for graduation.
"I can't wait to get outta here," they exclaim. Now it's different. They've been robbed of their last
months of high school. In light of other dire circumstances - like sickness, death and
economic collapse - things like prom and spring musicals seem shallow at best. I try to make
a joke of it when I write to them to explain their online homework.
"People have observed," I tell them, "that you arrived in this world in the wake of 9/11 and graduated
during a global pandemic. You know what that means?" I ask. "You're a curse from Satan. Get the
hell out of our school."
You should meet our seniors. They're great kids. Some work as hard as they can, and some saunter
into the classroom without completed homework or a single care in the world. The Kalvoda twins
giggle in stereo, and tiny Courtney Toner fills a room with her huge laugh. Nolan Gleason draws
hilarious attention in every classroom while Alex Eaton claims his quiet spot in the back.
I miss them.
They're dutifully plowing through A Prayer for Owen Meany right now. We shoot written questions
and answers about the novel back and forth on our trusty chrome books. But because I need to
see them, I also require an additional assignment. Send a video of yourself, I instruct. Pretend it's
30 years from now. You've got kids of your own. Tell them what it was like to live through the
coronavirus.
I know it's because I'm a safe audience of one and they're bored out of their minds that they
respond in such a timely fashion. But many of them bare their souls with simple and heartfelt
poignancy.
"More than anything," Eli Fox tells his future children, "I was looking forward to earning a state
championship in golf with my teammates and Coach Rupp."
They all have looked forward to their senior year. But as they speak to future children, some
shrug with philosophical acceptance. "You know what, kids? Don't ever take school or the people
you grow up with for granted." A few voices tremble. "You might not ever get those things back."
There are the usual heartbreaks - a year without a traditional prom or graduation. But all of them respond
with a perspective beyond their years.
"It was a time to take care of each other - especially our grandparents," says Kate McFarland, who
missed out on performing the lead in her high school musical. "That was more important than
anything."
Jack Friesen offers practical advice to his offspring. "Don't eat bats in China."
Emilie Ziller sits in her basement looking for all the world like a perky Reese Witherspoon.
"Our lives were put on hold, and everybody was quarantined," she reflects. "I would rather
have been quarantined in a mansion with a pool," she smiles wryly, "but all in all I was pretty
lucky to be in a safe house."
And Logan Hamik, an old soul, is especially moved by the response of the suffering Italians.
"You'd turn on the news thinking about how depressed you were," she says, "and you'd see
the Italian people separated from each other in their apartments but all standing outside on their
little balconies singing together," she sighs. These kids are seeing for themselves the undying
strength of the human spirit.
It was a bad time, they agree. But not all bad. Priorities shifted and relationships deepened.
Their parents drove them crazy. Still, anxiety that mothers, fathers, grandparents and siblings
could become ill troubled them. "I never realized how much I needed my family," so many say.
Almost to the last senior, they talk about their faith - the importance of turning to God and
asking for the safe protection of their vulnerable relatives.
"In the end," Katie Maser says with innocence and sweet candor, "we learned to trust in God."
I choke with emotion as I see their faces and listen to their heartfelt words. Maybe, I tell my husband, good things might come out of this terrible virus. He snorts and says the only good thing to come out of it might be universal health care. Still, every day he tells me about the kids he's heard from and fervently hopes they're well. At some point during the long hours at home, we will sit quietly to talk about our students. I imagine our fellow co-workers all over town missing the same precious kids and thinking about them, too.
We're all of us - history, English, Spanish, math, science, music, religion, business, art and P.E. teachers - lucky to teach them and grateful for their life-giving zest and humor and affection. They're scared and sad right now. But they're brave, too. Whether they realize it or not, they make us brave, too.
We miss our kids.
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