"I forget so much," she said. "I used to know my children's birthdays, but I don't anymore."
She had written our names, and I helped her with the dates to complete her little chart.
I then told her that yesterday Dad misspelled my name as Allyson.
"At least I know how to spell your name!" she laughed. She doesn't want my dad to lose his wits, but it helps to not be the only one with mental skips and gaps.
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At 11:30 the representative from the care center called to administer my mom's cognitive test.
Mom said "4" instead of "14" when counting backward from 20 by threes, and then jumped from 11 to 9 before finishing with a decisive 6, 3, 0.
She peeked at the day/date/time clock when asked what day it was, and she looked around a bit when asked where she was. She said, "In the living room. At my daughter's house." Close enough. It's actually the basement, but it serves as her living room (with a Ping-Pong table).
I heard my mother's hesitant and defensive voice, and I felt it too. I wish there were less humiliating ways to measure a person's need for additional care.
All in all, she did well in answering most questions. My dad patted her gently on the back and said he was proud of her. She looked sad--but relieved.
I want the world to know that when I read her Roald Dahl's "Cinderella" this morning, she gobbled its macabre humor heartily, laughing and interacting with the poem, my dad, and me in a way that by all measures proclaims this woman is still contributing, sharing, and enjoying her life.
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Governor Reynolds announced this morning that schools will open with face-to-face learning across Iowa next month. Schools will not be allowed to use the online or hybrid models they developed (at her request, by July 1) unless she signs a proclamation allowing remote options.
Iowa teachers are furious. Schools spent precious resources of time and manpower to develop three plans, with an understanding that they would then decide what was best for their communities. Districts that are proactive have already made decisions about hybrid and online options. They have begun teacher training and worked out complicated scheduling, policy, and contingencies, only to now have that work dismissed.
Furthermore, the governor's action limits local control over re-opening, which flies in the face of Republican policy to honor local control and decisions.
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I sense my hypocrisy here. I would like the governor to step in and mandate state-wide mask requirements, or state-wide mandates that would mitigate the virus. But when she makes a state-wide determination to open schools, I shout: local control!
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Yes, teachers are angry. But this anger is fueled at least in part by fear. We're fearful about stepping into the line of fire. We're worried about the health of our students, and we're worried about the health of ourselves and our colleagues.
But we're also worried about how we're going to juggle in-building students with our online students who will be zooming in from home for quarantine or by choice.
We're anxious about the big questions:
- How will 400 students socially distance during our packed-hall passing periods?
- How many classes will be quarantined if BillyBob tests positive on Tuesday after milling through eight class periods on Monday?
- Where will we find subs?
And the small ones:
- How will my students browse my 1000-book classroom library?
- Will my school provide hands-free door openers for our classrooms?
- Can I safely sit next to a student to discuss her writing if we part before the magic 15-minute window closes?
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Last evening I met with fellow English teachers for an online book club. As we filtered into the room, we talked about our districts' plans. Most of us do not know with certainty what our days will look like five weeks from now.
One friend, a fellow journalism teacher, said she knew the year would need to be documented by the yearbook, but she hoped it wouldn't be a book of memorials.
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Oh, I wish this pandemic were over.
But it's not.
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Tonight Andrea, Max, and baby Wolf called us for a video chat. I took a screenshot of three generations of Hoegh men.
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| Wolf, Max, and Dan Hoegh |
During our conversation, Max asked me if I'd considered taking a leave of absence this year.
I have not. I love teaching, I want to teach, and as an optimist with only minimal comorbidities (over 60, barely, and having had cancer), I think I would survive COVID.
But so help me, if I return to the classroom, get sick and die, and miss watching Wolf grow up in Andrea and Max's loving care, I will not be happy--from the grave.
Do you hear me, Governor Reynolds?
Enough.
Be well.
Write.
Allison
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