The COVID numbers in Cass County increased by only four cases this past week. Our positivity in testing is down to 2.5 percent, enviously low. It's tempting to grow lax.
At school, I continue to hibernate in my cave, roped off from my students for most of the day. But in two of my production classes, I often find myself grabbing a quick splash of hand-sanitizer before grabbing a student's computer, then adjusting a camera, or pulling my face shield down over my already masked face to move in to help a student edit her video.
While I know I am loosening my distancing, I've developed a subliminal awareness of when I've sanitized, of what I've touched.
I have taught myself to open doors with my elbow to avoid touching shared surfaces. I reflexively turn my face away from unmasked students and colleagues.
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Tonight I officiated a wedding for a darling couple who'd originally scheduled June nuptials. Their initial plans were sidelined when gatherings of more than 10 people were prohibited.
To hold their ceremony tonight, they limited their guest list, held the ceremony and reception outside, distanced the spacing of their tables, and canceled the dance.
If my parents were still living me, I would not have attended at all. But I felt this gathering was actually safer than my daily school situation.
I debated wearing a mask, weighing factors: I wanted to be heard clearly. I prefer the no-mask visual for this couple's photos. Only the bride and groom would be within six feet of me, and they would be facing each other, not me.
Ultimately I did not wear a mask and felt comfortable about my decision.
Until this morning: my neighbor and dear friend, which whom I've bemoaned our fellow non-masking SW Iowans, called to say she'd seen photos of the wedding. She is a florist and wanted to comment on the lovely wedding flowers.
But I suddenly felt a wave of guilt. She and I have bonded in our MASK IT philosophy for six months now. I felt like I got caught, unmasked, at a public gathering.
My friend was not criticizing me. She, too, has lowered her guard to attend a grandson's football game and visit her daughter in Des Moines. My guilt was self-imposed, as if I'd let myself down.
It is hard to keep my guard up. My arms are tired. I want to rest.
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The Southern Poverty Law Center has developed a highly respected "Teaching Tolerance" curriculum to help teachers navigate tough issues of racism, sexism, and other systemic forms of inequality.
My friend who is serving as the Critical Consciousness teacher in a large Iowa district this year told me she would begin the year by addressing identity via the Teaching Tolerance curriculum.
This week I adapted the TT curriculum to fit my students and goals. First, my students wrote analyses of their names. Next, we watched a short TED talk by a woman balancing her individual identity with her social identities as a woman with Asian race and Australian ethnicity.
My students then journaled about their various social identities: race, age, gender, religion, etc. I encouraged them to explore which of their social identities they were most comfortable sharing and which identities they felt most judged by.
After journaling, I offered students a chance to share if they wanted to.
I was surprised at how many hands went up. Students at first talked about the confidence with which they shared their religious identities within like-minded religious communities. Then one student talked about the difficulty of expressing religious/non-religious views with people who do NOT share the same beliefs.
Next, a girl told her personal story of being denied participation in FFA because her grandma said "farming isn't for girls." As she told her story, she teared up, and then began to cry outright.
We passed the Kleenex, and several students offered support for her fight and empathy for her struggle.
Two more told stories of limitations they've felt by their social identities.
When the bell rang, none of us was ready for class to end.
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There is still so much work to be done.
Enough.
Be well.
Write.
Allison
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| Our smiling Wolf. I love the wee dimples on his hand. |
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