Day #187 Writing Through COVID-19: Rethinking Royalty

The Homecoming candidates were announced on Friday. Every year I hate this. So many of my lovely, wonderful, awesome students feel deep rejection on this day. Others ignore it because they have never felt seen or valued by their peers. 

The concept of shining golden light on our already most popular students tears at my teacher-heart. Each day I work to help students embrace their authentic selves, value each member of our learning community as worthy people deserving of acceptance and equity. 

It's as if for eight months of the school year we tell students: Every student is an equal member of our school community! Then during Homecoming month, we say: Forget that! Let's build a pedestal, vote on which students we'd like to put on top of the rest of us!
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Disclaimer: When I didn't make the Ft. Dodge Dodgers' Homecoming Court in 1977, I thought I'd died. I'd already failed to win a place on the (student-voted) cheer squad. Rejection on the Homecoming Court was the nail in my popularity coffin. I know this hurts. 

More Disclaimers: My (privileged) children were on Homecoming courts. Two of my daughters "reigned" as queens. As their mom, I was proud they were seen as leaders, friendly, positive people. That's what I told myself the "honor" was for.

Still More Disclaimers: This is too complicated. I've been both hurt and rewarded by this questionable tradition. 

This is nothing against the children who are voted onto the court. They are wonderful people! I love them all (especially the journalists :-). 

But schools should not promote events that wreak havoc on so many students' self-esteem.
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As we try to sneak back to more normal living, despite Iowa COVID numbers hovering nearly as high as ever, I've referenced Shirley Jackson's short story "The Lottery." In the story, everyone takes part in a yearly ritual: the community gathers for a game of chance. The "prize" is to be stoned by the rest of the community. Yes, the story is shocking and disturbing. But I've thought of it a lot during the past two months as we return to school, understanding that yes, some kids and teachers will get sick. Some might die. But we all hope our own chance of drawing that black dot is small. 

Until it isn't. 

Tonight I'm thinking about a central theme to the story: When do we decide that a tradition is no longer one to keep? "We've always done this" is not much of a reason to keep stoning a person year after year. 

Nor does it stand up well as a reason to repeat the school-sponsored praising of 14 well-liked kids while reminding the other 110 in their class that they are not royalty. ROYALTY? Kings and queens? Seriously. Do we really want to do this?

Enough.
Enough.
Enough.

I'll try to be more cheerful tomorrow.
I'll tell you about my parents' return to in-person church. 

Allison

Wolf, left; Wolf's dad Max, right.