I didn't write Monday night because I was instead banging my forehead against the brick wall that is the 2020 yearbook. I reviewed and submitted spreads until my eyes bled. We still haven't finished the book, but we're getting closer.
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Because our school year ended in March, we are now trying to tell the story of what happened during those lost months. One of the spreads includes a module interviewing students who had contracted the virus.
Years from now, the quotes from kids will take readers back to the symptoms ("I knew what it should taste like, but I physically couldn't taste anything"), what the test felt like ("literally stabbing my brain"), and how we managed time in quarantine ("Just hung around and watched a ton of movies").
Still, I was hesitant to print the module because students were talking about health issues. Legally, we could. Ethically, should we?
I'm not sure if you, dear reader, care (or even need to care) about the subtleties of balancing journalistic principles when prior-review bumps up against honoring privacy and minimizing harm.
But such micro-decisions are the meat and bone of teaching. Each day we have dozens of students entrusted to our care. So much of what we do pushes competing needs against each other: how to respond to an agitated or disruptive student; how to value growth and/or mastery when grading; how to manage students' emotional needs while still attending to content and "standards."
Ultimately, I chose to share the module with parents of the students and ask for their approval to publish. All four parents granted permission, and three of them thanked me for asking.
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Last night I did not write because I was watching the debate.
Let's not talk about that.
Enough.
Be well.
Write.
Allison
Tonight's video chat with the Wolf man.
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