Week 9

This was my 9th week of quarantine. The weeks ran together as St. Patrick’s Day became Easter became Earth Day became Derby Day became Cinco De Mayo. Milestones came and went. Planned trips came and went untaken. Pounds simply keep coming. I bought a new calendar into which I have written nothing. I walked outdoors a few times, looking at trees, feeling the breeze and sunshine. That felt nice in a somewhat normal, happy to be alive, feeling good kind of way.

I worry about when I will feel safe to be around people again. Without seeing the true numbers of people still getting sick and dying steadily and dramatically decreasing, I will not feel safe. Without testing and treatment and support for our healthcare system, I will not feel safe. Without a real plan (that is currently being obstructed by the very government that is supposed to protect us) being implemented, I will not feel safe. With the drum beat of “It’s over now. Move on.” while people continue to get sick and die, and the projections of deaths over the coming months keep rising, I will not feel safe. I probably will not truly feel safe until there is a reliable vaccine. In the midst of all this, I keep going. We all keep going.

Memory Lane

This was teacher appreciation week. I have thought about my family and friends who are teachers, my teachers, being a high school teacher, being a college teacher, being a teacher in a men’s prison, researching teachers, and writing about teaching. One of the high school drama teachers who participated in my dissertation posted the accomplishments of his teaching career as a celebration of teaching on Facebook. I thanked him for his participation in my study and for his years teaching. It has been almost twenty years since I spent a semester in his classroom, watching his rehearsals and performances, and learning about powerful encounters with the arts through his example. That work lead to other work advocating for teachers, students of all abilities, the arts, and schools.

As the daughter of educators, I grew up knowing the value of teachers in my bones. I posted this week about transformation and trying – education and teachers are the heart of both. I know what it means to be read to as a child. I know what it means to be in classrooms where teachers care and learning happens. I know the importance of education for us as individuals, for our communities, and for our world. I value knowledge and the pursuit of understanding. I trust science. All of that happens because of my teachers – past, present, and future.

#AhmaudArbery

I ran/walked 2.23 miles for Ahmaud Arbery this morning. His death weighs on my heart. I am afraid we are numb to the deaths of people of color in this country. Gun violence. Coronavirus. Systemic poverty. All of it impacts communities of color in disproportionate ways that my privilege makes hard to truly understand. His death hits home. I have the privilege of staying in while others can not. His death hits home. I have good health insurance while others do not. His death hits home. I still have life and breath while others do not. His death hits home. I have been closely reading the stories of victims of gun violence for years. Now, I read the stories of people who have died from coronavirus, too. Somehow, it feels like by doing that I am keeping their stories alive. Keeping stories alive seems even more important now as our lists of people who have died preventable deaths grows and grows, and distance becomes anesthesia even for kind hearts. This does not have to be our world. May the stories of people who have died live alongside the stories of people who work to save lives. May we all work to save lives.

Read Weekly Wide-Awake here . . .