Closure

A month into the school year, a lot has happened. There are new students, new colleagues, new goals. Exciting instructional routines are finding their way into my practice. My curriculum is getting a facelift. There is a familiar and hopeful energy throughout the school.

Despite all that the new year has brought with it, there is one thing that is noticeably absent for me: remote learning. Yes, remote learning. This might seem strange to say, but hear me out.

Despite being two years removed from teaching from my laptop during the 2020-21 school year, remote learning haunted me for a long time. At first, it was the occasional Zoom call after in-person learning resumed. Forgetting to unmute myself or open up breakout rooms while facilitating PD were flashbacks to dark times. Then there was the fear that the school was going to shut down again every time someone coughed. And something in me also flinched every time the whole school got rapid COVID tests.

Interestingly, the more lasting and more prominent reminder of remote learning came from students. Up until this past June, I would see students from the 2020-21 school year everywhere. They’d be in the hallways, at after-school events, and even in my classroom. They were all around me, forcing me to remember a time I wanted to forget.

None of them were my students anymore, but the flashbacks still flooded back to me. I recalled distant interactions we had during office hours and breakout rooms that left me aching for more. It felt silly, but I still called out virtual handshakes to many of these students when we passed in the hallway at school. Sadly, there were others who I still didn’t recognize because I never saw them before.

Rarely would I approach these students about our time together during that dreadful year on Zoom. It didn’t feel right to dig up the past with them. I personally relived it most times I saw them, but that was my cross to bear. Although my former students were always friendly when we crossed paths, my flashbacks were not. Remote learning mocked me through their smiling faces.

But in June, I gained closure. These students graduated. With their moving on to bigger and better things, the most potent remnant of remote learning could finally be put to rest. During their ceremony, while I looked out at all of their beaming faces in their caps and gowns, I remember thinking that two commencements were happening that day. The first was my students’ graduation from high school. The other was my moving on from remote learning.

In the years ahead, there will always be something that crops up to remind me of that horrible time in my career, but at least now it’s not everywhere I turn. I miss many of those students. They were great kids whose education was turned upside down by a pandemic. They personified resilience. While I will miss them, I’m grateful not to have those unwanted reminders surrounding me anymore. I am carrying less baggage this year and I am enjoying it.

bp