Bring it on.
Bust into my classroom laughing too loudly. Please come in at a respectable distance, and if you laugh, please keep it to a closed-mouth minimum behind that mask, mister. Bumble down the hallways on the legs you grew over the summer without noticing who you just body-checked. Walk down the hallway at your allotted time, at a safe distance, and please sanitize your appendages if they touch another person. Allow Sharpied unicorns and fairies to dance over your folders while you experiment with profanity on the bathroom walls. Please vacate the bathroom as quickly as you can, as it is not properly ventilated. Complain to me about your parents, (from a respectable distance, again. I will listen from behind a plexiglass divider, and my eyes are not judging, I promise) and then complain about me at lunch in the classroom in which you will consume food. Just put on your mask prior to complaining. Forget your pencil again, and again, and again, but don't expect to borrow one--we don't share supplies. Flirt shamelessly in front of me and then blush when I call you on it For the sake of our safety, middle school flirting (i.e. slapping each other) will not be allowed. Laugh out loud Muffle your laughter behind the mask when someone comments on your outfit, and please sanitize vigorously before you sink in your desk the rest of the day. Wear Cookie Monster on your T-shirt and "Leave me alone" on your face on the part of your face that is not obscured by your mask. Wear "Leave me alone" on your face on the part of your face that is not obscured by your mask and please know I wish to receive your hug me when I ask how you are.
Make me have at least three back-to-school nightmares that portray me as helpless alone, isolated, covered up in a room of a reduced number of my precious thirteen-year-olds. Make me mask my intimidation mourning on the first day of pandemic school while you mask yours. Make me agonize over a lesson plan only to toss it out and "wing it" ponder what to do when I see question marks in your eyes you're out for two weeks because your sister has a fever. When you're out for the semester because your mom is immunocompromised. Make me sing with joy and tear my hair out while grading one class set of papers simultaneously managing my virtual and in-person classes. While grading one paper simultaneously managing my own children's learning and yours. Make me find the perfect book for you online...the classroom library books are shared supplies, remember? (and then make me have to work to peel you away from it). Make me wonder if we're connecting I'll know you the whole year if you choose a full-virtual learning option. Make me cry at least once in front of my colleagues, at least five times at home because more than anything, I want to be surrounded by you, hand you a book, give you a hug, hear you socialize in the hallways and cafeteria, have no barriers between our smiles. Make me do back flips to keep your attention make you feel ok, and connected, and to maybe still love learning in the suckiest of circumstances, and make my heart glad when you raise your hand we find a way to thrive. Make me think I know how you learn this all might go down, every last tragic second, and then make me rethink it hopeful. Make me teach you the best way I know how--no matter how far apart we are--and still not be satisfied be satisfied that we are DOING this, that we will make it, that we will be ok. Make me learn for you while I yearn for you.
Keep me awake at night. Keep me alive during the day. I'm ready. We can do this. Bring it on.
