The VOICE of THOSE KIDS: You Just Don’t Know

You just don’t know. That is what I need you to remember. Always. That is what I need you to understand. And respect. Please. You just don’t know. I am a good person. I want to be a good student. I want to be in your class and participate and be involved. Doing my work well and getting good grades matter to me. They matter a lot. It’s just not always that easy. I’m not with you right now. I’m at home. That make things very different. You just don’t know.

You keep telling me to put the camera on my face. I keep pointing the camera at the ceiling. You say I have a beautiful face and you want to see it. It’s not my face I’m afraid for you to see. It’s everything else. You just don’t know. I don’t want you to see the room I sleep in behind me. I don’t want you to see the mattress on the floor because there is no furniture. I don’t want you to see the trash that is all around me. I try to pick up but I share that room with 4 other people. You just don’t know. I don’t want my classmates to see. I have kept some of these secrets for a long time. Now I have no choice but to let them into my home. It’s much harder to hide things now. You just don’t know.

You keep telling me to participate. To talk. To turn on my microphone. I keep avoiding you. You say just take a guess. Just try. I know the answer. That’s not what I’m afraid for you to hear. It’s everything else. You just don’t know. I don’t want you to hear the yelling. It goes on all day. And even if it does stop, I don’t know when it will start again. And it will start again. It always does. You just don’t know. I don’t want you to hear those words. They aren’t okay for school. I would never use them at school. I promise you I wouldn’t. I’m afraid I will get in trouble if you hear them. I’m afraid my classmates will laugh. Or judge. Think I’m like them too. I’m not.  I swear to you I’m not.  I can’t let them hear. I just can’t. You just don’t know.

We don’t know. That was what I was reminded of this week. I don’t know. I no longer know what their days are like. I no longer know if they have a quiet space to work or if they have had anything to eat or if they even have a pencil to write with. I no longer know how they are reacting. I can’t see them start to fidget or clench their fists or sweat break out on their brow. I can’t see the behaviors and the outburst and the frustration. That was how they communicated. That was how I knew things weren’t okay. Knew they needed me. I had no idea how much I would miss misbehavior. I do though. Now they just disappear. The screen goes blank. Gone. I just don’t know.

I need to see them and I need to hear them. I need to take advantage of every opportunity I can to interact with them. I have to make each moment count. I can’t teach to a black square. I can’t read a black square. I can’t connect or interact or help a black square. So what do I require knowing everything I don’t know? I’m not sure. To start, we’re having conversations. Some as groups and some individually. We’re having hard conversations. I’ve asked my students directly if there are parts of their environment they want kept off camera. There was. So we practiced how to adjust furniture and move things around to hide the parts they didn’t want seen. We came up with a signal for one of my students to use when there is something going on in the background and she can’t turn on her microphone. We are having my student who is painfully shy show just a little bit more of her face every day. Just in small groups so far but we’re getting there. We utilize the private chat so students can communicate with just me if there is a problem or situation that needs addressed. It isn’t perfect, but it’s better. We’re trying to figure it out.

I think next week I’m going to introduce “Life Passes”. I’ve done this in person but never virtually. I am going to set the expectation that I want to see and hear you, but with the condition that I know sometimes “life” gets in the way. I’m going to give them a set amount off passes to use to either have a period with no camera or no mic with the condition they communicate with me before they begin to use it. No explanation required, but the knowledge that I will be there if they want to talk at any point. Helping them know what they need and when they need it. Helping them learn when they can and when they cannot persevere through a situation. Helping them to see help does not have to come with judgment or ridicule.  To see that this is hard – for all of us.  To see that sometimes it is okay to say I’m not okay today. Helping them feel that they are not alone.  No matter the environment.  No matter the struggle.   I am here.  I care.  And I will keep caring day after day after day.  And that is the one thing I do know.

I’m afraid that normal is never going to return. I’m really, really afraid that being home could become the new normal. That would be really hard for me. I’m not sure how well I will cope with that. You just don’t know. I want to be at school. I never thought I could miss school this much. I miss everything. My teachers. Sports. Games. My friends. I miss my friends a lot. I miss having a best friend to talk to and see. I miss laughing. I don’t laugh as much anymore. I miss fun too. It’s all just really hard. The unknown. The uncertainty. All of it.  It’s so hard. You just don’t know.