Monday , December 5 2022

Coronavirus – Saying Goodbye to School

This week we had to say an official “Goodbye” to the school building for the 2019-2020 school year. My son’s principal sent an email message that we could come up this week to get any of his work and books and materials left in the classroom.

I made an appointment that fit into my online working schedule, but as I later found out it would be during one of his scheduled online classes. At first, he seemed unhappy about not being able to come with me, but then later on he seemed okay with it.

When I drove over to the school, the first thing that struck me was how easy it was to park. It is never easy to park in the streets near that building, but today I had my choice of where to park right across from the building.

There is such sadness in an empty school.

Putting on my virus gear of face mask, gloves, and sunglasses, I got out of the car, ran up the steps, and rang the bell. Once inside, everything was dark, with only patches of light from the open classroom doors illuminating the hallways.

I signed in at the office and then went upstairs to my son’s classroom. The walls in the hallways were totally bare, and usually during the school year the walls are filled with blazing colors and examples of the students’ projects, work, and art.

As I walked down the hallways, the heft of the silence weighed upon me – making me think that school is not supposed to be like this. A school should be filled with happy and noisy kids. The building must be grieving the premature loss of the children – it’s going to be a long, lonely summer for it.

I went into his classroom and noticed the teacher’s beautiful decorations hanging in eerie silence. The students’ work was piled upon their desks. I went to my son’s desk and collected his art work and other materials. I looked up and noticed the daily classroom calendar stopped on March 12 – his last day of school because of the coronavirus.

A classroom without kids

I kept thinking about all those days between then and now, and what would have happened in that classroom if there had never been a virus that stopped the world – all the interactions, the conversations, and the hands-on experiences that have now been declared forbidden in this hands-off world.  

As I left the building, I looked back one last time, and it was the saddest sight ever. A school building with no students is sadder than a Christmas tree put out on the curb in January.

When I got home, I gave him his materials and he smiled when he remembered a project he did or a piece of art that he enjoyed making. For a moment he seemed lighthearted, but then he looked at the clock and had to get ready for his next online class.

While working in their Google classrooms or Zoom meetings, students of all ages have had to adjust to the online world in ways they never expected. They see their friends’ faces in brief glimpses, as their teachers do their best to adapt their lesson plans to online instruction.

For my kids, this online learning has been going on since March 16 – so we are past the two-month mark here. I am pleased to say that they have adapted pretty well, despite a glitch here and a link that won’t open there. This is new territory, so it seems like the teachers know that sometimes things won’t work, and everyone will have to go with the flow.

Yet this is not schooling – it is a semblance of schooling. People are talking about what will happen in the fall, and some say that we will go back to the building and others think we will not. All I know is that if we can’t go back to a normal school routine, schooling as we used to know it will be over.

A silent school playground

Yes, we will have to deal with it, but there are going to be many empty school buildings, and students’ worlds will be inextricably altered. Will they learn? Probably. Will the quality of the education be the same? Probably not.

They may get all the information they require and be able to pass their tests and move up to the next grade level, but that personal interaction will be gone. The way teachers get to know students will be much different, and the continued burden on parents who have to work will be incalculable.

So, this week we said “Goodbye” to the school building for this school year. I am just hoping it’s not goodbye for forever.

About Victor Lana

Victor Lana's stories, articles, and poems have been published in literary magazines and online. His books 'A Death in Prague' (2002), 'Move' (2003), 'The Savage Quiet September Sun: A Collection of 9/11 Stories' (2005), and 'Like a Passing Shadow' (2009) are available in print, online, and as e-books. 'Heartbeat and Other Poems,' 'If the Fates Allow: New York Christmas Stories,' 'Garden of Ghosts,' and 'Flashes in the Pan' are available exclusively on Amazon. His newest books 'The Stranger from the Sea' and 'Love in the Time of the Coronavirus' are available as e-books and in print. After winning the National Arts Club Award for Poetry while attending Queens College, he concentrated on writing mostly fiction and non-fiction prose until the recent publication of his new book of poetry, 'Heartbeat and Other Poems' (now available on Amazon). He has worked as a faculty advisor to school literary magazines and enjoys the creative process as a writer, editor, and collaborator. He has been with 'Blogcritics Magazine' since July 2005 and has written many articles on a variety of topics; previously co-head sports editor, he now is a Culture and Society and Flash Ficition editor. Having traveled extensively, Victor has visited six continents and intends to get to Antarctica someday where he figures a few ideas for new stories await him.

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