Surreal: The last day before suspension of classes

By Donna Baschuk, Kent Road School

Surreal. Twilight zone. Strange. Not right. And sad.

These are the words I heard in our school’s eerily empty classrooms and hallways on Friday (March 20) at our school. 

It was a very different week. From normal full, bustling, energy filled classrooms to a smattering of seven students one day... down to four the next. Then one. And on the last day...zero. No students. One empty table with the chairs still pulled out by little hands just days before. Sanitized tables and chairs sit stacked in the corner if the room. Trays still full of well used school supplies and other treasures sit in piles in the corner. Twenty-two pairs of running shoes lined up neatly under the empty coat hooks. 

Yet still there was the normal routine. Standing for O Canada, but this time alone in an empty room. No need to repeatedly scan the room for inappropriate giggling, talking or masked attempts to continue colouring that picture on the table. There was something soothing about hearing that same, familiar voice over the PA system saying those normal routine morning announcements. 

Then it was time to snap into work mode. Lots to do. Photocopying, stapling, compiling many home learning packages with an attempt to tailor paper tasks to each of those little 22 learners whom I wonder when I will get to see in person again. Trying to make a paper package that will have to substitute for me as their teacher for a while. How much is too much? Too little? 

Is this the golden opportunity teachers always talk about? If only we could have a day with no kids so we could get stuff done, organize, clean, prepare. 

This is different. Today my empty classroom, which on any other “normal” day would bring peace and joy for the chance to work in uninterrupted, feels too big and empty and too quiet. But I am thankful that again today, there’s more than enough things to do to keep busy. 

Even the 3:30 dismissal bell went unnoticed. “Do we just leave?” it was asked. Then came the need to do “one final lap” as someone put it. A few of us make our way toward the office but don’t quite make it there. As if drawn together by some silent, unspoken purpose, we end up gathered in a circle in the hall, an appropriate socially distanced space between us.

It’s quiet. Not your typical jovial banter that we’ve shared so many times before, when we’ve looked forward to a well-earned time to rest, relax, vacation. It’s different today. We don’t want to leave. Not yet. There are a few comments about how strange it feels accompanied by shared, somber nods. A few more brief exchanges and I guess it’s time to go.

“Take good care of yourselves,” we say. Be well. See you soon? Later? ...sometime. Finally, after a virtual hug, and even an elbow tap, it’s time to go. It’s too much to think about the whole big picture right now. Will we be back with our school families in a few weeks? Months? Is this the end of our school year? For now, it’s the end of our normal world of gathering physically, like human beings are supposed to do. Too much uncertainty. Too many unsettling “what ifs”. This is not how we want to go. 

With a lump in my throat and a pain in my chest, I drive out of our school parking lot. I know I will be in contact with my colleagues, students, and families in some way, shape or form in the next while. Some sort of virtual teaching and learning will occur. But I miss my Grade 1 class. I miss the children already. I miss the sounds, their energy, their faces, their hugs and high fives. I want to give them back their routines, their regular learning environment...their home away from home. I hope they know how much I’ve enjoyed being their teacher so far this year. I hope they can wrap their young, innocent minds and hearts around this strange, foreign world we all now live in. I want them to feel safe, stay healthy, keep learning, experiencing and enjoying.

I miss being in our Room 11, with all its rewards and challenges. I know this situation is necessary and wise. I just wish I had the chance to say a proper goodbye.

A grade one teacher