And then, “BANG!” like a starter gun, we’re off in a flash.
Hurry, hurry. Rush, rush. No time to think. Just do. No time to ponder or worry. No time to reflect or ruminate. No time to consider whether we’re ready. It’s too late. It’s here. We’re out of the blocks. Now it’s just mayhem and early-morning madness. Something akin to normalcy, only not quite normal. The “idea” of normal in an UN-normal world. And the truth is, it doesn’t matter. Because who cares: It has already begun!
And you better hurry, hurry. Rush, rush.
Yep, it’s school time again. School time in the age of the pandemic. “Fake-summer” is over, and the looming fall stopped looming and dropped out of the sky like a sack of textbooks.
It hits particularly hard in a house like mine that runs the education spectrum. My wife teaches pre-school. My daughter just started high school, and for now is taking the remote route online. I work at Flagler College, where part of my gig is teaching journalism students. Throw in the fact that we think the dog has a side hustle lecturing about French romantic poetry with an online course and it’s a world of education in the Thompson household.
After a summer of planning and worrying and speculating and trying to sort it all out, we’re all suddenly thrust back in it, just like that. And it’s kind of anticlimactic really. The starter gun just went off and we threw up our hands one day and said, “OK, I guess we’re running!”
GO!!!
We’re learning all types of new things as we go. Cleaning regimens. Talking friends through WIFI failures. How to follow those one-way signs up stairwells. (Why don’t I just follow the arrows?!?) And maybe most importantly: How masks are quite the impediment for fast talkers like me who are very animated and wave their hands around a lot.
I learned this the hard way in my Publications Workshop class the first day. I was explaining this and talking about career goals and doing my erratic hand movements like I’m trying to fend off a jumbo jet coming in for landing. The Cuban genes that control my mouth take over and cause me to speed up my words into one unending run-on sentence devoid of any punctuation.
But to fuel this torrent of blabbering thoughts, I am required to draw in vast quantities of oxygen like a hungry engine desperate for more combustible material. In normal times, this isn’t an issue. O2 is typically easy to come by. But add a mask to this mix, and the air doesn’t come quite as quickly as I require. Worse, the tremendous inhales I employ cause the fabric to deflate in dramatic fashion. It vacuum-seals to my face as the rush of air is gulped in. The elastic bands strain around my ears, and I worry the whole mask will pull loose and slip down my windpipe.
I race through a bunch of words, then take a gigantic gulp of air, then race through a bunch more words, then take another gigantic gulp of air, then (because I’m nervous I’ll now inhale my mask!) I absolutely tear through some words and then … suddenly … I’m not sure I feel so good. Because I’ve got this idea in my head that: “Holy trachea, Batman. I think I’m starting to hyperventilate!” Which, for some strange reason, has the remarkable effect of causing me to speak even faster and gulp even more air.
And because I never DON’T share the thoughts that pop up into my brain, I say to my students, “Holy trachea, folks. I think I’m starting to hyperventilate!” This causes eyebrows all around the room to raise up above their own masks. Because, you know, they didn’t sign up for this! Normal teachers don’t do this. They know how to breathe in a mask. It’s not that hard! And talk like a normal person – not someone who has been hooked up to a car battery.
So, I start to wonder, if you hyperventilate in a mask, what’s the protocol? Do you take off the mask in order to breathe into a paper bag? Is there a CDC recommendation? I share this entire stream-of-consciousness with my class and they just look at me like, “Boy, it’s going to be a long semester with this guy.”
But it’s a pandemic, and we’re all trying to figure it out. Trying to understand this new normal. It’s a big adjustment. A huge one. All about adapting and rolling with the punches. Learning new tricks and trying new things. Doing the best you can, and hoping all of the prepping pays off. My hats off to the teachers all across the country, and the world, who do this all day … every day! I just have the one workshop class. But they’re really in the thick of it. Pre-school to college. Learning as they go. Driven by a passion for teaching, and making a difference in the world. Having to overcome fear of the virus, and these uncertain situations, in order to be there for people who need them. And are no doubt struggling with it all themselves.
That’s incredibly noble, and inspiring.
It’s remarkable, really, and makes me even more thankful. My hat goes off to teachers because I’ve learned quickly how hard this all is.
No time to think. Just do. No time to ponder or worry. No time to reflect or ruminate. Just hurry, hurry. Rush, rush. Do the best you can while trying to make some bit of difference in the world. (And hopefully, don’t talk too fast that you hyperventilate. I think I better go practice or something.)