The Land of Confusion

Oh, Superman, where are you now?

When everything’s gone wrong somehow?

Men of steel, these men of power

I’m losing control by the hour

This is the time, this is the place

So we look for the future

But there’s not much love to go around

Tell me why this is the land of confusion

The Land of Confusion (Genesis)

“Madame! I am so confused!”

The little boy in row two stares at me through his round Harry Potter style glasses, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights, bewilderment written all over his face. Not sure if the French words on the board are causing his confusion or the “new normal” of school in a pandemic,  so I try to reassure him. 

From a safe two-meter-distance, I look at him through the glare my face shield and send him an encouraging smile hidden by the mandatory mask, my sweaty hand in blue plastic gloves tentatively reaching out towards him to comfort him. 

I utter a lame “Ca va bien aller” …. It’s going to be alright! 

Muffled by fabric and vinyl layers, the French words are even less comprehensible to the confused child sitting in front of me. 

Behind all the PPE I agree: I’m confused too. And no, nothing is alright!

Welcome to Back to School in my Grade 1 French Immersion classroom. One of the thousands of elementary classrooms in Ontario which reopened their doors in September to the over one million students in the province to offer face-to-face learning. One third of these students chose online learning in separate classrooms right away, and their number is growing every day—the never-ending exodus of students to the virtual world of learning.

For example, take my class: what started with 23 six-year-olds on my class list four weeks ago is now an intimate group of 12 learners in the room. Eight of them opted for the virtual classroom right at the beginning—three more students left within the first four weeks of COVID school. 

And what four weeks it has been.

Week 1

Empty classrooms wait patiently for the arrival of yet another year of children ready to learn (or not). Shiny waxed floors, pristine whiteboards, and polished students desks neatly arranged precisely one meter apart. There isn’t more room for distance than that. 

Gone are carpets and bookshelves, computer stations, and listening centres – everything that makes an elementary classroom, especially in Grade 1, so unique. Learning in a safe environment just took us back 100 years in time. “I miss the old school!” the boy in row two said to me the other day. I know exactly what he means.

We spend week one learning how to line up with your arms stretched out (Garde la distance!), sanitizing coming in (Du gel!), sanitizing going out (Du gel!), walking on the right side (A la droite!), staying at your seat (Reste a ta place!), washing hands (Lave les mains!). 

Don’t talk! 

Don’t touch! 

Wear your mask! 

Breath (as much as that’s possible through a mask)! 

Lately, I feel more and more like a drill sergeant than an educator.

Week 2

Masks. Reusable masks with superheroes and cartoon figures on them. Paper masks with pink unicorn and cute little koalas. Smiling masks and scary ones. Masks in black and grey and pink. 

Full of hope and enthusiasm, we had decorated paper bags to keep each mask safe and clean on the first day of school. By week 2, most of these bags have ripped or disappeared into the students’ desks’ endless abyss. Masks are anywhere but safe and clean: on the floor, under chairs, in the hallway, in the yard. They hang off children’s chin or dangle around their necks. A mask makes for a great slingshot – it’s astounding how far these things can fly, especially when soaked in a day’s worth of spittle! One of my students pulls down his mask every time he sneezes – he doesn’t want to get his mask all wet and nasty! I get it – there is nothing worse than the smell of a moist and stale breath inside that thing.

Week 3

Week three brings an added layer of safety to or teaching: the face shield is declared mandatory for all teachers in addition to wearing a mask.

Learning a new language is difficult enough for a grade 1 student. With my mouth and most of my face covered by a mask, and the sound of my voice muffled by the added plastic barrier, understanding and repeating what I say in French becomes very difficult for my students. 

  “Bonjour mes amis!” I articulate as clearly as possible.

“Monmour me mami!” they repeat.

I am beginning to sound like Miss Othmar in Charlie Brown.

“Wah wah woh wah wah!”

At least I can blame it on COVID if my students’ language skills do not progress as they should!

Week 4

“Playdates are cancelled! Thanksgiving cancelled! And so is Christmas!”

Horror written all over their partially visibly little faces, my class is listening to a classmate announcing what sounds like the end of the world! 

“Well, not really!” I try to calm down my students who are now verging on hysteria. 

“There is still so much to be grateful for!” I explain lamely! “And there definitely will be Christmas – just different.” 

What does get cancelled are all virtual classrooms in our school board. Online learning is still a thing, and so is in-class instruction. But someone had the great idea that both could be done by one teacher instead of two. Gave it a fancy name and called it hybrid learning, laid off the online classroom teachers or sent them back to their homeschools, restructured all classes, and all that within a week. 

I won’t even have digested my turkey dinner, yet, when my class will have doubled in size by Wednesday, with half of the group sitting in front of me and the other half joining us via Google Meet. Watching every step I make, every breath I’m trying to take, every muffled French sound I make. “Wah wah woh wah wah!”

“I am so confused, Madame!”

“So am I, my friend. Welcome to the land of confusion!”