Homeschool Is Canceled Today

I woke up stressed and CNN-obsessed and announced over the dad-loudspeaker to my fourth grader:

“Pandemic home school will be canceled for the day!”

About two weeks ago, with no warning, training, or links to “Homeschooling for Dummies,” I awoke, like millions of parents, to a new reality. I’m the unprepared sub and who knows for how long? But I do know I’m not ready to hand out teacher evaluations just yet.

She stares.

I repeat, “Pandemic home school is canceled!”

She says, “So what are we doing?”

“Well, I’m cleaning the counter but wash those hands and then doooo whaaaat evah ya want.”

“I want pancakes.”

“The cafeteria’s closed. Feel free to make ’em yourself. And wash those hands."

She’s still staring.

I pour Crispix into bowls while texting updates to friends, family, and mortgage companies. You know, I never liked these countertops. They never look clean.

I scoop and talk: “Hey, what part of dooooo what evah ya want, do ya not understand?”

“All of it,” she says. “Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

How to explain what seems so obvious: this urge to clean and re-clean while keeping up to the minute on half facts that change every thirty seconds and moods that fluctuate more than the stock market. The floor could use another Swiffering. I need a list. I look up.

Stares have turned to glares. “I hate Crispix.”

I start wiping down the counter. “Look kiddo, all I’m saying is I think per our governor’s request, today we should all just shelter and space.”

“Dad, it’s Shelter in …”

“Go wash your hands!”

“I did!”

“Well, wash ’em again and sing Happy Birthday backwards, or in Spanish.” Why didn’t I send her to a bilingual school?

“No,” she says and storms out, and the door slams with a muffled, “I hate this.” 

She knows “hate” is a word our family does not allow although today, today I don’t blame her. But she needs to realize that tough times come with tough lessons: mainly, Dad’s home-schooling kinda sucks. How can it still look dirty? I hate hate hate hate this countertop!

Truly, I had no idea how tough it would be to come up with all this education-y stuff. I thought there’d be an “app for that.” But I searched “Pandemic home school hell, eh, help” and go figure, no app! 

I’m only two weeks in but I get it now. Temporary teacher burnout is real. My best lesson thus far is a story problem: “If safe distancing is 6 feet and 10 people are running towards a freshly stocked shelf of 22 multi-pack toilet paper rolls, who gets the most? Answer: the one who sneezes.” She didn’t like it either. 

But seriously, how am I expected to homeschool in these conditions? I could call my union rep to complain but my wife wouldn’t answer. She knows not to pick up on her off days, plus she has her own set of freaked-out friends to text. I call into the next room. “You good, sweetie? Dad just needs some downtime.” Silence. Good. Shelter and space. These kids learn fast.

For a moment I feel guilty about canceling school so abruptly but then I see that Sanjay Gupta has a two-hour hand-washing special. I clearly made the right call. Maybe tomorrow I’ll take an in-service day sponsored by Netflix. I’ll practice some PBL (Problem-Based Learning) and binge the last five episodes of Ozark. New teachers need development and who couldn’t use some tips on money laundering in these times. 

I wonder briefly if I should check in one more time? Nope, I understand that timing is everything. What I don’t understand is how to respond to a text I’ve gotten from more than one friend: “We’re OK (sigh), at the moment.” 

Gee, thanks. I want to say, “Well, I’m not OK (sigh) because at the moment my symptoms are: time has no meaning … bad hair day every day … slipping hygiene ... I think I just touched my face, and ... my kid is going to repeat fourth grade. #alldadsfault!"

I turn off CNN and set down the phone and take a moment to recall my past life. The one where I would leave my house, get on a plane, and make presentations filled with advice to educators and administrators. I miss it. I know you miss yours, too. Now, my best advice is to pray for home testing pronto, hope you’re not quarantined, and then phone up a real homeschooling parent and say “Name your price!!!”

I realize we’re still finding each day in waves and grooves. Some days I slay dragons and stay local, others I panic globally and act loco. On most days I’m certain that “this too shall pass” and play Yahtzee with the fam. But somedays I watch too much Sanjay and Fauci and get stuck playing “cough or quarantine, pollen or plague." This is no fun and tests for rational fear are in short supply too.

I walk to her door and hear soft giggles. She’s messaging friends to see if their homeschool was canceled too. Has laughter ever felt more precious? I can’t remember when.

I pause to think that whenever that “back to school” call comes, I’m positive that a far deeper appreciation for the real teachers and educators awaits. I for one will grab my kiddo's 60-lb. backpack with an extra bounce in my step, and an elbow tap in my heart as she heads back to school. 

I promise to be the first to cheer out the window and clap along with other parents as I watch my kid walk down the block, stop, turn back and say, “Dad, you coming?” 

“Oh, yeah, I forgot … still too young to walk to school by yourself. Be right down.”

Damn, that day will feel good. I pray it comes soon. Please.