My 6th Monday... Groundhog Day

What’s your normal like? What are your best days like? What are your most frustrating days like?

For me, all three of these things happen in the spring semester. Every year it’s a combination of mass chaos to make sure I’ve planned enough, taught enough, made an impact and basically been the ring leader of my very own shit show—on literally a daily basis. That is my normal.

We are working on Week 6 of Sheltering In Place. And while most now feel like they are hitting their groove and really getting the hang of teaching online and utilizing zooms, I seem to be struggling more and more. I can’t even really pinpoint why I am uninspired—Is it being locked at home? Is it having crappy wifi and everything taking longer than it should? Is it not seeing my kids? Is it the ridiculous amount of zooms each week that feel like they are sucking out my soul? By this point in the year, the things planned, coordinated and organized has me crossing off my to-do list post-it notes right and left. I am the queen of post-its on my desk and I LOVE crossing things off! But these days, I barely have anything to write down.

Now, I am not a crier, but I woke up this Monday and just cried. Because it’s the 6^th Monday I haven’t set an alarm, I haven’t rushed out of the house by 6am to make sure the week is completely planned to a tee and I haven’t made copies or had a mini-pep talk on my 45 minute drive to school. But this Monday is still a little harder. This week was supposed to be our March Madness, our Super Bowl, our World Series… I haven’t made chaperone packets, I haven’t copied schedules for all the kids, I haven’t assembled my color coded schedule in my trip binder. It feels so strange to start a week that should be our biggest week of the year with still so many unknowns. While I appreciate all the work being done for our kids to have some type of virtual experience, there is just no replacement for the feeling of State Conference. State FFA Conference is truly life changing for so many kids. It inspires kids, it models excellence, it provides an outlet for leadership, and it creates connections that last a lifetime. A couple weeks ago, I was talking to a highly involved senior and he said, “I just wish I knew at the last conference (SLE) that I might never see some of my friends again.” That hit hard—straight daggers to my heart. While they have social media, he is right—seniors go to college, or go to work or go to the military and move on from this organization. There will be no goodbyes, no hugs, no last minute selfies while I yell to get in the bus because we’re leaving.

One of my favorite parts of my job is kids being on the state stage being recognized for their hard work. But without state conference it’s just a hard sell to be excited about any of it. The kids feel robbed and they should. The most unfortunate part is there is no one to blame. And in 5 years when things are back to the chaotic normal, this time period will be so significant for the kids that it has affected and most others will have just moved on and forgotten about the year kids got mailed their plaques and awards.

But I have been trying to justify this madness in my mind and be positive and keep kids excited, but at the end of the day it’s flat hard. Kids that have been to state conference, know what they’re missing this week. They know they won’t go to a workshop, they won’t take a photo with their favorite state officer, they won’t fill their bag at the career show, they won’t get soaked on Splash Mountain at Disneyland, they won’t say something silly and turn red in front of Mr. Mooney, they won’t watch the new state officers be elected with blue and gold confetti spraying for what feels like forever.

I know. Don’t say it. I know what you’re thinking. WHO CARES? Me, bitches—I care. My heart is literally breaking for every kid (and teacher) that won’t be in Anaheim this week. It’s just not the same and there is nothing we can do. That’s probably the hardest part to choke down. There is nothing I can do to make this better for my kids. They bust their butts and they have worked hard for this experience that won’t happen. There is no band-aid or remedy for this void. My hope is that the kids that are missing this week can remember the things they loved the most about State Conference. Maybe a person they met, an all nighter they stayed up giggling in their rooms, or a picture that will stay with them forever. But as someone who still remembers parts my high school state conference experiences, I hope my kids can hold out hope for next year and for the seniors they can remember the prior years and the experiences they had and friends they’ve made.

“A hero is an ordinary individual who finds the strength to persevere and endure in spite of overwhelming obstacles.” Christopher Reeve

At the end of the day, my heroes are my kids. Even the ones that are struggling right now-- They are trying, working to make sense of having everything that is their normal taken from them. I lean on their strength and bask in their dedication to leadership even when they don’t know when they will see each other again. It’s a humbling experience to watch children be strong despite the obstacles and unknowns.
Until next Monday... Until next Year...

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