Dear Diary: 'I long for the recent past'. Why this Pincher Creek teacher wants to see his students

CBC Calgary wants to know how you are living these days. What are you doing differently? What makes you laugh? Cry? Scream? Have you started a new hobby? Let us know.

In this instalment of our series Dear Diary: In a Time of COVID-19, educator Greg Freer tells us what he misses most about being in a classroom with his students. This submission has been edited for clarity and length.

I hastily wipe paint off my hands, and answer the call from my principal on a Sunday evening.

"So you heard the news?"

After spending all day elbow deep in paint on the final stretch of a two-month home renovation, the answer was a definitive no.

"They are closing down schools immediately," he said. 

I involuntarily blurted "OMG the kids", followed quickly by "our economy is toast".

I remember the moment I heard the news the Space Challenger exploded, when Gretzky was traded and when Princess Di was declared dead, and forever I will remember when I received the call that schools were closed. To so many students, schools are much more than a place to learn the "3 R's". Schools are a place they feel cared for, a place they feel safe. Schools are sometimes the only place students feel heard, a place for advice, a place that literally provides a shoulder to cry on. My career has spanned over a quarter century now, and I could write a book on staff providing food for students, clothing, tracking students down on the streets and sometimes even taking them into their own homes because they simply had no one else. Every year as my birthday rolls around I get a little grin as I remember eating dinner with my family "plus one" at a restaurant. You see, one such student had no place to go that night. Every once in a while I come across her academic report in my bottom desk drawer with other mementos, some pictures and kind letters from students and parents, some confiscated items ... but this single piece of paper is one of my favourites, because it states on it "high school diploma achieved".

For the next four hours my principal and I began to think of some of our most vulnerable children, OUR children. How could we continue to meet their needs? Would we lose them? Eventually we talked about academics, what we would say to our staff, how we would continue to "educate" our students, but in the back of our minds we continually worried about, and discussions reverted back to "what about _____"  and  "who will ensure that he …..".

I was astonished as we met with staff Monday morning. The realization that we would be learning new technology and creating new unit plans was brushed aside immediately as one teacher simply said — "we got this".  Perhaps even more revealing were the immediate emails and phone calls of support from parents. "How can I help you?" and "I'm so sorry". You see, parents get it, we are family. Like all families, we have good days, we have bad days, but in this new reality I find myself focusing on the good days, and long for a return to the past.

I remember one time, back in the classroom.

"My out-of-town kids, raise your hands! Now my in-town kids, raise your hands."  

"We are not your kids," the 17-year-old said to me. 

"It does not matter how old you are or where you live, 30-40, in town, the M.D., on the reserve, you will always be my kids," I said. Most gave me an accepting grin, a few gave me a nod, and the lesson continued. That was about three months ago.

A couple of weeks later, I had a bad weekend, but as I made my commute to work I started to become revitalized as I got closer to the school. I just kept thinking, "I can't wait to teach my Grade 8's". Then a sick feeling in my gut, the realization set in, it would not be in our new reality.

Twenty-six years in, I still walk into a room with over 30 teenagers, lock the door and say, "I got this" … and my God I love it. Sometimes they exhaust me and make me feel old, but most of the time they rejuvenate me, they give me purpose, they give me life.

 I walk into the school, half the lights are on, half are off. I turn on my laptop — the once relished tool has transformed into a despised burden. Daily lessons are posted, some assignments come in, the odd email question from a kid, a faithful two or three check in daily in the Google classroom. Many, many online Google meetings every day, keeping busy is not an issue, I am busier than ever. But I didn't sign up for this, none of us did. I long for the recent past, one of energy, human interaction, LIFE. I miss the smiles, the hugs, the fist bumps, all that was, before everything changed.

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