Attitude

The last few days in the classroom before school was canceled due to the spread of COVID-19 were
both scary and odd. Teachers are no first responders or frontline soldiers. However, our job is unique
because, in times of distress, everyone’s kids look at us for guidance and support. It doesn’t really
matter what we say or what we teach during these times. What matters is how we act. 

You could feel the eyes of the students. “Is this okay?” They were wondering. With every frantic parent
coming to pick up their kid early, the kids left behind looked to see how you’d react. “Stay calm, Mike.”
I thought in my head. “Why are so many teachers out?” They asked. If you know the truth, do you
share it? You don’t want kids to panic but you also know they can sniff out a lie. There’s a student
having a nervous breakdown in the hallway. He’s being tended to. Just walk by. Everything’s fine. At
the end of the day, you pass out some more handouts from the State of Illinois and Chicago Public
Schools to take home. “This is important information” I declare. In reality, this information completely
contradicts the papers I handed out yesterday because the virus is spreading so fast that the information
changes hourly. However, that doesn’t matter because no one reads them anyway. 

My first week of teaching was September 11, 2001. I’ve taught typing and English classes in the jungle
by candlelight. I taught through the New York City Transit Strike in 2005. I taught through a lockdown
after a man was shot by police right in front of my school in Baltimore. I’ve been on both sides of student
walkouts and teacher strikes. There have been countless social upheavals and weather-related
disasters over my career. However, I must say that teaching while COVID-19 extended its grip on the
US was more challenging than the rest. 

What made it more challenging was the unknown. Teachers are supposed to know things. If we don’t
know them we are supposed to be confident that we will get the answer in due time. This break in the
norm was stressful for students. They would ask simple questions like, “Is school going to be canceled
the rest of the week?” And all I could tell them was “I don’t know.” “What about spring sports?” They’d
continue. “No one knows” I would respond. It was eerie. When classes ended for the day I air high-fived
everyone and told them I’ll see them when I see them. When they left they didn’t celebrate as they do
when leaving for winter or spring break. They just walked out in a daze.          

I was in a daze too so I decided to take a walk. I never do this. Maybe I should more often, but this
was a first. I walked through bungalow-lined streets to a city park and strolled around the park. There
were a few people out. I raised my gaze to greet people as they passed, and I remember that look.
Fear. Was it them? Was it me? Was the fear perceived or real? It felt real. It reminded me of the days
after September 11th. People were scared. Were we at war? With whom? Will there be more attacks?
The unknown gripped us then as it does now. 

As I continued my walk, I came across one man sitting on a park bench smoking a hand-rolled cigarette.
He had a lot of bags with him and looked like he might be homeless. His face was tattooed, though I
couldn’t make out the specifics of the tattoo. He greeted me more spirited than the rest. “Hello, sir!
How are you doing?” I guess my formal schoolwear and dark black peacoat demanded the “sir” title,
because looking at his age, I guessed we were contemporaries. I replied back, slowing my pace a bit,
“I’m better now that it stopped snowing”. (I wasn’t outside when it was snowing, not that I even would
have minded the snow anyway. It was just the first thing that came to mind.) “How about yourself?”
I chirped out as I was about to walk past him. “Good,” He said. “Just sitting here watching the birds.”
I glanced to my left to an open baseball field. There were dozens of robins hopping around in the field
pecking at the brown grass, presumably feeding. I hadn’t noticed before. 

I kept my gaze at the birds as I walked past the man. My first thought was a pretentious type of jealousy.
“Must be nice to not have to worry about anything and just watch birds in the park. Doesn’t he know
there’s a pandemic crippling the city?” I walked on and kept thinking about the man and the birds. I
started to question my bias. “How do I know that he doesn’t know about the pandemic? There were a
lot of birds in that field; why didn’t I see them before he pointed them out?” The man reminded me of
something I know but too often forget. I have control over my thoughts and feelings. It seems
obvious, but at times like these, I lose that control. The outside world too often dictates how I think and
feel. What I consume in the media, hear from my friends and family, or experience at work or elsewhere
consumes me. But why should it? 

When I was in high school I read Viktor Frankl’s “Man’s Search for Meaning.” Frankl was a Holocaust
survivor who wrote about his experiences. I still remember a quote from that book. 

The last of human freedoms is to choose one’s attitude    

I remember being awed by this idea. At first, I questioned if this was possible. “How could a man in a
concentration camp choose his attitude?” But then I thought about it and agreed. “Why couldn’t he?
How could anyone stop him?” I distinctly remember thinking that if he could do it then and there, then
I should be able to do it anytime anywhere. 

I don’t know what the man watching the robins knew about COVID-19. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t
change the fact that I didn't notice all the robins hopping around in that field. My head was too filled with
student questions, my own questions, media reports, school updates, and loads of other “important
information.” I had lost the “last of human freedoms”. My attitude was chosen for me until I saw the
robins and woke up. Nothing in my life actually changed at that moment. COVID-19 was still there.
The questions were still unanswered. The only thing that changed was my attitude. However, that’s
everything. 

Now, I’m quarantined. The governor of Illinois has ordered me to “shelter in place.” I’m here with my
wife, three children, and the freedom to choose my own attitude.