Looking Back on 2020

Over the last couple of weeks, I’ve started looking back on 2020. There were things that were disappointing, frustrating, and angering, but Ian and I have found ourselves in a place to be grateful; we both still have our jobs, and we didn’t lose any close family members to Covid. (As a side note, my great-aunt Margaret did pass away from Covid on December 24^th, and we lost another friend this last week who died of a different cause. We have experienced sadness this year ourselves, but not in an earth-shattering way, and our hearts go out to those who experienced deep tragedy. We know first-hand what it is to lose one’s livelihood and to lose a family member to an early death, but those happened to us in other years.)

The difficulties and challenges we faced this year brought us closer to God and each other. I have often jokingly described this as a character-building year, which is an interesting phenomenon, because most of the experiences which have built up my faith and character I would never have chosen to go through, even with the promise of coming out a better, stronger person on the other side. And yet God uses those things to show me both His goodness and the kindness and the love of my fellow human beings. So I think that’s what it means to thank God IN all things, even when I can’t thank Him FOR all things.

In February of this year, Ian and I had attempted to give up some of our favorite things for Lent, but then after a couple weeks, both quit our fasts because they didn’t seem meaningful like they had the year before. We talked to each other about this strange failure of fasting to focus our attention on God, and then suddenly, in the middle of March, the world shut down and we were forced to give up most of the things that were filling our days. 

Ian traveled for work in 2019, I work full-time, and the girls are in school. We do a lot with our church. We have a lot of people in our lives whom we love very much and see often. These things are great, but by the end of 2019 I was burnt out from being busy. I missed my family deeply; I felt like I never had enough time with my daughters. Every commitment on the calendar felt like a burden, and yet it didn’t feel like there was anything we could cut out.

Then suddenly, Ian and I were both working from home and our girls were doing online school at home, and all calendar commitments disappeared. I was able to reconnect with my family in ways that were challenging and rewarding. I got to know my daughters’ scholastic abilities even better and taught them how to do certain chores, and enjoyed having amounts of time with them that I hadn’t had since they were very little. Ian and I grew closer by actually disagreeing about stuff and having to work through it together, no longer able to avoid spousal conflicts that were usually “resolved” by the fact that we were both out of the house so much.

I’ve tried to spend this year focusing on the silver linings. In 2019 I desired to have a better prayer life, and in 2020 I found myself with time to read the Bible more deeply and slowly, to read Prayer by Tim Keller, which had been on my reading list for a while, and to put into practice some of his tips on developing a prayer life. The restrictions of this year cut out many distractions, which helped me invest more effort into my relationship with God. I can honestly say that God has been with me all of 2020; I have felt His peace on me in times of gratitude, fear, uncertainty, anger, unrest, and amazement at both the best and worst of humanity.

Back in March and April, I remember watching (online) in wonder as parts of the planet started to heal, the water and air cleaning themselves up through natural mechanisms when travel was shut down; as families suddenly had more time together, and as people were kinder to each other online and expressed appreciation for doctors, nurses, teachers, and grocery-store employees. 

Even when things got extremely ugly, when George Floyd was killed, I watched as people had both the time and a lack of distractions to push for greater change in societal racism, and people who had denied its continued existence in the United States recognized it as more extensive and insidious than they had thought. There is a new push for racial unity and reconciliation within the church which I have not seen in the past.

All the things that had taken up so much time were gone, and we appreciated more the few things that remained. We talked to family members on the phone and live-streamed church (I honestly remember a thrill of joy at seeing my pastor’s face and the building behind him—FINALLY!—after what was actually only the first week of quarantine). We had time to read books and do puzzles. Getting a haircut or ordering take-out suddenly became more meaningful when local community members’ livelihoods depended on it. I gained a new appreciation for things I had taken for granted before: the joy of a face-to-face conversation with a friend, better on FaceTime or Zoom than on the phone and better in person than on Zoom. Now I love seeing entire faces when possible, uncovered by masks. I have a new appreciation for a loud classroom full of talking students, because these days my students are few, are separated by six feet of empty space, are mostly silent. 

I am waiting for the world to go back to normal because of these things that I miss. I can’t wait to have all the people I love over to my house for a barbecue once this is all past us, though I wonder how long it will take before most people feel comfortable with large gatherings again. I have friends who can’t wait to get back to concerts, and others who can’t wait to get back to sporting events, and others who can’t wait to travel whenever and wherever. Honestly, what I am looking forward to the most is being able to play interactive, no-distance, community-building games with my students. Yet I recognize that even though these things are good, they are luxuries. Some people have much greater needs for a more normal society; the drop in reporting for child abuse troubles me, as does the lack of community and community resources for addicts. Privately, I mourn for all the people whose 2020 has been much worse than mine. 

Lent, in the past, has helped focus my attention on God and on my dependence upon Him, and this year I am seeing some of the similar side-effects to what happens when I fast during Lent. I have a new appreciation for things I take for granted, simply because I can’t have them. I pray more and turn to God when I realize my lack of control over the world around me. Sometimes, in moments of desperately missing whatever it is I am fasting from, I get angry, or simply mope. This year, I have had moments of private fits of anger over things I want to do and cannot do. But, as during Lent, the unimportant and little things gradually become less important and I realize the importance of the two great commands: loving God and loving my neighbor. Nothing else lasts. Other things in this life that are important, such as healthcare, education, social justice, economic prosperity, etc., exist, or should exist, to do one or the other: love God and love our neighbor. And in a year when so many of my neighbors, those in the worldwide human community, are hurting, I am ready for it to be over. At the same time, I feel grateful for its lessons, for this chance to rest and let the important things come back into focus so that in the future, I can hopefully do a better job of loving God and loving my neighbor.

Letter to Washoe County School District Board of Trustees

Dear Board of Trustees,

My name is Melissa Bullard and I teach high school Spanish for WCSD. I want to thank you for your efforts to safely reopen our Washoe County schools. The challenges are unprecedented and there is no solution that will satisfy all parties involved; it is difficult to balance the risks from Covid-19 with the risks for our students' education since we are not able to proceed as normal. I have read over the presentation to the board and I have a few questions and suggestions. My perspective is that of a high school teacher (I teach Spanish) and a mother of elementary-school aged students.

First, I am in favor of the proposed model for two reasons: 1), because I do not believe that Covid poses a great risk to most elementary-aged children and 2), if I am going to do my job this year, I need child care for my daughters. Everything I have read seems to suggest (though it is not yet proven) that children contract Covid at lower rates, have fewer serious symptoms when they do contract it, and even seem less likely to transmit it to adults. (See https://www.cdc.gov/coronavirus/2019-ncov/daily-life-coping/children.html, https://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/coronavirus/in-depth/coronavirus-in-babies-and-children/art-20484405, https://www.statnews.com/2020/06/18/how-likely-are-kids-to-get-covid-19-scientists-see-a-huge-puzzle-without-easy-answers/, and https://www.npr.org/sections/goatsandsoda/2020/06/20/880983822/coronavirus-mystery-are-kids-less-likely-to-catch-it-than-adults-are.)

Additionally, while some lament that schools are used as child care in our country, the fact is that there are no systems in place that offer full-day childcare for kids my daughters' age. (Even if there were, I don't see how those would be advantageous because my daughters would still be around large groups of kids; it would simply be a different group of kids.) I am fortunate enough that if I cannot send my daughters to school, my husband's job could support us financially for a year and I could homeschool. Many teachers do not have that luxury, and if all teachers who have elementary-aged children at home quit their jobs to homeschool (or simply because it's better than hiring a full-time nanny), the District will have a severe teacher shortage this year.

Second, please consider whether there is a way that we can reopen in line with the proposed plan but allow teachers (as well as families) to opt in to a Distance-Learning-only model. Many of my colleagues are in higher-risk age categories, have autoimmune conditions that put them at greater risk, or simply feel the risk is too high. Could we not allow these teachers to opt in to leading and running Distance Learning? If you support their learning and training and give them time to adapt to a Distance Learning model, as well as any additional training they need to possibly expand their own knowledge (as they might have to teach subjects or grades that are not their original area of expertise), they would have a higher chance of being able to provide a high-quality education to students who are learning from home. Teachers who are uncomfortable returning to the classroom may retire early or move on to other jobs, and once again, we will have a severe teacher shortage.

Third, as you make plans, please be aware that we will need a way to recruit more substitute teachers and make attendance policies and teacher sick leave policies more lenient. My husband's job is such that if one of my kids gets sick, I will most likely have to be the one staying home with them. If the quarantine period is fourteen days (and I have two daughters), that means that if my daughters or I were to display symptoms of Covid-19 and I had to be out on sick leave, that could potentially be up to 42 days that I would take off as sick days. In the meantime, I could probably still help my students with their Distance Learning work, but I would be unable to teach at my school.

Fourth, although the proposed High School Learning model looks like the best option for students at this point, please be aware of what teachers can reasonably be expected to do. Page 51 of the proposed High School Learning Model states that for Distance Learning, "Instruction will be supported daily by qualified certified teachers." This is fine depending on what you mean by daily support; if daily support is a quick post on Teams to check in with students, a meaningful homework assignment to be collected and or graded later, and time spent briefly answering a few student emails, that is doable. However, if I am teaching my regularly-scheduled classes during the day (at half-capacity for student safety) and utilizing my normal prep period for planning instruction, grading and giving feedback on student work, participating in IEP meetings, answering emails, participating in PLC activities, etc., I will not be able to offer meaningful feedback or interact fully with my students who are doing Distance Learning for that day. Last time I checked, I have 163 students on my rosters for next year, meaning that for every day that I am teaching 80 or so kids in-person, I will also need to somehow engage the 80 or so online. It will not be possible to have meaningful interactions with all of them within contract hours, and grading, planning, implementing, emails, etc. already take several hours beyond my contract hours every day.

Fifth, on page 15 of the proposed model, under the "Safety & Health" category, it says "Staff may be asked to engage in duties not typically associated with their professional positions." What exactly does this mean? Typically, I already do spend some time wiping down often-touched surfaces with Clorox wipes or doing other minor cleaning that my room needs. But you are already asking the high school teachers to do additional Distance Learning work for a hybrid model and, as I mentioned before, my duties during a normal work week extend far beyond my contract hours every day. Asking teachers to also take over the work of custodians is not reasonable.

Sixth, if students 10 and over are required to wear masks, what will disciplinary policies be for students who arrive without a mask, refuse to wear a mask, repeatedly forget to put their mask on, wear it incorrectly (after instruction on how to wear it), etc.? There are a few students who become belligerent and disrupt the learning environment over minor issues, and teachers often bear the brunt of having to manage those issues, either because District policies or their school admin do not support the teacher's authority in the classroom. In this case, it is District and State authority that will be challenged, but teachers will be the ones enforcing the rules. How do you plan to support teachers as they deal with these students? If you don't issue real consequences swiftly, it sends the message that either A), the District doesn't actually care about student/teacher safety or B), the risk is not so great and therefore wearing masks isn't actually necessary in the school setting.

I know that you have an extremely difficult task ahead of you and please know that I am fully committed to learning and adapting to new models of teaching within what I am physically capable of doing and what is best for my family, and I know that many teachers feel the same way. But we will need support and flexibility from District Admin, just as we teachers must be supportive and flexible toward our students.

Thank you for your time.

Sincerely,
Melissa Bullard

The Night Before School Starts

I love the night before school starts. 

I love that a whole year of possibilities lies ahead.

There will be new students, who are delightful in their individuality. There never were two persons exactly alike, and by teaching, I get to see a microcosm of developing humanity.

There will be new content challenges, which will make me a better teacher because I will have to solve new problems and figure out how to help my students develop their language skills, both in breadth and depth, in the best possible and most fun way.

There will be new challenging students, whom I may come to dread seeing every day, but who will ultimately make me a better teacher because I will learn and develop strategies for dealing with difficult behaviors.

There will be new victories, where I will keep working with a student who A), doesn't like me or the class, B), isn't motivated to learn at all, or C), is motivated and works hard, but just can't seem to keep up with his or her classmates. We will struggle along for a few months, and then, sometimes slowly and sometimes seemingly overnight, things will change. A joke or a comment will reveal that we've finally made a connection; a student will start putting effort in and will see positive results; or suddenly things will click and I will start realizing that a student's work is much higher-quality than it was before (sometimes this arouses suspicions of cheating, so I always pay attention to what they are able to do in front of me without help, and when it turns out that things really have finally clicked, it is the best feeling).

There will be growth, where a student will present in front of the class, write a paper, have a spontaneous conversation with a classmate, read an article, or comprehend a video, and I will be amazed and proud at what they are able to do in Spanish. 

There will be clean whiteboards, which will be written on erased countless times, and new school supplies, which will slowly get used up and fade as the school year goes on.

There will be new strategies to try, some of which will work wonderfully to increase student learning or engagement, some of which will need to be adjusted a few times, because they show promise but aren't working quite yet, and some will be tried and then dropped with no plans to try again next year. 

There are always new coworkers, some of whom will join my circle of friends and become sounding boards, outlets for venting, cheerleaders, or even someone I can go to in tears.

There will also be a lot of difficult things. There will be rebellious, hateful, and rude students. There will be ridiculous, bureaucratic requirements delivered from the school district and the legislature, which will take up hours of my time and have little to no impact on student learning. There will be days where classes will drag on, where my students stare at me dully and never seem to become interested, where I will realize, in the middle of an activity, that it's not working AT ALL, but I have no backup plan, and my attempts at improvisation will fall short. There will be times when I come down harshly on a student and realize I should have been more patient, and I will have to apologize, and other times when I will realize I should have addressed a particular behavior and didn't, and will stay awake at night thinking about how to handle it if it comes up again. There may be some calls to CPS. There will be days where I cry and days where I decide I have to quit teaching (I usually have about one per month).

However, I will keep coming back, and things will get better, or even if they don't, I will figure out a way to deal with it. I think that the most successful and long-lasting teachers have a few things in common. One is a genuine desire to help students, another is the ability to wear rose-colored glasses. To not wear down, you have to always be looking on the bright side, always think that problems can be solved, always come back ready to do better tomorrow, always hold out hope that that one student WILL learn, that you are making a difference, that that kid will, whatever the reason behind their misbehavior, begin to treat the people around them better - you just have to figure out a way to make it work. If I got to a point where I were not able to focus on the good, and find ways to minimize the bad, I would have to find a different job. Like any job where you're dealing with humanity, there's a lot of bad, places where our fallen natures are evident. It's not that teachers refuse to see reality (if we didn't, we couldn't teach students where they are at); I think that it's that teachers also are always seeking the potential good and ways to help their students arrive at where they could be.

But also, like any job where you're dealing with humanity, you also get to see all the good, the places where the image of God is found in humanity, via altruism, kindness, humor, growth and learning, friendship, connection, courage, determination, perseverance, honesty, and creativity.

It's those things I look forward to seeing throughout the year, and I'm not thinking about the bad yet, which is why I love the night before school.

Growing a Growth Mindset

Back in December, Ian asked me a question: "What do you feel like you learned this last year?"

I didn't have to think about it long; there was a consistent theme running throughout the last year (or even year and a half) of my life. I blogged about this in November of 2017, when I wrote about what had been my most difficult class period at the beginning of the school year, and how through consistency and persistence and a lot of prayer and grace, it was transformed into one of my favorite classes. Having a growth mindset, and believing that goals can be attained, has been a relatively new perspective for me to take (and continue to take) over the last year.

I have always been tempted to give up things; I tend focus on the process over the results. While emphasizing one over the other is probably not healthy for anyone, my tendency to focus mostly on the process meant that I wasted a lot of time, experienced a lot of false starts, and was left feeling a sense of frustration and powerlessness over my own life. Whether a goal was related to parenting, teaching, cleaning, writing, planning, organizing, or even awkward conversations in relationships, I would back down at any point where I felt uncomfortable (physically, spiritually, emotionally, etc.), became bored, lacked inspiration (fun is probably my biggest motivator), or experienced pain or setbacks. Again, this led to a lot of stops and starts when it came to friendships, parenting goals, teaching goals, writing, and even things like cleaning my house.

So, the word that came to mind when Ian asked me what I had learned was push. The theme for this year has been sticking with things even when they are difficult. Whether dealing with difficult students individually, managing an entire classroom of difficult behaviors, reaching my own personal goals (reading the Bible, writing, learning to play a new song on the piano), or even exercising, I have learned that setbacks, failures, challenges, fear, and weakness are not reasons to give up. My own complacency and fear have been giving way over the last year or so to more of a growth mindset: add the word "yet" to anything that you think you can't do, and if it's important to you, work hard at making it happen.

Most importantly, I learned that for someone like me, to whom perseverance doesn't always come naturally, there are specific ways I can increase my likelihood of persevering at perseverance.

For one, I learned to get better at seeking accountability. Although I am an introvert, socializing has always been a motivator, plus I hate letting people down. So I joined a gym and a kickboxing class and met up with friends to walk. Obviously, the accountability related my job was simply the fact that I like doing my job well AND I didn't want to get fired. When I wanted to grow professionally, I submitted presentation proposals and volunteered for specific responsibilities at my school. Whether or or not we were doing Bible study, we had particular friends with whom we ate dinner almost every Thursday evening, simply because they were our friends. The study was optional, but we were committed to having dinner and enjoying each other's company. Planning ahead of time to do things with certain people helped me stick to my goals, and an unexpected bonus that was probably the most rewarding was that my friendships deepened as a result. (It seems so obvious now when I write it.)

Another thing I learned to do was turn off my constantly-objecting self-talk. I tend to process internally, so there are myriad thoughts swirling around in my mind at one time. I found it was amazing what I could accomplish when I refused to listen the whining, complaining, or lazy parts of my brain. In order to do this, I often had to replace the questions with more motivating self-talk, or even try to trick myself ("if you do three more squats, you can stop... okay, three more... okay, now just try three more..."). Overthinking, for me, was leading to under-doing, and I was tired of it.

I was truly proud of some of the things I accomplished or the positive results that came to me. I was learning to do things that weren't natural. As a teacher, I got much better at consistency and issuing consequences, and my most difficult classes either became my favorite classes or plunged me into a depth of strength that I didn't know was there. When I worked out, I discovered that pushing my muscles harder and experiencing pain meant a blissful rush of endorphins and peaceful relaxation at the end. Plus, every week I was able to move more, lift more, reach a higher number of reps. As a friend, I discovered that time together and commitment to meeting with others meant that my friendships were deeper than they had been in years. Getting to know people can be awkward and there are strained moments, but when you find someone who seems like your kind of person, planning regular times with those people and doing things with them leads to developing friendships. Making friendships in high school was easy for me, and as some friends moved away or we got busy with life, I let some of those friendships slip, which was a mistake on my part. Going back to working at friendships has given me people in my life with whom I can relate, share feelings, discuss struggles, ask for for advice, get help, give help, and just feel valued as a human being.

Eventually, it all becomes whatever is the opposite of a vicious cycle (A Happy Cycle? A Self-Rewarding Cycle?). After accountability and perseverance have done their work and you see the rewards of pushing through, it becomes easier to push the next time because rather than thinking only of the "should," or visualizing an imaginary end in sight, you have actual positive memories of the last time that you succeeded because you didn't let yourself quit. Each new success, even small ones, builds up to become reasons you should keep going next time you're facing a challenge. Self-discipline is so difficult, but building up positive memories of results has become a huge motivator in my own life.

So, even though my lazy side dislikes challenges, ultimately I am thankful that God brings these challenges into my life. It would be so much easier to never have to grow, to never be stretched out by life and experience the pain of dealing with difficulties. Yet my biggest personal growth and the achievements of which I am most proud were won through overcoming the biggest challenges. It can hurt to grow, but there is a certain joy at new heights that isn't experienced any other way.

Going Home

A couple weekends ago, I got the opportunity to travel to Santa Fe, New Mexico, to present at and attend the Southwest Conference on Language Teaching (SWCOLT), and what surprised me the most was how much going to New Mexico felt like going home.

Mind you, I haven't lived in New Mexico since I was six months old (I was born there as a fourth-generation New Mexican). After living in Washington, my family moved to a small town in northeastern Arizona (Many Farms) when I was seven years old and didn't move away until I was twelve, so my older elementary years, which I have often heard are some of the most formative years, were spent living on the Navajo Reservation. I remember being surrounded by red desert and sandstone mesas, with the rare rivers and streams lined by poplar or cottonwood trees. My mom's family lived next door in New Mexico, and the nearest Wal-Mart, library, and other stores were also located in New Mexico, in Gallup and Farmington, so approximately once a week we would drive to one of those places to take advantage of their libraries and stores with a wider selection. We would often travel to Albuquerque to my aunt's house for Easter and to Las Cruces to my grandparents' house for Christmas, as well as random visits in between.

I haven't been back to Arizona since I was twelve, and I've traveled to New Mexico a handful of times to visit my grandparents since then. I mostly consider myself a Reno-ite now, having lived here longer than any other place, though I would qualify that I am not from here. I didn't realize how many aspects of the Southwest sank into my soul and my identity as a kid until I came back for the conference and felt an aching joy in my heart at being reunited with things I didn't know I was missing.

Random resurfacing memories brought back feelings of home. There is a statue in the Albuquerque airport called Dream of Flight, with an indigenous man running after an eagle, poised as if the eagle is just about to lift him away from the earth. The statue is vibrant; the man's face looks like a mixture of longing as he watches the eagle and hope as his feet seem like they are just about to leave the ground. I was so happy to be reunited with that statue, even though I had forgotten its existence; it reminded me of my childhood and all the times we picked up and dropped off family members at the airport.

I saw Spanish names everywhere: Bernalillo county and Sandoval county and Santa Fe and Santo Domingo Pueblo; Rio Rancho and Los Lunas; as well as names that were references to the many indigenous tribes that now live in the region: Zia, Hopi, Navajo, Pueblo, Anasazi; beautiful words that had slipped from my consciousness over the years.

Once we were in Santa Fe, adobe-style buildings were everywhere, solid reddish-brown buildings and flat roofs with wooden beams poking out the sides. Some walkways were lined with luminarias, as well as the roofs of some buildings. Most churches are Spanish-mission style.

Geometric designs on Navajo rugs and imitations of those geometric designs covered floors as carpets, walls as art, and even as designs in granite patterns built into countertops at restaurants. I saw a lot of pottery for sale with similar geometric patterns and figures of kachina dancers, as well as images of Kokopelli playing the flute. Turquoise as the semi-precious stone of choice adorned jewelry, belts, and scarves.

New Mexican food was the best; I could get green and red chile, and it was all the exact flavor and amount of heat with which I grew up. I could get chile rellenos perfectly breaded and stuffed with cheese (no meat or beans, which are a travesty to this New Mexican). The burritos rightly used potatoes as filler, rather than rice or beans. The posole was good and I had hot, thick, soft sopapillas drenched in honey, just like I remembered eating in restaurants in Albuquerque as a kid. Green chile was an option in everything, from wedge salads to Hollandaise sauce to scones.

What was so odd at first was that I felt like I found a missing piece of me. The different elements that don't really co-exist in the same way outside the Southwest - ubiquitous Spanish, Native American designs, turquoise, people of a variety of ethnicities (in particular, European, indigenous, and Hispanic), bright sunshine and clear skies, and certain geometric patterns - have a specific place in my heart, and being there filled that place that I didn't know was missing anything. It was odd to me to feel such a connection, because at this point, I have lived in Reno for nineteen years, and I never lived in the Southwest as an adult. All those things I recognized were simply memories from my childhood. Because I moved around so much as a kid, I never really felt like I was "from" any particular place. But being in Santa Fe made me feel like I had gone home.

I always have a let-down feeling at the end of a trip, but this time it was much harder to come back. I don't think it was being tired, or coming off the high of traveling, or going back to daily life after the fun of a professional conference and doing something different. I think it was that I rediscovered part of my personal story, my heritage, and my heart's home, and leaving it was saying goodbye all over again.