This is the Song that Never Ends...

When my children were young, they delighted in singing Lamb Chop’s “This is the song that never ends; it goes on and on, my friends…” to torment me. I would put my hands over my ears, crying, “La,la,la, la, la” until they stopped.  I loved Lamb Chop. I hated that song.  

Recently, however, those lyrics are floating through my head again during endless Zoom meetings as my remarkable team and I—not an epidemiologist among us—struggle to determine the very best plan and the multiple scenarios required for returning to school.  I feel the weight of wanting to make the best decision—for all of us—and I feel the weight of our collective uncertainty.

“I read a study that says transmission between children and teachers is low,” one team member offers.

“I read a study about two teachers who died because they shared spaces” another says.

The research is new.  The disease is new.  Everyone has an opinion.  Our meetings have never been longer nor less productive.  People need to be able to talk, to process, to ruminate.  One colleague, the mother of three daughters, told me that she changes her mind about whether or not she wants her daughters back in school in person several times a day.  We are weary.  We are schoolteachers; for most of us, that means we are accustomed to being in control and to knowing what will happen next.  Against the backdrop of a global pandemic, our expertise melts away. 

“Denmark never closed schools and they are fine,” one teacher, excited about returning to the classroom,  offers.

“Israel re-opened schools and it was a disaster,” my own daughter, a Lower School teacher, worried about returning to her own school, announces at dinner.

We go round and round. I have Covid 19 fatigue, which is a privilege compared having to the real illness. But I am spending all day on this disease, and it creeps into my dreams as well. This is the song that never ends…

We are a nation of individuals who resist, somehow, sacrificing our individual rights on behalf of the whole. Americans don’t like to be told that we must all pull together and wear masks, no matter what, to get through this storm.  Where is Churchill, I wonder, who inspired the British in the midst of the Blitz?  Where is FDR, reassuring us with his Fireside Chats that we would manage in the dark days of the same war? Where is the Queen, who elderly and in her solid colored coats and hats, still summons a calm and majesty that I find comforting?  Where is John Lewis, who wrote to us after his death to implore us to do the right thing? I do not feel tall enough to possess sufficient gravitas to quiet all the fears so many feel. I feel humble.  I have been a Head for a long time.  I enjoy the support of my board; I know the talent and dedication of my splendid leadership team. Our faculty and staff are the best—so committed and willing and creative and optimistic.  Our parents believe in us and trust us to care for their children.  Our girls (and very small boys) are magnificent.  We are a school of superlatives.  And yet, this summer, we are all singing the song that never ends. 

I speak with heads of school around the country; we compare notes, share communications, ask one another new questions that pop into our heads…the questions are endless and unresolved.  We go round and round, more and more tired as the weeks pass, the start of school draws nearer.

 Here is what we know:

 ·      We all wish we could be back in school.

·      School will not look or be the same for girls or for teachers.

·      We all mourn that. We liked school last year.  We want to be able to have that experience again.

·      It is not easy to do a reading conference with a first grader when we have to be six feet apart and masked. 

·      But masks and physical distancing and hand washing are our defense against illness.

·      Young children do not and should not and cannot thrive forever with on-line learning as the only option.

·      But children are more resilient than adults.

·      Part of why last spring worked as well as it did in our school was that children and teachers had known each other for six months. 

·      If we have to start online, it will be harder to help our new students feel connected, but we determined to do just that.

·      Our plan is an excellent one.  We are so fortunate to have space and resources and huge flexibility.

·      If the public schools all close, our wise medical advisory panel believes we should close, too.  So do I.  But there are families who don’t want that.

·      Teachers are afraid of getting sick.

·      We wish there was a vaccine and that everyone had to have it before anyone returned to school.

·      We wish our state and county had managed to bring down the number of new Covid19 cases each day.

·      We know families rely on school not only for an education but also for childcare so parents can go back to work . 

·      Masks are not a political issue; they are a safety issue.  And everyone in our school, from Kindergarten up, must wear them if they come to school.

·      What we understand about symptoms continues to evolve.

·      Teachers have always been superheroes about getting girls to wash their hands.

·      Teachers are superheroes.  Full stop.

We wonder why it’s a good idea to send children and teachers to school when many of the parents in our school will continue to work from home until the new year.  We wonder if a delay in our in-person start could help?  Might the number of positive cases begin to decline?  We wonder what happens if an asymptomatic child infects a teacher?  What would the impact be on our school community if someone died?  It would be horrific. 

We are a resilient school.  We cope with hard things and manage them.  We can manage.  We will manage.  But the days are long.  I worry about girls who rely on our school for breakfast and lunch.  I worry about how our teachers will cope. What is the impact of all this worry on their families, on their children?   I worry about families who, at the 11th hour, decide to hire a tutor and pull their children from our school when we have counted on their tuitions to pay the salaries of faculty to whom we made a commitment last March.  I worry that everyone is afraid and there are no risk-free, perfect options. 

This is the time to tell you that most of the time, I am a professional optimist.  I do not scare easily.  I am not afraid for my own health.  I am ready.  

Yet, this is the song that never ends.  It goes on and on, my friends. It is hard to turn off Lamb Chop’s lyrics, once they are in my head.  How about you?