EDUCATION
Quitting in the Time of COVID
After 13 years of teaching, I think I’m leaving the classroom for good this time.
There is a cruelty in not knowing you’re experiencing something for the last time. The last time you’ll ever pick up your ever-growing child. The last time you’re hugging your mom. The last time you’ll be standing in a classroom teaching your heart out.
I grew up in a family of teachers. My dad taught high school French for forty years before retiring. My mother, after selling the bridal shop she owned and ran with my aunt, became a teacher. My uncle Frank, my dad’s brother was a high school teacher for many years in Canada, and several aunts and uncles on both sides of my family who live in Italy were also teachers. I always joke that teaching is in my blood, and honestly, it’s hard to say that it’s not given the many branches on my family tree that have made teaching their career.
When we lived in Montreal, my father installed a giant (well, it seemed giant to my little kid self) chalkboard in our garage, which he’d also converted into a music studio for himself. There was cushy 80s beige-yellow carpet and the walls were carpeted, too. My dad’s band used to practice there, but more importantly, that space was my make-believe classroom. I’d line my Barbie dolls and…
