A Year Ago Today: Going into Lockdown Because of the Coronavirus Outbreak in the United States (and the World)

When is the last time you used a working payphone? How sure are you that you can find one if your mobile phone goes dead? Do you have a quarter in your pocket?

Greig Roselli poses for the one-year anniversary of living through Covid-19 in these United States.

One Year Ago Today

Today is March 12th in the Year of Our Lord Twenty Twenty-One. Last year today, I was in a faculty meeting. "We’re not closing school," they said. By Sunday, we were in lockdown. And the rest is history.

I feel like I’m living through a historic moment like folks who lived through the Great Depression and hoarded pennies in their mattresses.

What Will Future Generations Say?

Future generations will ask, "What were the Twenty-Twenties like?" My friend Amira’s child, who is now ten months old, will want to know what he did during the quarantine. "Mostly eat and sleep," Mom will say. "But it was a long time before you saw real people besides the doctors who birthed you and us." And Sam will say, "OK. I survived a global pandemic."

Recognizing That This is a Deadly Virus

As of today, 532,466 people have died in the United States; and worldwide, over 2.5 million people have perished. I recognize I’m privileged because I’m vaccinated and generally healthy (although I need to lay off the potato chips and ranch dressing). The pandemic has disproportionately hit the most vulnerable of society. I realize I’m in-person with students — so there’s always a risk I can be infected. But think about folks who work essential jobs and live in small apartments where everyone is working, coming into contact with many people. I can slink away to the haven of a more-or-less safe space in my apartment.

I think this global crisis has revealed just how fragile the ties that bind are. I’m grateful for today. I mourn those lost to Covid-19, and I’m hopeful for the future.

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First Days of School in the Covid-19 Era — Report from a High School English Teacher

Some schools have already been back in session for three weeks now and New York City Public schools have not even started but in our small school in Jackson Heights — we just started this past week. Here's my first day of school report — 2020 edition.

Deep Thought Freeze Frame on Zoom

"I think she's in deep thought," a curly-haired kid in the front row said. "But's she's been like that for a long time." I checked the computer screen — a laptop on the teacher's desk where I could see kids that were learning remotely from home. "Can she hear us?" I asked. ""I think she's frozen, Mr. Roselli." And sure enough, she was. Whatever she needed to say was caught out of joint, still. 

That's a snapshot of my first couple of days back at school. I am a high school English teacher at a private school in New York City. About twelve percent of the school has chosen to go remote. The rest of us are at school, wearing masks, properly podded in classrooms, with orchestrated arrival and dismissal times, lunch delivered to classrooms, temperature checks, and everyone in the building has been tested for Covid-19.

A Kind Eighth Grader and a Lesson on Lipids

I start my day before school checking my devices, making sure I don't have a laptop or Chromebook at a low battery level. "Make the first days of school fun," a friend says. But it doesn't feel fun. The excitement of the first day lost its allure this year. In homeroom, I take attendance, but I have to make sure the students who are learning remotely have logged on. Then I have a planning period in the morning. And then, I monitor the eighth-grade study hall. "How are you doing, Mr. Roselli?" one of the eighth-graders asked me, and my heart melts a little bit because I know this kid, and I was touched by her small gesture of empathy. She tells me in a free flow of words how her day has gone, her troubles with Google Classroom, and why soap and water kill the Coronavirus. The whole class then suddenly stops and listens as I give a deliberate explanation of how the cell wall of a coronavirus is made of a lipid layer — and that soap is basically a lipid — and when soap hits the surface of your skin, any virus material that may be on it gets canceled out by lipid action. Soap is basically fat. I say.

After lunch, I teach three classes back-to-back, and they are all in separate rooms with a different technology set-up. One place is near the main hallway, and it has a blackboard only, a teacher's desk that I won't need to use, a bunch of maps (that I won't use), and no smartboard. There's a laptop hooked up to the Internet, and I sign into the school Zoom account to admit the remote learners into the room. I tell the kids who are actually in the classroom, "While I set up Zoom open up Google Classroom on your device. Respond to the group discussion question, and we'll get started in five minutes." I had forgotten that over the Summer, I had made "podcasts" to go along with some of my lessons. I am kinda glad I did because it's given me a sense of control of my courses. One of my students, a quiet kid who always answers my questions correctly, but I cannot understand him (because he speaks very softly), is sitting in the front row listening to one of the podcasts. I hear my own voice emanate, and it feels surreal. "That's Mr. Roselli's voice. Do you like the sound of your own voice?" No, not really, I think to myself.

A Feeling of Split-Screen Reality

There's me in the room, kids in the room, devices, a chalkboard, kids on Zoom — and I forgot to take the daily attendance. So I open a new tab on the same laptop that's streaming the Zoom, and I realize I need to log-in again — but I don't have my password handy, so I take out my phone that has all of my passwords. But I am wearing a mask, and the phone prompts to login me in with face recognition. But I don't have time to lower my mask for the phone to capture an image of my face. So then I need to key in the phone's password. And by this time, I feel that tinge of stress that radiates from your neck down the small of your back. Too much cognitive functioning going on!

I jump back again to reality — by saying, "Let's talk about representation." A brunette girl who had been listening intently to my audio says, "Yeah. Like politics." And we talk about how senators or representatives represent us in Congress. But I explain that in Art History "representation" has a slightly different meaning. And then I feel like the class flow is streaming (and no one is frozen on Zoom). But then I want to show the class a painting of Pocahontas that was done in 1616 that depicts her as a European — when in fact, she was an indigenous person.

So I pull that up — but then I realize, "Wait. The kids at home cannot see it." So I need to share my screen. And then I feel stressed out again. For some reason, I cannot share my screen — and I promise to put the picture on Google Classroom later so everyone can see it. Later, when I add the graphics, I notice that in my Twelfth Grade English class a boy named Adam has posted, "Let's get it, Mr. R.! Keep it up with the same energy!" 

Why You Have So Many Websites?

If a kid thinks I have a surplus of energy, I think, let's get it, then. The last two periods of the day go well — it's sometimes funny to see how the kids on Zoom interact with the kids in the classroom. I make a joke with the class about how I feel like the kids on Zoom are not really real — because they are postage-stamp-sized moving images — a bit pixelated and blurry. But there are real kids in the room. And they are like kids. Feeling anxious and worried and also a bit expectant about the beginning of the school year.

I don't like this set-up. It makes me feel inadequate. It's a compromise — to open school, and to allow options for kids who want to stay at home. But it's going to run me down to the ground if I don't devise a plan.

So, first. I am going to keep up the idea of making podcasts. They are easy to make, and they help me as a teacher to organize my thoughts for each lesson. In March and April, I listened to a ton of podcasts, and they helped me get through the darker days of the pandemic. So I want to recreate that immersive experience of listening to someone's voice. 

"Why so many websites?" a sixteen-year-old boy asked me, with a tee-shirt that said "Phoenicia" on it. I didn't understand his question, so I asked him to explain. "Oh. He said. Like you have so many websites on your Google Classroom." I realized what he meant. I have a website for the class, and then there is the Google Classroom page, and I use Vocaroo for my podcasts, and Quizlet for flashcards and FlipGrid for presentations — it all becomes quite intense quickly. I’m suddenly feeling I could use a vacation in Phoenicia right about now.

Your Class Feels Like A Lot. Because It Is 

Over the Summer, I didn't know what I would be teaching until late August. And once I found out what my course load was to be, I immediately started planning the year. In the Eleventh Grade English class that I teach, I have thirteen weeks of material already set up. I thought it would make me feel organized — and it did! I do not regret doing it — but one of my students, an awesome kid, said, "You have thirteen weeks already set up. That's a lot. This class is going to be a lot."

And I guess she's right. It feels like a lot this year. That's why I had fun on Friday doing an activity where I had asked everyone to send me in advance a "fun fact" about themselves that no one knows about so we could share it in a fun lesson at school. "I have a Guinea Pig,"; "Follow me on YouTube,"; "I want to be a recording artist,"; "I want to be a Psychology and Business major,"; “I hiked the southern rim of the Grand Canyon when I was eleven.” — and I shared a story about my pet hamster named Hammy. We would take him outside, and he would eat the clover leaves until his cheeks were filled. And then out of nowhere, one of the kids on Zoom — which had been quiet most of the class period — piped up, "Now — you had a lawnmower as a kid!" Everyone started to laugh. "Yeah. He said. Your hamster was like a lawnmower!"

Ohhhhh, Girl!

And at dismissal, I heard a loud noise emanate from the street outside — it was the sound of a fire truck — and I yelped, "Ohhhh, girl." And one of the Eighth graders said, "When Mr. Roselli gets scared he goes like 'Ohhhh girl!'"

That made me so happy.

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Quotation: On the Process of Healing (And the Surprises of a Pandemic)

Time is usually the best medicine

— Ovid (43 B.C.E.-17 C.E.), Roman Poet

In this post, I get a little personal with Ovid's quote on time and healing.

A young boy dresses up as a physician for Halloween.

Is Ovid's Prescription for Healing On Point?

     Thank you, Ovid. You old miser of a poet. I think of you and your prescription on time when I think of my ankle. Ever since the global outbreak of the Coronavirus and nearly the entire planet in isolation — I have been off my legs more than usual. Staying at home, I can elevate my ankle even when I am working and I have taken to piling up a corner of my bed with pillows. I prop up my leg and watch whatever's popping on Amazon Prime Video. 

*snapshot of me looking not quite so elegant* 

      I am pitiful at self-care even though I preach it to my friends. "Self-care," I tell my work wife Amira, "Yes, mama." "No," I tell her when she imitates me. It's "Ma-MA" — you have to enunciate it like a proper gay homo sapiens. Of course, she reminds me that she is not gay (so how the heck would she know how to pronounce it correctly?) — but she loves my epithets and exonerations. I call Amira my work wife because she is. We work together at the same school and even though we had a rocky start to our relationship — she thought I was a creepy straight, nerd guy with glasses — we hit it off once she realized I am a flaming homosexual and yes, I'm still a nerd guy with glasses. Yay! Identity politics at play. And friendship. It comes in joyous bursts way more comforting than an ill-fitted ankle.

Ankle Pain and Estranged Boyfriends (And a Shoutout to My Work Wife, Amira) 

     I've had ankle pain in my left leg for, oh, about five years. It comes and goes. Short spasms of pain, then the pain subsides, and I forget about it. And like a surprise call from my estranged boyfriend, it returns — a familiar pain — I've almost become used to it. Like I've become used to my former boyfriend who sends me Facebook messages when I least expect it — a familiar cycle where I realize why we are estranged, what brought us farther apart. But. I like him. But the lingering sadness of why we broke up still remains. 

      Suffering is not an abstract concept. However, suffering is also not transitive — it does have a discernible object — it's there, you feel it but it's not like you can say, "There. There is my pain." I say, for instance, "I am sad. I am forlorn. I am aggrieved;" in fact, "I feel" is a grammatically correct sentence. But you cannot say, "I am pain." To say, "I suffer" is a close approximation, but even this utterance seems to lack the punch of an object, of a source of suffering. Perhaps that is why we call people who suffer, "patients" — since suffering (and by extension) pain — is a passive emotion, a feeling of protracted misery that takes time to heal.

Healing Wounds With the Best Medicine — Time

     One version of Ovid’s quote is “Time heals all wounds,” rather than time is a proper drug. I like the idea of time healing wounds — but did you know that Alfred E. Neuman once said time heals all wounds, except for your belly button? And I am fairly positive that Adam and Even did not have to worry about that particular wound since they technically did not have umbilical cords. Thank you, first parents. You made it suck for the rest of us.

The outbreak has brought me a strange gift of healing. I am grateful, right?

     The photo (above) is cringe-worthy. I step outside. How ’bout dat? And I say, “You did this for what?” Crossing the avenue to drop off mail in the blue U.S. Post Office box, I think, ‘Who will collect this? I hope they stay safe.’ I feel a tinge of worry. This feeling of needing to stay protected. How everyday activities have become tinged with anxiety. The social contract has taken a beating this season. It’s rainy. Today. And I just read in the newspaper that a polar vortex is set to hit the northeast. I long for a long hike in the Catskills. And for the fun of it - a visit to the sauna - I could use a peppermint soaked hot house shower - don’t you? And my ankle feels better. I am surprised. I feel strength returning to my tired tendons. A source of life has come back to me — a paradoxical gift of this damn epidemic. Thank you, Covid-19 — you ugly, mothereffer. Self-care, yes, Mama! (That’s pronounced Ma-MA).

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Writing About Coronavirus As a High School English Teacher (And What That Means for Students)

I write about the pestilence COVID-19 from the point of view of a high school English teacher.

Today, a kid asked me, "Mr. Roselli, will school be closed because of the Coronavirus?" I said, "Probably not. But the school is making preparations just in case."
My Kids at School Publicly Say They Want School to Close
I teach high schoolers, who in the main, will tell me that they wish school were closed. "Just close school!" While school may close, I remind them, we'll still have school available online. My school is in the process of figuring out how they'll do that properly. We have a meeting tomorrow to do just that.

I Don't Want School to Close 😟
I am dreading the possibility that school will close. Going to school everyday gives meaning to my life. I like seeing people and school often connects me to others in a way that helps me to go beyond myself. I feel like my co-teachers know this about me. "Yeah. You'd hate quarantine," observed one teacher. She's right!

COVID-19 is Spreading Around the World
Countries like China and South Korea have reported that COVID-19 (Coronavirus) cases have been steadily decreasing and Taiwan seems to be working hard to keep the virus at bay. In Italy, citizens are in lockdown - the country is at full stop; while, in the United States, actors Tom Hanks and Rita Wilson have come forth saying they've both contracted the illness (although it appears to be a mild case). It appears we in North America are up for a real test of resilience and resolve.

Remaining Calm but Using Purell
I'm washing my hands, avoiding touching my face, and trying not to let the COVID-19 news coverage distract me to anxiety. However, it seems like things will get worse before they get better. I'm having flashbacks to living in Louisiana during hurricane Katrina. But this time 'round crisis mode seems to be set to slow motion mode. There's no outright panic on the streets, but people are anxious and nervous.

Let me know, yall!
Pour me a hot cup of tea, please. Raise a cup to the unknown. And let me know if you're a teacher (or even if you're not) - and what you're doing to ride this virus out.

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Video: What You Ought To Think When You See a Person Wearing a Surgical Mask

In this post, I share a video I made about putting a stop to micro-aggressions against people - especially Asians - who wear surgical masks in public.

A mask is not an invitation to hate. A mask protects. So should you. 

The Recent Human Coronavirus Outbreak

I teach Mandarin-speaking high school students. Conversation about the recent spread of the human coronavirus has sparked meaningful conversation in class. One question that keeps popping up is “Why are folks hating on Asians”? While understanding that any virus’s outbreak is a source of concern, we ought to learn from history that fear of illness is often used to cover up deep-seated xenophobia and fear of others (especially when the “other” does not think, talk, look, or act like “me”.

Latitude for Micro-Aggression? Often. And in many cases. Yes.

My friends, one co-worker, and an acquaintance have reported to me micro-aggressions levied against them for wearing a face mask in public. Some people might see a mask and think fear. Wanna know what I think? I made the following video as my answer.

Find Teaching and Education Resources
on my Tpt Store! 

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