Round red circles. Surrounded by concentric white. Expanding
outward, scale increasing. It sits in the distance, sturdy in appearance. Yet,
it shifts. Distancing then closing in. Blurring at times. Yet its presence is
constant. An indelible reminder of our upcoming aim.
The one constant in a sea of variables- children will be
taught. Teachers will continue to do their jobs. School in some fashion will continue. Behind, the mark- a menacing face
of chaos, a mural of rules and decisions. Fears, anxieties. Voices far and wide
converging. Yet, educators will enter.
Response, restraint, contingency and uncertainty. Vertical and
horizontal perambulation. Those distant- sending their arrows in a single
direction- ours. Their quivers emptying. A flash of reasoning clarified. A wave of dissent
and relief. Arrows flying, this way and that.
There is nothing to do but to do it. To lean into the
situation. It outwardly has a certain mosey to it, a ramble and roaming quality. While those of us in the fold, are running in place. Eager yet told to remain at the beginning.
This is not a
race but a pace. Its not a competitive but communal. Yet we stand at the
starting gate of what feels like the marathon of our careers.
So many voices, all have a say in the decision process- but
in the decision making itself, just a few. Infectious enthusiasm, contagious
negativism. Honey pot and decoys. Claims of "past their due date, not necessary,
not essential".
Discerning, concerning, saddened. I sweat in the heat of
contention. A giant numbered bib affixed to my shirt. Another runner in the
race. I must run the track in order to get to the archery. I have a quiver of ideas
waiting for me there.
But first, I have to wait for the air horn.
The signaler keeps moving.
The target is only visible after the route has been set.
After the trek has been trekked. So, I
keep listening for the signal.
Last night- the long honk bellowed. Local races began. Yet,
it started slow, with hesitation- runners started with a walk. Unsure of how to
speed up into a run.
Creativity often creates new things from limitations. The baby
steps become leaps once we learn to walk in the sand. Once the pavement
solidifies, we begin to jog, then run to our destination. Slowly we begin to
remember the task ahead.
Virtual, push back, anger, relief. So much information
swirling. So many voices yelling- “Keep going, you are almost there.” While
others are screaming, “Why are you running this race? Is it still important?”
To me yes it is. Knowing a start date is only the beginning.
A curve, a bend, ignoring the negativity. Especially from
those who are not in the field- who think they know how we feel, our
intentions, our reason, our deep love for our profession. Striding past those
who recognize our plight, who support and admire us.
There it is, at the end of a grassy field. The wooden bullseye,
the mark, the coordinated point of purpose. Exhausted, runners arrive. Shaking of the sweat and energy from the race. They grab their awaiting quivers. They take their places. They
take aim, they clear their minds. They close one eye.
They raise their arrows- they imagine their classrooms, visualize
their lessons, remember their goals and intentions. They pause, they see their
target, and they release their arrows.
Target acquired.
Look can you see the shadow? The sheer
volume of arrows all heading in one direction. All aimed, all focused.
Can you
hear the wind, crisp and commanding? Giving our arrows lift and thrust.
That is the communal, consistent voice of reason. The
dedication and motivation of every educator out there. No matter what forum, we
will be present, we will be ready, our arrows are aloft.
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