Real Humans of the Metaverse

Before I got up this morning, I lay in my bed scrolling through Facebook and came upon an Icelandic ad that expertly trolled Mark Zuckerberg. This is beyond perfect:

This ad encapsulates in two minutes what I have been trying to scream to my students and children over the past few months. The real world is so much cooler than the Zuckerverse! See!!! Just LOOK at IT! I’m going to show my classes that ad for sure. Tik Tok can go shove it.

This past Wednesday, the vibe was totally off in several of my classes due to certain students being absent and a general sense of malaise in the air. If you’re a teacher, you know how the presence or absence of just one student can completely change the dynamic of a class. That being said, the vibe was also off in a class where every student was present and I finally just looked at them and said “What the heck is going on? Everything is off. Are you guys ok?” They looked back at me with their tired eyes absorbing the carbon dioxide floating up from behind their masks. It hit me like a ton of bricks that I had a class of masked children looking to me for some kind of answers to it all. I stopped my lesson and sat cross-legged on a desk at the front of the class and started to talk about getting outside, about feeling the wind and sun on their faces, about connecting with the humans around them and not the ones on their phones, about being truly present, and again about the benefit of hugging trees.

“Do you really hug trees?” one asked, finally breaking the excruciating spell of student silence. “Oh yes, all the time.” I told them. “Really? You just, like, casually walk up to a tree and hug it?” another asked. “Yup. Yup, I do.” I explained that trees are so firmly rooted in the earth that it helps ground you and calm you down. With that, a can of worms burst open and my class displayed a textbook example of how to derail a lesson by peppering the teacher with the most random questions. It was, in short, glorious. By the end of the class, kids were talking to one another, a student told me about a tree in her backyard that has been there since her ancestors lived in the house, another asked me if I had a street name. “Well, kids, thank you for providing me with a masterclass on how to derail a lesson.” I told them. “But this is what being human is all about.” a student told me. This is the one that always laughs when I imitate Moira Rose, a next level kind of kid. I taught absolutely nothing yet everything in those 50 plus minutes. I told them I loved them and that they have restored my faith in humanity as they walked out the door. “Love you too!” a few of them said back. My heart felt so good.

Last night, I went to a local brewery (Burke’s Alewerks-check it out!) that was uniquely located in a strip mall just breaths away from the highway. Though I was unsure of the venue, I was very sure of the company and figured beer plus excellent conversation would be an epic combo no matter what. The fact that a bluegrass jam was happening while we were there only added to the warmth I already felt when I walked in. As I listened to them play, I looked at the banjo player as she sang a song I didn’t know and thought “Wow, that looks just like Mrs. Patterson.” By the time the entire room was singing Wagon Wheel, I realized “Wow, that IS Mrs. Patterson!” Mrs. Patterson was my high school chemistry and physics teacher as well as my JV soccer coach. Never did I know that she was musically inclined though I do remember that she liked the Red Hot Chili Peppers. Why do I remember that? It was just one of those glimmers of her humanity that we were allowed to see. I don’t remember much about math or science class, I couldn’t do a physics problem if you paid me. Yet, I do remember that Mr. Cole dressed up as a Pilgrim every year for the parade in Plymouth, Mr. Belden liked to golf, Mrs. Anderson loved Demerara sugar for her tea, and Mr. Souther had one of the most difficult years of his life the very same year we graduated. I learned so much just from these little bits of their personal lives. I wonder what they are doing now (except, of course, Mrs. Patterson. She’s singing and playing the banjo at a brewery).

After nearly two years of living through this global trauma, what happened in my class the other day nearly made me cry. I thought back on last year when the students were fully remote, many not turning on cameras. I felt as though I was talking to myself most days and I know for a fact that it broke us teachers down. I revealed more of my humanity last year to those I taught than any other year before, desperately trying to show these kids that I was a very real person on the other side of the screen. All that trying required so much of our souls. We broke yet kept moving forward.

Pretending like this academic year is business as usual is a huge mistake; hiding our authentic selves away from these kids is an even bigger blunder. There has been so much talk of the importance of social emotional learning yet I think few really know what it looks like in practice. I read an education article the other day about the importance of bringing our “whole human selves” to work. Showing our vulnerabilities, flaws, and passions to these kids is the only thing that we can control right now. This means saying you feel meh when you do, tired when you are, and excited when the next day holds something brighter than the present. So what if my students find that I am going through a separation and divorce? Someday, one of them will be going through the very same thing and will still need to show up for work for so many reasons. I hope they realize that it is possible simply because I have shown them that it is just as others showed me when I was their age.

As the world keeps turning and this metaverse undoubtedly takes on a life of its own under the direction of an individual incapable of handling such power, my hope is that what I saw in my class the other day is what will continue to flourish—real humans connecting with other real humans simply for the sake of connection and growth. I will continue showing up, weirdness and all, and pray for other derailments of my lessons by crafty teens interested in creating a street name for me. As for you, Mrs. Patterson—you’re one hell of a banjo player. Mr. Souther, you continue to inspire me. Thank you.

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