Today I taught my 3rd graders without a mask for the first time since March 2019. It was a revelation. After a tumultuous two years of changing COVID restrictions, the spark that had ignited my love of teaching had dimmed significantly. In all honesty, there have been moments when I truly resented the choice I had made so long ago to teach at all. Teaching behind a mask was like being imprisoned in a way. Though not a physical confinement, but rather a slow siphoning away and repression of my unique vitality and spirit that comes through in ways only my face can reveal and the captivating elements of stories that only my full, unmuffled voice can make known.
As I sat down to read one of my favorite stories called Ahn’s Anger, I looked out at these mostly unmasked young children for the time. That first electric moment of eye-contact with each of my students included a transmission of love, the love that comes through when we as human beings are truly seen and held by the gaze of another. They saw me, and I saw them. This had never happened before. How had we all managed to make our way to school week after week without this important social and emotional exchange all these many months? I can scarcely understand my own capacity for surviving the trauma of disconnection that the pandemic has caused, but I know for sure that these moments were the most pleasing and moving seconds of teaching I’ve had in two whole years. The connection I felt to my students transformed Health class story-time on the rug into a dynamic and inspired dramatic performer-audience exchange. You could have cut the energy in that classroom with a knife, it was so thick with attention, passion and adoration. And mostly importantly for me, I recalled the simple truth that I am magic. That is what being
seen can do: remind you of who you are.
Furthermore, I noticed for the first time how simply dazzling each of my students is. I hadn’t really known any of these children before the pandemic, so it was quite striking to note the complete incorrectness of my imagination’s depiction of them compared to their actual appearance unmasked. Without masks, each child before me appeared resplendent and precious; and they were made so by their innocence, their unhardened hearts, their openness and softness were all just perfect in every way, no matter what shape, size, or color they were in. It is a privilege to witness and to support the liberation of minds contained within such grace.
The hope I have for myself and all of us is that we aim to see and be seen fully by one another always. And that we honor our need for connection without requiring obstacles like masks to force us to remember.