Yes, it’s been a while. I suppose I have felt, with all that has transpired in the past months, that I wanted to step back, read, listen, give other people a chance to speak. On my morning walk last week, though, I found myself in one of those situations where every song from my playlist spoke directly to me and the moment: A fantastic cover of “Three Little Birds,” (better known as “Every little thing is gonna be all right,” Gabe Dixon’s “When the Smoke Clears,” and then Sara Gazarek’s cover of “Blackbird.” Which brought me back to New Year’s. I’ll explain.
It’s the beginning of the school year, albeit an unprecedented one. When I began writing this, I was in my study hall now, typing at my dining room table. Kiddos were working, cameras off, mics muted for the moment. But one thing was the same as it’s always been: I was energized, exhausted, and feeling like New Year’s. September has always been New Year’s for me–a chance to reinvent myself as a student, as a teacher–new supplies. Yes, more Pilot V5 pens and notebooks and markers and glue, and rulers, and, and, and…(I’m a bit of a Target junkie…) a redecorated classroom…okay, that may be different this year, but we did get our bathrooms redone over the summer. Don’t worry, I’m not teaching from there.
Most of all, new classes. New people to get to know, to learn from, to grow with. It’s different this year. They are squares on a screen, some chatter in Google Meet Break-Out rooms (Thank God for those!). So much is lost–the din of the hallways, the underclassmen slamming into each other up and down the hallway, the smell from the cafeteria around noon.
Okay, so maybe I don’t miss all of it. And it’s true you can’t beat the commute. Still, I so want to interact with them in person. I DO miss their chatter, my eavesdropping, which I think is one of the most fun aspects of teaching.
What is not missing so far is their creativity, which I was thrilled to see in one of our first class activities. I often have students choose their own norms for how class will be conducted, a class list of “most important values,” and I decided this year, definitely, required their input like none other. So I began by showing a video about Austin’s Buttlerfly. You should watch it if you haven’t. A small group of elementary schoolers teaching us about revision. Various drafts of a butterfly. From the child’s scribble to a mouth dropping representation. These students offer constructive criticism. They celebrate the ultimate success. My favorite part of the video is when they all exclaim, when the teacher places the sixth draft on the easel, “Oh, my gosh, he is SOO good!
My highschoolers laugh when I say, “You know, you encourage each other like that. Even now. I’ve seen it. Not always, but I’ve seen it. So that’s it, right? That works. Do more of it. There’s always something that works. So start by doing that.”
I know, I know, it’s hard to see much that’s working today. The world, literally, is on fire. The weight of generations of Global Warming, centuries of systemic racism, a pandemic the likes of which we haven’t seen in 100 years, the 19th anniversary of the Twin Towers crumbling to the earth, and…and…and…
We are all overwhelmed. I am overwhelmed. Not a lot of celebrating the empty nest here. I’m frightened for my own children in other states as infection rates tick up. I am frightened for the children I teach and my colleagues in our frustration over the challenges of distance learning. I am frightened for my country for so many reasons. I am frightened for my planet as well.
But there is always something that is working. I spent part of the afternoon with a colleague helping her pass out yearbooks and chatting about lesson plans. We greeted car after car, passed out what the students produced–gave a little creativity, the fruits of some hard labor last spring, to those who came by.
I’ve been frightened before. But I’ve also seen what can lie on the other side. On the actual New Year’s going into 2018, I reflected on what had been a particularly difficult 365 days for me personally. I’m posting part of it here. It’s about the song “Blackbird.” Listen to it, if you get the chance.
And Happy New Year.
From December 31, 2017:
So I often post a song New Year’s Eve, and this one has kept coming up in 2017. Actually, the first time I heard it, I was younger than my second born. My friend David Meeks picked me up to take me to my first high school party after a day in Charlottesville at a journalism conference. My parents let me go with this newly licensed sophomore, no questions asked. But they knew David was a good egg. I don’t remember much about the party, and no, it’s not because I misbehaved. It’s because it was a pretty typical night, one like many others to come that would find me sitting around in someone’s basement watching TV, listening to music, looking ahead. What I do remember is the song that David played on the way there—“Blackbird.”
“This is The Beatles, right? I’ve never heard this album.”
“That’s because you’ve just listened to their early stuff, FRESHMAN..” David laughed. “This is The White Album.”
“Well, it’s incredible,” I said, and we drove on.
Over Christmas at my parents’ this year, my sister Jamie Huggins Policky was playing the song on the guitar, and my other sister KT Huggins Barous said, “You know, I will always associate this song with a year ago, and your diagnosis. I was listening to my music on a trip that week, and five versions of ‘Blackbird’ must have come up on my Spotify feed. So I listened to every one. It seemed appropriate.” KT has always had a way of finding the perfect title, the perfect song, for any moment. It’s a gift.
Happy New Year. It’s been one hell of a ride in 2017, but hey, we’re here, aren’t we? And we’ll wear our crosses, our stars, our evil eyes on a chain, our prayer wheels, our Captain America shirts. Sometimes all at the same time. We’ll wrap our arms around each other, always, and sing “into the light of the dark black night.”
We’ll never stop singing. That’s the secret.
Sally Huggins Toner 
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