I’ve hit a professional slump. Teaching has always been exhausting, but the last few years it’s taken more out of me than I think I have left to give. Of course, a global pandemic hasn’t helped. Not only is it very hard to job search when the entire educational world is turned upside-down, but it’s hard to love your job when your classroom has been redesigned with safety, not learning, in mind. Perhaps the worst of it this year is that I am only teaching math. I have no passion for math. Zero. Zilch. Nada. Nothing. It’s not that I can’t teach it, or that I’m not teaching it well, it’s just that it does nothing for my heart. It brings me absolutely no joy. I don’t get nearly as excited about numbers as I do books or words. I don’t feel the same thrill when a student masters a math skill as I do when they come running up to tell me about a book they are reading or a cool word they found. I might be saving a lot of money not buying classroom books and mentor texts from Amazon, but I don’t get excited about the lessons I am designing. And while the kids still think I’m crazy funny, and while I still over-animate my lessons and my examples to make it as engaging as possible, it is sucking the ever-lasting life out of me to do so. Depleted doesn’t even begin to describe it.

Because of that, or in addition to that, or as a result of that, or with no connection to that whatsoever, I’m not sleeping well. I started taking melatonin awhile back and I think even those quick-dissolving pills have given up on me. And then, just because it’s my sob story, this week is conferences, which I normally LOVE with an unnatural fondness, but this year, conferences are virtual. And only ten minutes long. And only for those we really need to see, which means behavior or academic issues. And as if I wasn’t already scrounging to find joy within these four walls, well, there’s little be had with long days of only discussing the challenges of learning.

All of this is to say, I wasn’t in the mood today. I’m tired. I’m bone tired. And today I was ready to phone it in. I didn’t think I could possibly muster the energy to engage myself in the lessons, more or less an audience of socially-distanced and masked ten year olds. Even as I logged in for our virtual morning announcements, I wanted to just crawl under my desk and sleep.

Waiting for our principal on the school-wide Google Meet, I half-heartedly chuckled at the projection screen. Most teachers have their webcams turned off for the announcements, knowing how much students love to be on camera, we all try to keep the focus on the words of wisdom our school leader shares each day. One teacher had his webcam on but upside down, creating a gravity-defying effect of his classroom for all of us to see. But then there was Mr. Clark. With a baby in his arms and two beautiful blonde children by his side.

Mr. Clark, who works in our building with students who struggle to manage their behavior at times – I can’t even say he “works”, though, as he makes it seem like his dream job. He’s always happier than seems reasonable. His pep talks aren’t just limited to students, either. He’s listened to me vent and helped me problem solve with the patience of Job. And he never, ever loses his cool. Quarantined at home, with three little ones and a wife who is also trying to remote teach, here was Mr. Clark, with children dangling from every appendage, taking over the morning announcements while our principal was in a meeting.

They all introduced themselves. Mr. Clark, then little Mr. Clark, then Miss Clark, the beautiful daughter and then an absolutely adorable “hi” from the baby on his hip. They all wished a happy birthday to one of our students and then led our entire building in the pledge – all from his living room, literally deep in the throes of being a father and an educator in the most symbiotic way.

And with that, I was ready. If Mr. Clark can smile and laugh at 9am while creatively occupying three young children while still managing to fulfill the needs we have for him here, then I can find the passion to teach math today.

And I did.

Thank you, Mr. Clark. And little Mr. Clark. And Miss Clark. And the baby who said, “hi”. You might think your morning announcement was “no big thing”, and all told it probably didn’t last more than two minutes, but today, on a day when I really needed it, I, and therefore all the students I taught today, was very blessed by that little thing.