By SUSAN DROMEY HEETER, Joyful Musings
Earlier this week I learned my school will be going back in full, in person, in a pandemic. Students and staff are to wear masks, stay in assigned seats, stay at least three feet away from one another, socially distance at all times. And, initially, I freaked, felt my stomach drop to the center of the earth, panicked.
And then, well, I exhaled, mused joyfully and thought, “Hey, I’ve lived through decades of Catholic school, of Catholic Youth Organization (CYO) dances, of nuns, of Irish ancestry.
I’ve got this.
When I first went to Holy Name grammar school, we had desks nailed to the floor. “Moveable desks” were a big thing when introduced in fourth grade. In fact, just saying “movable desks” warms my heart. Chairs could be separated, desks could be in places other than rows, we could have variety! Groups! Cooperative learning! Friends!
And now, desks will stay put, perhaps not nailed down, not sporting inkwells, but by God, they will stay in rows, in order, lined up, three feet apart.
I’ve got this.
CYO dances were the place to be on Friday nights. A disco ball was hung, I’d blow dry my 14-year-old hair, spritz myself with some Love’s Baby Soft, and head off to dance to Queen, to REO Speedwagon, to the BeeGees. But it was Stairway to Heaven where the trouble began. If anyone was caught making out, dancing too close, Father MacNamara came through and separated us like Moses parted the Red Sea. Little did he know, he was preparing us all for social distancing – a man well ahead of his time.
And, like Father Mac, as he was known, I’ll be practicing the same tactics in high school. I’ll recall his fervor to separate, to keep us apart. Who knew the dances of the 70s would prepare me for the hallways of high schools in 2020?
I’ve got this.
Many of the nuns in the late 60s and early 70s still wore traditional habits. They wore long, long skirts, veils, rosary beads and tunics. To see a nun’s hair was akin to seeing her underwear – entirely mysterious, vorboten. And, as I wonder what my back to school appearance will look like, I suspect it will be much like the habits of the Sisters of Saint Joseph.
I’ll sport a mask, a face shield, perhaps goggles. I will sport enough attire to feel safe, removed, untouchable. I’ll keep my hand sanitizer as close to me as those nuns kept their rosary beads. Students will wonder if I have teeth. Thank you, Sister Casimir, who knew I’d be stealing your look?
I’ve got this.
Finally, my paternal grandparents arrived to this country from Cork, Ireland and from them, I’ve inherited quite a lot: freckles, the gift of the gab, a love for tea, the inability to drink “just one beer.” And from them, I also inherited the love of space, the socially distant hug, the joy of not being a touchy/feely kind of gal. I’m not much of a toucher and this has served me well throughout this Covid, will serve me well as I see colleagues and students from whom I’ve been at a distance since March. “No touching, people!” How clutch. The luck of the Irish strikes again.
I’ve got this.
And, I muse joyfully, you, too, will get this as well, particularly if you are a teacher. Please call on me if you need some tools, some guidance, some insight. I’ll channel Father Mac, all of the Sisters of Saint Joseph, Margaret and Patrick Dromey and all of those desks from Holy Name.
Stay safe. I muse joyfully you will.
We’ve got this…I Think.
Susan Dromey Heeter is a writer from Dover who recently let her hair go au natural white. Writing has been her passion since her English majoring days at the University of Massachusetts in Amherst. Dromey Heeter has lived in The Netherlands, Alaska and currently basks in all things New England, including the frigid winters. An avid swimmer, Dromey Heeter’s great passion is to bring back body surfing as most children have no idea how to ride waves without ridiculous boogie boards.
