“Teachers change the world, one child, at a time,” so the saying goes. If I go by the way teachers have changed my kids, then God help us all! Nobody said that the change has to be for the better; it could also be for the worse. My wife and I are seeing this worse unfold in front of our very own eyes and there’s no teacher in sight—literally. Zoom meetings don’t count.

There are two kinds of teachers, as I am sure most of you already know. There are those that are passionate about teaching and truly believe that they make a difference. Teaching is their calling, and they answer it with zest and conviction. My high school English teacher was one such teacher, Mr. Thomas McComas. He is the one who practically changed my life—for better. He taught me how to read properly, write effectively, and communicate well. I no longer forget any of his teaching thingamajigs.

My Math teacher was the other teacher who gave me an equally solid education. Sadly, I don’t remember his name, but I can calculate my senior citizen discount without a calculator at any car wash in town, thanks to his teachings. I may not remember the Quadratic Formula, whatever the heck that may be, but I can add my monthly bills without using a computer.

Between the two of them, I learned the three “Rs”—reading, ‘riting and ‘rithmetic. Yes, there are no points for proper spelling, but they both helped me cover my basics of education and I will forever be thankful to them.

The other kind of teachers are those that never really wanted to become a teacher in the first place, but chose to become one because they failed in their original major of study, or couldn’t even decide what to study in the first place, and said, hey I’ll just become a teacher. These are the teachers that spend most of their class time showing videos, directing students to some websites to pass the time, use computer games as teaching devices, or just put a sheet on the projector and tell the students to copy it and study it on their own. They don’t teach; they just babysit. They keep the students entertained but students learn nothing. Students pass with flying colors because these teachers give them high marks just for being cooperative.

With my luck, these are the teachers that my kids end up with and I am the proud father of kids with diplomas but no education. A teacher has to know how to teach, not just know the subject matter and use digital templates as a substitute for teaching. Kids don’t learn from ink on paper, or pixels on a screen. They learn from an actual teacher. Someone who would know where they are stuck, what is causing the confusion, and how to clarify the subject for each kid using a technique that would fit that student’s understanding.

Now there is a third kind of teacher. This teacher has no face. This teacher has no soul. This teacher does not even have any training to be a teacher. It is nothing but a simulation, put together by people who may or may not know how to teach. The interface is two dimensional and bland. There is no interaction between the teacher and the students. There is no two-way communication. Just plain if-then-else choices made by people sitting in foreign lands, with zero understanding of a kid’s ability to learn from inanimate objects; with no way to hold a kid’s attention, especially those that have a deficit of attention in the first place.

Our politicians and teachers’ unions are using this pandemic as an excuse to carry out a huge social experiment. We, as the parents, and our kids, as the students, are the guinea pigs. Our kids sit at home, tied to their screens, while human teachers bombard them with meaningless assignments, just to keep them busy. Kids know how to cheat and get the answers to these assignments using the same technology being used as a substitute for the real teaching.

This is not teaching. Our kids are not learning. We, as a nation, are poorer for that. Our kids were already behind a large part of the world in education. Now, they’ll probably be at the bottom of the list. The best and the brightest minds will not be coming from amongst us. They’ll be coming from outside and there’s no wall we can build that will be big enough to change that.

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I learned a very valuable lesson this election year. I was taught by my daughter what makes a hero. I am, what some would call, a know-it-all, and I learned that my daughter had given me that status to such a point that it distorted her own thoughts to fit with mine. This realization and its eventual undoing were an eye-opener for me. This know-it-all fell a tad short of expectations.

Heroes come in all shapes and forms, as the saying goes. Yes, there are the comic book heroes that used to rule the movie screens until our governor became a doctor, a scientist, a god even, and decided in his infinite wisdom to put us all in a perpetual house arrest. On the other hand, this pandemic has turned all the first responders—doctors, nurses, paramedics, and firefighters—into heroes. Then there is the chaos of our close election that has turned all the poll workers into heroes, who are doing a thankless job for the pure satisfaction of making our democracy as transparent as possible.

When I was growing up, those one thousand and one years ago—so it would seem—my hero was Tarzan. Not Superman, not Batman, but Tarzan. I was so taken by my hero that I used to imitate him with a butter knife on my side, a rope in my hand, and my boxers as the loincloth. I used to practice catching animals with my rope, until one day I succeeded in catching a buffalo, only to realize that I wasn’t strong enough to hold onto my catch. It pulled me off of the tree branch and dragged me onto the ground for a while, until I realized that I could save myself by letting go of the rope. I still have scars to prove that my adventure was real.

But I digress. Now back to my daughter and this hero thing.

I was not very happy with Biden’s choice of Kamala Harris as his potential vice president. I criticized him and I criticized her to no end. My daughter listened to all my diatribe and accepted that Kamala Harris was not a good choice for Biden to make.

Lo and behold, they won! Pending all the frivolous lawsuits and countless litigations, of course. President Trump hasn’t conceded yet, and of course, their win is not real until he concedes. But, I digress again.

I watched their acceptance speech, and to my surprise, she spoke very well. (I think her speech was much better than that of Biden. He should switch his speechwriters with hers). Still, I couldn’t understand why so many women in the audience were crying. I mean, why were they so emotionally moved by her win that it brought them to tears. I was watching the CNN feed when she said, “I may be the first woman in this office, but won’t be the last.” The camera then panned onto a young lady with two very young daughters. She looked at them with pride and nodded her head to tell them what I could only deduce to be, “You hear that girls. Your future is going to be very bright in this great nation of ours.”

I felt a sudden heave in my chest. I have three daughters and yes, all of a sudden, it seemed that their future was indeed going to be very bright.

One of my daughters was watching the speech with me. She turned to me and asked, “Dad, you always say that Kamala Harris is no good, but what exactly is it about her that makes her no good? I keep telling my cousins and my friends that she is no good but what reason do I give them, when they ask.”

I thought and thought for a possible, credible answer. I couldn’t come up with one. The concern in her face was so strong that I had to relent. “I am sorry, my love, my reasons are very frivolous. Maybe it is her whiny voice, or her deep, hard laughter, but I have nothing of substance.”

Then I did, what I would consider to be the best thing for her. I freed her from my influence. I said, “I am sorry, my daughter, I have no right to decide for you who should be your hero. Kamala has achieved something that I wish for all of my daughters and nieces to achieve, maybe even more. You should celebrate her victory and you should take as much pride as possible, in her, in our system, and in our people, who have made her victorious.”

I will never forget the relief on her face and the pure joy as she continued watching and listening to Kamala. I couldn’t understand why I was moved to tears myself. When she heard my sniffles, I had to just say it, “Probably COVID-19.” Who knows, it probably was!

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A Different Point of View

Nine months from the day this “stay-at-home” order went into effect, we are going to have a new baby boom. Spring had already begun, flowers were starting to bloom—well, at least trying to bloom what with all the rain—and couples with having to spend time together, cooped up inside the house, with orders not to go out. One’s fancy then easily turns to romance and a different kind of flower will bloom nine months later. We’ll call it the COVID-19 generation. A different kind of virus has infected us, romance is in the air and no mask could stop it from spreading.

By the way, I see people wearing all kind of masks around town and I find bittersweet irony in the thought that Muslim women have been wearing masks for centuries as a preventive measure and most Western nations frowned hard upon them, so much to passing racially motivated laws to prohibit such practice. Now with all the shortage of masks, I see some vindication for their dress code.

Here’s a curiosity that has kept my mind busy lately. How does one keep intimacy with one’s spouse, given this social distancing practice of keeping six feet apart from one another? What’s even worse, how does one even begin the process? When I come home from work, my whole family is eyeing me with suspicion. Where have I been, they don’t know. Who did I come in contact with? What surface did I touch when I was at the supermarket, or using my credit card at the pharmacy, or filling my car with gasoline? I have to burn my clothes outside the house, shower with the hosepipe in the front yard, and enter only after wiping and disinfecting every inch of my being.

Sure, it is a show for my neighbors, but I can’t even kiss my wife without her suspecting me of being in the wrong place and being with the wrong crowd. I spend a better part of each day going from store to store, hoping, wishing, and praying that I would find that all elusive roll of toilet paper or a bottle of sanitizer. You should see the look of disappointment that my family gives me when I come home, dejected, depressed, and empty-handed. When I do succeed, which is rare, it is like Christmas at our house.

We feel joyous, hopeful, and dare I say, happy. One new roll of toilet paper means another few days of stress-free morning rituals when we have no care in the world and all is well. I wonder again, aloud, how does one keep intimacy with these six feet apart, social distancing guidelines in place? We don’t watch TV snuggled up under a blanket like we used to do in the past. There are no “Netflix and Chill” moments in our lives. We sit on the opposite ends of our eight-foot sofa. We have to sanitize the remote control before passing it to each other.

As a matter of fact, I have ordered additional remote controls for each member of the family, so we don’t even have to share any longer. Intimacy, what evil thought that might be?! We love each other; we are deeply committed to each other, but we also care for each other. You can see how with conflicting thoughts abound; there is no easy answer to my curiosity. On one hand, we want to be together as a loving couple. On the other hand, we must keep our distance as a caring couple. Damned if we do and damned if we don’t! If we don’t, then for richer and for poorer becomes intolerable. I may have to be hospitalized for a whole different reason. If we do, then in sickness and in health becomes a big issue.

Yes, the thought of to love and to cherish is so heartwarming, but, till death us do part, does take on a whole new significance. So how does one keep intimacy while staying six feet apart? Well, I have the answer and I am sure you’ll find it a practical, useful, and very pragmatic solution. Those selfie sticks, that we spent a ton of money on a while back, are coming in quite handy these days.

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