Commentary: A personal letter to my students and their parents. I know this is hard.

Dear parents:

Instead of greeting you in person soon, I will be introducing myself in a box, on a screen, as I try to bring the world of learning into your home once again.

And I know the reasons in this pandemic moment are to keep us all safe.

But that doesn’t change the fact that this is going to make life very complicated for you, your family, and for your child. And maybe, that itself is a major understatement.

And because of that reality, I wanted you to know some things. For what they are worth.

I seriously hate this.

I want to be there for you on those busy days when you need the kids to be at school.

I want to be the teacher you count on to make sure your child is on the path they need to be, while you go about trying to put food on the table.

I want back those moments of magic that the kids tell you about at dinner. The ones they don’t get excited over on Zoom or Google Hangouts.

I want normal again.

I know it’s been hard and you’re doing your best and then some.

I know that I get to be safe at home, my daughter and son next to me, while they learn, while I teach.

I know you aren’t a teacher and you’ve had to help out, and you’ve got things to do.

I know you want to be back at work, and can’t be.

You’re juggling the many crazy things you have going on, to make it through, and having kids at home in September was not the plan.

I know you might be back at work, maybe to provide service to my family and I, wearing a mask all day, fogging up your glasses, uncomfortable, because you are needed.

And that only works, barely, if kids are in school with me.

I want you to know I’ve spoken with many parents and your stories matter to me.

I want to be in my classroom.

I want to be at school.

I wanted to give that new student of yours a tour of the class, show them their seat, welcome you in on day one.

I want to shake your son or daughter’s hand at graduation.

I want to host the talent show.

I want to celebrate with you all of their achievements at a sit-down conference — one where we can see each other’s faces.

I want to be in the classroom, starting off another year of an incredible discovery.

I, like you, want this all to end.

I am listening, and I am learning. And when this is over, I will be part of the change.

I am learning from this.

I am learning new ways to teach with technology. To make it more engaging, to make it meaningful.

I am learning that you need more from the school, whether its computers, or calls, or finding grades on an app.

I am meeting with my colleagues and principal about what you are telling us.

This time it’s me taking notes.

This time it’s me raising my hand.

I am making realizations about what you want from your child’s education not just now, but afterward.

And I want you to know I plan to be an advocate for your family.

I am planning on making us better, not just back to normal.

To all my parents at Chollas-Mead Elementary, past and present.

I want you to know that I am here for you. Together we are stronger.

And you are not alone in this. Nor will be after it’s over.

When it is safe to do so…

High-fives will be back.

Conferences at the kidney table will be back.

Morning tutoring, homework club, soccer tournaments, and Star Night will be back.

And so will my crusty dance moves and lame jokes that are just not the same unless they happen in Room 801…

And that’s a promise.

Or else my name isn’t...

Mr. Courtney.

Courtney is a fifth-grade teacher at Chollas-Mead Elementary School. He lives in Redwood Village.