WE WON! I am a mother of two. My son’s in kinder and my daughter is in 1st. And this week our entire lives have been thrown into chaos.
In the spring, mama birds hover over their chicks until they’re ready to fly. That’s what much of motherhood feels like. Anxiously waiting. And this week our fledgling students across the district have taken off.
My children know about the struggles of heroes in the civil rights movement. They’ve been learning about it in school during Black History Month. So when we started preparing for a strike, they already understood how important it is to stand up for justice.
That’s because of their teachers. Even though they couldn’t be in the classroom this week, their education continued.
Strike prep for me was simple. I’m familiar with fundraising, planning things like our annual chicken birthday party or volunteering to set up for the Welcome Back Barbeque. I have experience delegating charcoal pickup and making sure tents are weighted down against the wind. I’m used to learning new chants and dances to do with my kids on the yard at dropoff.
Turns out, all the skills I use as an active parent came in handy on the picket line. Even if I couldn’t use my normal resources for it.
Every Friday for the past few years, me and my daughter do the Cha Cha Slide. Honestly, the Cupid Shuffle is way better, but who am I to complain? The principal puts it on her speaker and we jump into the middle of a huge crowd of children big and small. We dance our hearts out, and then she goes to class.
Yesterday at the Ferry Building I searched the crowd anxiously for signs of my kids’ teachers. And then I heard a chant. A group of them were marching and dancing: Hands up, hands down, San Francisco is a union town. It was them!
Every week I dance with these people. So it was natural for me to hop into their group and pick up the moves. It brought the same joy that the Cha Cha brings.
After the little celebration picnic at Mission Dolores this afternoon, I heard a song from the steps of Mission High. I walked over. The teachers were doing the Cupid Shuffle. I joined them from the foot of the stairs, happy to see them happy.
This was NOT easy. My kids had lucrative spots at the Y, but they were coloring and playing games. Both of which can be educational, but who are we kidding? It’s not a replacement for education.
And every evening I waited by my phone for what my fellow parents have taken to calling “the triple alert.” The district calls, emails, and texts: schools are closed tomorrow.
From phone trees to WhatsApp groups, asking coalitions like DSA for help feeding our teachers to connecting other schools to childcare — I’ve been hella busy.
El Jefe, Mr. BrokeAss, asked me to write what it’s been like as a parent during the strike. I might be an outlier. I had childcare, thank Christ. My workplace was relatively flexible. My husband was helpful. Not everyone has that. I’m lucky.
And I turned that luck into solidarity. As Mission Local reported, the district mistook parent groups for real parents. Actually, the full quote from reporter Joe Eskenazi’s piece is better than anything I could write:
“It’s hard to say the district anticipated families’ largely positive initial reaction.
But that’s what happens when you substitute the internet for real life and parents groups for parents.
We love our teachers, and I think the strike showed just how far love can go. In the end, love wins.
