By Clarice, Age 11
I remember the first week of the pandemic. It was hard, I couldn’t understand anything.
Staring at the computer screen, not understanding a thing our teacher was saying.
“Now get out your math books…” What? Now wherere was it?
Watching Mom as she tried to help my brother with Kindergarten, the stress that had been put onto her, the chores she had to do while we were at home.
I missed my classroom.
I missed lunch with my friends.
I hated being at home.
I honestly thought it would last two weeks.
Maybe a month.
I don’t know. All I could think about was just being at school, I had never missed it so much.
Learning was so hard those months.
Math, reading, glitches on Zoom. It made no sense.
But I kept hoping.
Hoping things would get better.
Hoping that I could see my friends again.
Wishing they wouldn’t move away.
And then it happened. My best friend from school moved so far away we weren’t in the same school. Or state.
I honestly lost hope for Fourth Grade.
Fourth grade passed. Faster than any year. And then I heard the news. We could go to school for the Fifth grade.
My hope rushed through my veins like adrenaline. This year was hopeful. I felt it.
And I knew things would change.