When schools around the country returned to their normal schedules and in-person learning this fall, the normalcy that existed prior to the COVID pandemic did not return with it, as protective measures remained in place for our students and teachers. Most parents, including myself, seem to be supportive of using such measures for our students and teachers. As a teacher myself, I am agreeable with using masks and social distancing to keep everyone safe. While I am aware that not all parents and teachers agree with these measures, and there are legitimate reasons why these protocols make teaching and learning more challenging, the fact that we all get to be together in the same building and classrooms I feel makes it worth it. But as the parent of a child with autism, I cannot ignore the fact that being masked in school, during academic class time and also during social interactions, makes life that much more challenging. Add on top of that the fact that I have a non-verbal son, for whom communication is much more difficult, and you can imagine how life is not anything like what we experienced before the pandemic. It is now layered with one more obstacle to connecting with the world.

Being a teacher for many years and now working in special education myself, I reflect on what I see with both typical and atypical students these days, and the ways in which they cope with these requirements. Since I work with younger elementary and preschool students, I find that they have a natural inclination to constantly “fight the system” as it were: students who wear the mask but don’t cover their nose or whole face; those who try getting away with taking off the mask for a few moments at a time; getting way too close to to their friends during social breaks, snack and lunch time; being generally messy with their masks, by having food or saliva saturate it. My son, for example, loves chewing things, as he has an oral motor fixation, so the mask naturally becomes a chew toy for him, much like the preschool children I observe, who many times have masks that are genuinely soaked. In a strange way, I experience an interesting type of bonding with my younger or more challenged students, as they sometimes require assistance with their masks or in adjusting them. It is in those moments when, as carefully as possible I try to help support them without breaking protocol, I get a glimpse of their faces, their smiles, their hidden facial features that remind me of their uniqueness.

It is in these moments that I reflect back on my own son, who has similar motor and sensory issues that I see with some of the students at my own school; he may be having some of the same exact experiences that they are now. I think about the ways in which he demonstrates needing help, which really amounts to him just chewing the mask until someone corrects him, or he takes it off altogether, only to have it gently put back on. I think about the look on his face, and how other students and staff react to him, and the way I react to the students I teach, and how my son’s infectious smile may affect the ones who work with him daily. The point of sadness that I get to is usually because I think about how incredible a smile my son has, and now once again, due to the mask requirement, that smile is covered. The light that shines from a face that is truly filled with the love of God has a shade placed on it, and a major vehicle for him to connect with others is stifled. This is the same for all of our special needs children. Whether their communication is challenged or not, their faces are muted, their smiles are silenced, and the divine beauty in all of their faces is not present for all to see.

But we are reminded in these times and experiences about the love of God that still comes through, despite these barriers. It’s the same love that invites all of our special needs children to His table, the love that connects us all, despite everything. I frequently imagine how He sees our children, despite the ways their faces and personalities are covered, and how we as instruments of this love demonstrate that love to the young ones we serve. I also imagine what conversations He has with our children and students, when we experience the highs and lows of life during our school days.

I think it would go something like this…

“I have a mask that covers my face, no one can see me under here.”

“It’s alright child, I See You!”

“I can’t show anyone how I’m feeling, because they can’t see my face!”

“It’s alright child, I See You.”

“No one can see my smile with the mask on, and it’s the best part of me!”

“It’s alright child, I See You.”

“This mask is sweaty and uncomfortable, no one can understand how I’m feeling.”

“It’s alright child, I See You!”

“I’m in pain today, I wish someone would notice what I’m going through.”

“It’s alright child, I See You!”

Over and over again all we can hear is the familiar, comforting refrain that our God presents to us, that He acknowledges our feelings, pain, discomfort and reminds us that He is always there, constantly watching and being present. In that way, we are also reminded that if He can see into the heart and soul of every individual worldwide, why would we fear that an extra piece of cloth put over our face would stop Him from seeing us? As a teacher, I feel glad that He can support every one of my students, regardless of the day they’re having; as a parent, I rest in the assurance that not one of my son’s smiles goes unnoticed.

Follow John on his website: www.johnfelageller.com.