成人抖阴

In a black suit and red bowtie, his smile full of braces, Jason Finuliar stands by a fountain on the Santa Clara University campus as his mother snaps a photo. It was December 2018, and the promising young speech competitor had just placed fourth in a California tournament, qualifying him for nationals.

鈥淚t was literally the best I鈥檝e ever done,鈥� he said, remembering how such moments fueled big ambitions for life after high school. 鈥淗alf the fun was 鈥� getting to perform at some college that I even thought about going to 鈥� like Stanford or Berkeley.鈥�

But less than two years later, the smile had faded 鈥� and so had the dreams. Just weeks into remote learning in the spring of 2020, Jason stopped attending class at American High School in Fremont. By the middle of the following year, he had descended into academic failure and depression. After months in which he had trouble getting out of bed, plagued by thoughts of suicide, he spent 10 days in a residential mental health facility.

鈥淚 felt so worthless,鈥� he said. 鈥淚 had no clue when things were going to go back to normal.鈥�

As scholars debate the pandemic鈥檚 effect on lost learning and student well-being, Jason鈥檚 story is a reminder of the suffering millions of young people experienced when they were no longer tethered to school. Cut off from friends, teachers and extracurricular activities, students reeled from the effects of school closures. And the aftershocks continue: Into early 2022, were still seeing spikes in students admitted for eating disorders, depression and suicidal behavior. 

鈥淐onnection to one another is a core need for all of us. Having that stripped away is traumatizing,鈥� said Karen Larsen, CEO of the Steinberg Institute, a Sacramento-based think tank focusing on mental health. She added that while some teens quickly bounced back, others 鈥渕ay never fully recover from what they have lived through these past few years.鈥�  

The shutdown 

Another snapshot, also pre-pandemic: A laughing Jason is carried by a friend in student council. They鈥檙e wearing pajamas, part of a promotion for a school movie night.

Typical Jason, thought his mother, Carol Finuliar. She posted on Facebook: 鈥淢y son does not have a self-conscious gene.鈥�

He was popular 鈥� and gifted. In sixth grade, he got 1,150 on an SAT practice test, a competitive score even for students much older.

By sophomore year, he was active in student council and president of the speech and debate club at his school in the 33,000-student Fremont Unified district. When the pandemic shuttered classrooms in March 2020, he was a kid whose 鈥渋dentity was tied to school,鈥� Carol said. 

Like most students in the Bay Area district, Jason faced lockdown with a mixture of shock and relief: He looked forward to an extended spring break. At first, he participated in Zoom classes and tried to have a 鈥渃ool background鈥� on his screen to stand out. 

But, as a teacher noted in comments later used to evaluate him for special education, and shared by his parents with 成人抖阴, Jason quickly disconnected from school. 

鈥淗e was always a happy student ready to help others in the class,鈥� wrote Purvi Mehta, Jason鈥檚 10th-grade life sciences instructor. 鈥淎fter March 13, when we started distance learning, he stopped responding to my emails and submitting work.鈥�

Over time, Jason started thinking no one cared whether he made the effort. Rolling out of bed right before class, he grew self-conscious. 

鈥淢y hair is sticking up, and I鈥檓 wearing the same shirt for days on end,鈥� he said. 鈥淚 didn鈥檛 really feel like I was even in school. It felt like I was watching this movie on repeat, and I wasn鈥檛 necessarily enjoying this movie.鈥�

Like schoolwork, Jason鈥檚 favorite outlet 鈥�  鈥� went virtual. That, too, felt dispiriting. In junior high, he rehearsed speeches every day, starting a few weeks before a tournament, and practiced in front of friends and family.

A favorite selection was a one-man show in which he acted out a scene of a boy and girl running for class president, altering his voice to play each character.

But as competitions went remote, Jason found it too easy for students to cheat because they could read a 鈥渟cript鈥� on screen and record their entries.

All of this ran counter to what he loved about speech: the thrill of delivering a well-prepared address before a live audience.

鈥淭hat was the point of competition,鈥� he said.

鈥業 thought he was being lazy鈥�

Jason also lost motivation in other aspects of his life. By the summer of 2020, he had stopped taking care of Cookie, the family鈥檚 3-year-old shih tzu, and doing other chores. Increasingly frustrated, Carol sent him to stay for a month with her brother in Sacramento. 

“I just thought he was being lazy,鈥� she said. She and her husband felt 鈥渂lindsided鈥� by their son鈥檚 struggle. 鈥淚 didn’t know that you don’t choose to be depressed. I didn’t understand that at all.”

In fact, she initially worried more about Jason鈥檚 younger sisters, Julia and Cherie, who are more reserved than their outgoing brother. Julia, now a senior at American, said she actually found school easier online and 鈥渨ay more relaxed.鈥�

Jason, for his part, doesn鈥檛 remember a single argument that led to his ejection from the house 鈥� just that his mother 鈥測elled at [him] for random stuff.鈥� 

When he returned home in the fall and again refused to participate in remote classes, Carol made him get a job. 

That turned out to be a blessing.

Taking orders and making chalupas at Taco Bell funded his love of Nintendo Switch games like Minecraft and Mario Kart. Streaming games to Twitch, an interactive online platform, linked him to other players. In those moments, he felt less alone. 

And working fulfilled his need to interact with people in person. His mother remembers: The days he worked were the only times he got out of bed.

He also looked forward to sessions with Yvette Helmers, a school psychologist for the district and the only staff member to see him in person. At school, they talked about his anxiety. In psychology-speak, she said Jason experienced an 鈥渆mbedded level of maladaptive perfectionism.鈥� Avoiding stressful situations, for fear he couldn鈥檛 control the outcome, only made them harder to face. 

鈥淗e felt like, 鈥榃hat鈥檚 wrong with me? Why can鈥檛 I manage this? I鈥檓 just supposed to go to school,鈥� 鈥� she said. His response to closures, she added, was not atypical.

Jason鈥檚 decline from A and B sophomore to clinically depressed teen is a reminder that even students who had sailed through school and lived relatively comfortable, middle-class lives didn鈥檛 escape COVID鈥檚 gauntlet. But they also enjoy privileges many students do not. They typically have access to quality medical care and parents with the time and financial security to care for them. Scholars studying how prolonged continue to affect students say the damage to learning was far worse in high-poverty communities and for those who were already struggling.

By contrast, the median household income in Fremont is $142,000, roughly twice the statewide average. The district serves a majority Asian population, where many parents work in the tech sector for familiar brands like Apple and Tesla. In 2018, Meta鈥檚 Facebook expanded into a research and development hub not far from Jason鈥檚 high school. His father, Jesse, works as a computer programmer and networking engineer.

Growing up in a Filipino-American family, Jason lived with high expectations. Carol, a self-described 鈥渢iger mom,鈥� enrolled him in SAT prep classes in elementary school and, the summer after his freshman year, placed him in a community college astronomy class taught by a former NASA engineer.

A doctor later suggested that maybe Carol was pushing him too hard. At the time, she was offended.

Such behavior is by no means unique. 鈥淔remont is a very high-performing district,鈥� Helmers said. 鈥淪tudents already have a high level of depression. People say, 鈥楾hey have everything 鈥� access to tutors, technology. Why would they not do well?鈥� 鈥�

But beneath the high GPAs and extracurricular activities, she said, is often an unhealthy pattern of behavior 鈥� staying up past midnight and going to school sleep-deprived. By the time the pandemic began, she said, 鈥渢hey were already taxed.鈥�

Thoughts of suicide

Midway through the school year, Jason鈥檚 mental state worsened. On his 17th birthday, Jan. 21, 2021, Carol made pancakes with whipped cream and berries 鈥� his favorite. But he didn鈥檛 get out of bed. 

Jason began to think 鈥� and dream 鈥� about suicide. In one recurring nightmare, he stepped off the end of a pier. By day, he thought of jumping off the Dumbarton Bridge, which connects Fremont to Palo Alto over San Francisco Bay. 

He told a doctor he had placed a metal coat hanger in the closet around his neck to see if it would support his weight. It didn鈥檛.

The situation was serious enough that a psychiatrist referred him to Sunol Hills 鈥� a single-story house in a residential area of Fremont converted into a treatment facility for youth with behavioral health problems. In a recurring theme, his stay there wasn鈥檛 a dark period he鈥檇 like to forget, he said; rather, it filled a deep need for human contact. 

鈥淚t felt nice to be around people my age,鈥� Jason said. 鈥淚 felt understood.鈥�

He had his own room and went to sleep to the sound of a passing train. During the day, patients took supervised walks through the neighborhood and played card games like .

As nourishing as the experience felt, Jason said he never forgot where he was. After the games, staff locked up the cards because some teens had a history of cutting themselves. 

There were no hangers in the closet.

鈥楩ighting against everything鈥�

Meanwhile, Carol put aside hopes for college scholarships and honed her advocacy skills. A workers鈥� compensation attorney for the state, she took off as many as four days a week to 鈥渄eal with the school and get him treatment.鈥� 

By March 2021, roughly 43% of schools nationwide or offered a hybrid split between remote and in-person learning, according to the Center on Reinventing Public Education, a think tank that tracked school closures. Brown University economist Emily Oster鈥檚 of test data in several states confirms those with less access to in-person learning saw drops in proficiency as high as 20 percent. 

California were among the last to reopen, and Jason鈥檚 district finished out the 2020-21 school year online.

Carol attended regular school board meetings, fired off lengthy emails to administrators with links to about learning loss and pushed officials to evaluate Jason for special education services to alleviate his depression. She hoped to ease Jason back into school by getting him more time on tests and the ability to skip missed assignments.

In doing so, she got a glimpse of the bureaucratic morass so many parents with children in special education face. A 鈥渟tudent study team鈥� first met in January 2021 to take up the family鈥檚 request. But it wasn鈥檛 until May, just weeks before the end of the school year, that the team determined Jason was eligible for an individualized education program, or IEP 鈥� a plan that outlined the additional services and accommodations he would receive.

The report determined that 鈥渢he situational factors of the pandemic cannot be ruled out as contributors to his mental health and academic performance.鈥� 

Despite her activism, Carol felt helpless as neighboring districts gradually implemented hybrid schedules. 

She saw other families flee the district for private schools.

Some left the state.

Fremont parent Nely Rojas-Matteo helped organize to force an in-person option that spring, but soon moved with her family to Florida, where schools were open. 

鈥淲e were fighting against everything and everyone,鈥� she said. 

But the situation in Fremont complicates a pandemic narrative that typically pits angry parents against reluctant educators. Rojas-Matteo said it was hard to get the district’s 鈥渞isk-averse鈥� families on board with reopening, even after said it was safe for students to return and warned of 鈥済rave mental health problems鈥� if they didn鈥檛. 

Nationally, Asian families were the most hesitant to resume in-person learning, a fact researchers attribute to of COVID caution and fears of linked to the virus鈥檚 origin in China. Even in Fremont, an Asian woman and her 10-year-old daughter were of 鈥淕o back to China鈥� by a neighbor in October 2020. 

In an email to 成人抖阴, Fremont Superintendent C.J. Cammack insisted the district 鈥渃entered the well-being of our students and staff at every turn in the decision-making process.鈥�
 
For example, Fremont opened some classrooms for on-site learning in March 2021 and added 鈥渨ellness centers鈥� at high schools that fall.
 
But the in-person hubs turned out to be classrooms where students sat together while teachers remained virtual. Jason found the scene 鈥渃haotic鈥� and asked not to return.
 
Helmers, the school psychologist, described the wellness centers as places where students can read, paint, drink tea or 鈥渟it and do nothing.鈥� However, neither Jason nor his sister Julia said they knew anything about the center at their high school.

In the push to reopen, several California districts took advantage of from the state and reached agreements with unions for teachers to return. Not Fremont. By the end of that March, Cammack 鈥� appointed just before the 2020-21 school year 鈥� that talks with the union had broken down. 

The union the district for the failure to find 鈥渕iddle ground鈥� and said teachers 鈥渃arried the weight鈥� of knowing that most parents weren鈥檛 even interested in returning to in-person learning before the end of the year.

Brannin Dorsey, current president of the 1,700-member Fremont Teachers Association, wasn鈥檛 in charge then.

And she鈥檇 rather not play 鈥渁rmchair quarterback and critique how it could have been done differently,鈥� she told 成人抖阴. 

鈥淚 think the entire nation is thinking about that.鈥�

鈥楪enuinely wanted 鈥� my diploma鈥�

As the school year drew to a close, Jason grew so desperate to escape the daily pressure of signing on to Zoom that he was prepared to leave high school for good. In his IEP evaluation, he told educators he 鈥渟aw no value鈥� in remote learning. He took the high school equivalency exam 鈥� an option far more typical of students who have already dropped out. 

For Carol, the test offered a final 鈥渢icket out鈥� of regular calls about Jason鈥檚 truancy. 

He passed the exam 鈥� remotely 鈥� despite panicky feelings over a proctor watching him on camera. A picture Carol took of him holding his certificate offers almost a reverse image of the happy kid in the snapshot from two years earlier. Standing in the kitchen, hair almost covering his eyes, he looks defeated.

鈥淚t was heartbreaking,鈥� she said. 鈥淚t was such an accomplishment, but he couldn鈥檛 celebrate or find anything to be proud of.鈥�

Something was missing. For a student who had once been so immersed in school, he still felt driven to stay on a traditional path toward graduation. When American reopened in person last fall, his friends persuaded him to return for senior year.

鈥淚 genuinely wanted to get my diploma from that school,鈥� he said. 

But he remained emotionally fragile. One teacher refused to give him more time on tests, as his IEP stipulated. He came home in tears the Thursday before Halloween and didn鈥檛 join friends going out in costume. By Monday, Carol told the school he wouldn鈥檛 be coming back. 

Post-high school, he worked at a grocery store 鈥� hours that Carol believes contributed to his healing 鈥� and spent spare time playing Pok茅mon with friends he made at a comic book shop near his old junior high. 

Carol didn鈥檛 let up on making sure he enrolled in school somewhere. But the thought of entering college only reminded him why he had left American. Jason worried professors wouldn鈥檛 make accommodations for him. During the summer, he said, he still needed 鈥渢ime to work through the trauma.鈥�

A student accessibility office at Ohlone, a community college in Fremont, gave him the time and space to do that. Over the course of several visits to the campus, counselors broke down the admissions process into small steps and assured him that instructors would consider his needs. In late July, he registered for the fall semester. Carol said she 鈥渘early cried.鈥�

On Aug. 29, his father made him a breakfast burrito and Jason reported to class. 

In looking back at her son’s two-year ordeal, Carol remains bewildered by how quickly school closures knocked Jason off course. Despite her disappointment that he鈥檚 not attending a traditional university this fall, she has learned to focus on his happiness.

鈥淲e are all a little bit more aware of mental wellness,鈥� she said. 鈥淚t is so hard to accomplish anything when you’re depressed. The healing process is so slow, it’s painful.鈥� 

Carol believes that Jason no longer feels like a failure, but still worries 鈥渙ne little obstacle will set him off.鈥�

His progress, while visible, is far from linear. Relearning study habits hasn鈥檛 been easy.  Sometimes, he procrastinates on assignments and skips class.

Carol tells him to break up homework into one-hour increments and often sits with him in his room to get it done. He especially enjoys his Japanese class, and a county rehabilitation agency is helping him look for a new job.

For Jason, there’s solace in knowing he’s not alone. A friend in his early morning English class recently opened up about feelings of anxiety. 

鈥淚t’s kind of comforting knowing that he’s sharing with me what he’s going through,鈥� he said.

When his own dark thoughts return, Jason remembers he鈥檚 鈥渂een through so much worse.鈥� And he鈥檚 in a counseling program at Ohlone that will give him a better shot at transferring into highly competitive Berkeley 鈥� a goal he鈥檚 rekindled.

鈥淭here’s much more that I want to accomplish.鈥�

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