We’ve been remote for three days, and I’m already over it.
I would have expected that having already gotten to know my students, they’d be eager and open and ready, cameras on, to continue the great work we’re doing.
Riiigghhhhttttt.
While I completely understand there are legitimate reasons one might not have a camera on – weak wifi, babysitting babies or quarantined K-6 students (they’re in person for the time being), self-image issues, cyber-bullying potential (did I tell you about the one where one of my colleagues learned he was paraded on Instagram by students who’d taken a picture of him during remote class and made a meme of him? It was not cruel, but still…I honestly had not thought about that as something that was happening – I know, that makes me naïve. But it also makes me trusting. As a teacher, I’ll own that as a good thing.) – it still hurts my teacher heart.
I know they know I care. I know they know it matters whether they turn them on or keep them off. I know that once there’s about 1/3 of cameras off, the “room” feels very different, and borders on unsafe. I get that. And they’re participating – mostly. Not all, of course. But whereas when we’re in the room I can walk around, catch smiles, drop a book on a student’s desk I think they might like, ask about a soccer game or an older sibling…online… well… if you’re reading this you get it. Crickets.
So….how does a teacher who’s trying not to lose her hope, cope?
Create opportunities for students to speak during class:
Typically, this is the norm for me. I do not do most of the talking in class. Questions, collaborations, groups, buddy chats, peer reviews, … these are my norms. This is one of the reasons I find remote teaching challenging without cameras – I don’t like to put students on the spot when I can’t see their faces. So…for me, this means:
- breakout rooms & reporting out to the larger group;
- JamBoards;
- students writing on Google Slides and commenting on peers’ writing;
- collaborations via Google Docs;
- tons of gratitude for when we get to hear their voices;
- using my “deck” of index cards to know who I haven’t heard from, and ask low-risk questions of those students as they log on / respond to our daily “check-in” in the chat;
- ask questions on their work and let them know I’d like answers – this is one of my favorites, because it can lead to some really great “silent” discussions;
- vent and listen to strategies colleagues are using that are working;
- cut myself some slack.
Truthfully, it’s that last one that is a killer. As a type “A” perfectionist who works really hard to connect with students and create meaning in every moment, feeling like I’ve been doing well since September and then suddenly being relegated to the B-/C+ range feels, well, not good.
So, I’m trying to “grade” myself on the same system I’m using with my students, essentially: Pass/Fail. No one in my class who tries, fails.
I still feel the heaviness of the work in the end, but naming the ways I am working and trying to engage my students forces me to admit that while I’m not perfect and each lesson could have been better, I can make them better as I learn the rhythm and comfort level of the group, and spend time (hah!) re-designing lessons for this modality.
And in the meantime, I can recall their smiling eyes and joy in learning from our in-person class, and enjoy the voices of those who speak, and the few faces I’m finally getting to see without the mask, and remind myself that they don’t like this either, and that when I tell them “together, we will get through this,” that includes me, too.