OK, now that's out of the way, here comes the rant...
Yesterday was the "first day back". The first day with students engaged in distance learning, a phrase that, truthfully, I had never heard a month ago. The first day seeing the faces of students I had not seen since March 13. The first day sitting at my makeshift desk in my bedroom, going "live" with my students. And to be honest, in many ways, it felt like the first day of school: I was nervous, I was sleep-deprived, and I was underprepared.
My first class was at 8:30, and although I had worked most of Monday afternoon and evening, I still needed a couple of hours in the morning to frantically record those last few screencasts and post them on Google Classroom. It felt a little bit like preparing for having a substitute teacher.
For those of you who are not teachers, it is important to understand that preparing for a sub, preparing for when you are not going to be in the classroom -- which is exactly what I was preparing for -- takes far longer than planning for a normal lesson. Trade secret: this is the reason why so many teachers, myself included, only take sick days when they are at death's door. It is too much effort to take a couple of hours to write those sub plans, make the copies, and ensure the directions are simple enough to be understood by an 8 year old. Just dose yourself up and go to work so you don't lose a day of instruction.
Anyway, that's what it felt like. The instructions had to be perfect and the links all had to work. There was a video on Google Meet etiquette that I needed to make. I know there is so much information out there to help, but, trust me, we have been overwhelmed with information -- dozens and dozens of emails touting strategies, training, links to webinars, resources, blogs -- to the extent that I can't handle it anymore. In that sense, I feel like a first year teacher again.
A first year teacher making sub plans. Great.
Oh, and did I mention that I have no way to make the students do the work I set them?
On the bright side, at least I'm not going to get a snotty note from the sub about how the instructions were too complex and how the kids spent too much time on their phones.
To their credit, most of my students were actually "in class". They watched the screencasts, attended the Google Meet, and waved dutifully at me and answered the basic questions I threw at them. I thought it would be energizing and uplifting to see them all again, but something was missing.
My first class was at 8:30, and although I had worked most of Monday afternoon and evening, I still needed a couple of hours in the morning to frantically record those last few screencasts and post them on Google Classroom. It felt a little bit like preparing for having a substitute teacher.
For those of you who are not teachers, it is important to understand that preparing for a sub, preparing for when you are not going to be in the classroom -- which is exactly what I was preparing for -- takes far longer than planning for a normal lesson. Trade secret: this is the reason why so many teachers, myself included, only take sick days when they are at death's door. It is too much effort to take a couple of hours to write those sub plans, make the copies, and ensure the directions are simple enough to be understood by an 8 year old. Just dose yourself up and go to work so you don't lose a day of instruction.
Anyway, that's what it felt like. The instructions had to be perfect and the links all had to work. There was a video on Google Meet etiquette that I needed to make. I know there is so much information out there to help, but, trust me, we have been overwhelmed with information -- dozens and dozens of emails touting strategies, training, links to webinars, resources, blogs -- to the extent that I can't handle it anymore. In that sense, I feel like a first year teacher again.
A first year teacher making sub plans. Great.
Oh, and did I mention that I have no way to make the students do the work I set them?
On the bright side, at least I'm not going to get a snotty note from the sub about how the instructions were too complex and how the kids spent too much time on their phones.
To their credit, most of my students were actually "in class". They watched the screencasts, attended the Google Meet, and waved dutifully at me and answered the basic questions I threw at them. I thought it would be energizing and uplifting to see them all again, but something was missing.
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| On the plus side, my workspace is tidier than it's ever been. |
It was physical presence.
I couldn't high five anyone. I couldn't catch someone's eye and say hi. I wanted to reach out and connect but I didn't know how. Each class over the course of the year establishes its own routine: the same kids arrive first, the same kids rush up to me to spill the latest tea or rant about their science teacher, and I greet the same kids in pretty much the same way every single day.
These are the myriad small moments that add up to a genuine relationship, and they are impossible to generate in a Google Meet with 36 students. Not having this made me feel powerless: I don't see a way to establish the kind of classroom culture I know I am good at fostering. Sure, I made a cute Flipgrid assignment but that actually made things worse because now they were speaking to me individually in their videos but I couldn't respond in real time.
And if classroom culture and authentic connection is important for teachers, imagine what it means to students. That's another post for another time, though. It's all about me today. I told you this was going to be self-indulgent.
These are kids whom, until March 13th, I had seen for 5 hours per week since August and -- there's no other way to say this -- I love them. They are the reason I do what I do. It was a very strange rush of emotions as the familiar faces popped up on the screen. I feel like I've already had to say goodbye to these kids and seeing them again made me realise exactly what this pandemic has cost me. And, truth be told, it hurt. In eight weeks I'll have to say goodbye again, but who knows whether there will be any semblance of a connection at that point.
A case in point: at the beginning of the break, over a month ago, I told one of my classes I didn't want them to do anything except read. As I watched their Flipgrid videos and looked at their faces in the Google Meet, it became patently clear that they'd done absolutely no reading of note. Despite my pleas in the various videos and letters I'd sent out them and their parents, urging them that they'd be losing valuable opportunities to improve the one thing that will help them in so many ways, it all fell on deaf ears. I felt so discouraged, especially since I knew that I'd be able to hold them accountable if they were physically in class with me.
And, moving forward, I don't even know if the kids are going to get anything out of this at all. They don't have to do any of the work (see my previous post for an explanation), they are not especially cognizant of this moment (hardly surprising, I suppose, since they're teenagers), and now they're dealing with a teacher who is basically lost.
Of course I also miss my colleagues, and I suspect I'll feel their absence more keenly as the workload gets more intense and the frustration and exhaustion rises. More than anything, we are each other's support system. I spoke to one of my colleagues this afternoon and she was already in tears. She is fed up of being alone in lockdown and today, although providing her with an opportunity to connect with students she hadn't seen in a while, merely reinforced that reality.
By now, I am totally aware that I am being self-indulgent and ungrateful, so I'm going to shut up in a minute. I don't want to come across as selfish. After all, I have a job. I'm healthy, and so is everyone in my family. We has enough food, good wifi, and a decent supply of toilet paper. I am not suffering like so many people. This is our new, albeit (hopefully) temporary, reality. I also know this will get better; it was only the first day, after all.
But as I fell into bed, exhausted and brain still whirring -- it actually hurt to close my eyes, yet another new sensation -- I could only come to one conclusion. I'm either going to hate being an online teacher or I'm going to be a terrible one, which in education is essentially the same thing. "Doing what I do" now looks totally different, and I feel cheated. Worse still, the kids are being cheated, and I'm not sure they even realise it.
Rant over. Time to get back to work.
I couldn't high five anyone. I couldn't catch someone's eye and say hi. I wanted to reach out and connect but I didn't know how. Each class over the course of the year establishes its own routine: the same kids arrive first, the same kids rush up to me to spill the latest tea or rant about their science teacher, and I greet the same kids in pretty much the same way every single day.
These are the myriad small moments that add up to a genuine relationship, and they are impossible to generate in a Google Meet with 36 students. Not having this made me feel powerless: I don't see a way to establish the kind of classroom culture I know I am good at fostering. Sure, I made a cute Flipgrid assignment but that actually made things worse because now they were speaking to me individually in their videos but I couldn't respond in real time.
And if classroom culture and authentic connection is important for teachers, imagine what it means to students. That's another post for another time, though. It's all about me today. I told you this was going to be self-indulgent.
These are kids whom, until March 13th, I had seen for 5 hours per week since August and -- there's no other way to say this -- I love them. They are the reason I do what I do. It was a very strange rush of emotions as the familiar faces popped up on the screen. I feel like I've already had to say goodbye to these kids and seeing them again made me realise exactly what this pandemic has cost me. And, truth be told, it hurt. In eight weeks I'll have to say goodbye again, but who knows whether there will be any semblance of a connection at that point.
A case in point: at the beginning of the break, over a month ago, I told one of my classes I didn't want them to do anything except read. As I watched their Flipgrid videos and looked at their faces in the Google Meet, it became patently clear that they'd done absolutely no reading of note. Despite my pleas in the various videos and letters I'd sent out them and their parents, urging them that they'd be losing valuable opportunities to improve the one thing that will help them in so many ways, it all fell on deaf ears. I felt so discouraged, especially since I knew that I'd be able to hold them accountable if they were physically in class with me.
And, moving forward, I don't even know if the kids are going to get anything out of this at all. They don't have to do any of the work (see my previous post for an explanation), they are not especially cognizant of this moment (hardly surprising, I suppose, since they're teenagers), and now they're dealing with a teacher who is basically lost.
Of course I also miss my colleagues, and I suspect I'll feel their absence more keenly as the workload gets more intense and the frustration and exhaustion rises. More than anything, we are each other's support system. I spoke to one of my colleagues this afternoon and she was already in tears. She is fed up of being alone in lockdown and today, although providing her with an opportunity to connect with students she hadn't seen in a while, merely reinforced that reality.
By now, I am totally aware that I am being self-indulgent and ungrateful, so I'm going to shut up in a minute. I don't want to come across as selfish. After all, I have a job. I'm healthy, and so is everyone in my family. We has enough food, good wifi, and a decent supply of toilet paper. I am not suffering like so many people. This is our new, albeit (hopefully) temporary, reality. I also know this will get better; it was only the first day, after all.
But as I fell into bed, exhausted and brain still whirring -- it actually hurt to close my eyes, yet another new sensation -- I could only come to one conclusion. I'm either going to hate being an online teacher or I'm going to be a terrible one, which in education is essentially the same thing. "Doing what I do" now looks totally different, and I feel cheated. Worse still, the kids are being cheated, and I'm not sure they even realise it.
Rant over. Time to get back to work.
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