Teaching in a Pandemic
As this school year comes to a close, we aren't doing the usual rituals we are so used to. There are no last day assemblies and there's no celebratory grad cake... there are no students scrambling to finish their credits, waiting to the last minute to hand in their work, no retirement parties or get togethers with friends and colleagues. It is so very strange.
Over the past three months, we have been communicating with students over email, google meet, and over the phone. We have tried to motivate them to do some school work, to get that one thing done so they could graduate or finish a course. Everything took 3 times longer and took way more effort. We got through on some level to most of them, but not all. And, really, a lot of them did do it... they did what they needed to do to get to their next step. Marks have been recorded, students will move on to the next grade, and walk across the stage when it is safe to do so, but it feels unfinished.
The highlight of my teaching time during these three months has been connecting with students. The times that I have felt the most useful and the most normal have been when I have seen them face-to-face (over the internet) and taught them something. I've had days where I was super productive, and days when I could hardly do anything at all, and a whole pile of regular in-between days, but the ones where I got to actually work with a student made me feel most like myself. I am a teacher. I have been since I tutored and studied with friends in middle school and high school. It feels so strange to be sitting at a computer not interacting with people. When we connected and we learned together, it felt almost normal. But that didn't happen every day. I've spent more of my time in meetings, filling out spreadsheets, and waiting, than I have teaching. The pros of the meetings (seeing colleagues -- even virtually) outweighed all of the new things we had to track and be mindful of. It was good to see people (even though we looked like the Brady Bunch) other than my husband and my dog.
I have had more freedom in my day than I am used to. The gift of time to plan and to learn has not gone unused -- I've taken webinars and read books and taken time to plan. But it's hard to plan when you don't know what you're planning for, and what next week or next month will look like. The absolute plethora of edu-babble and resources streaming from the internet made me stay away for a time. As with anything else, I didn't want to mirror what someone else was doing, or know the 10 best things to do when teaching remotely, especially when I was overwhelmed and mourning "normal". I would scroll and read titles and feel some FOMO, and move on. I'd go walk my dog and clear my head or take a nap and then look again (why is social media so addictive?) and repeat. I felt like I was missing out when someone else posted about what a great workshop they had gone to, and I had not even heard of it -- or, worse, it was one mentioned in of the emails that I had skimmed but not really read. I'm mostly over this feeling now, but it flares up from time to time. I think I was wanting to fill the void of not being in the classroom with knowledge, but at the same time wasn't in a mental space to take new things in.
Other than the students, I miss small talk with my colleagues, and the more serious talks where we brainstormed solutions to problems we were having. I miss the quiet time in my classroom before everyone was in school when I would have a tea and get planning done. I also miss the act of coming home. I'm grateful to have a job I love, a home that is safe, and friends and family who love me. I'm grateful to be safe, and I'm grateful to those who are making it so that I can be. It doesn't make sense to quantify and measure our losses against each others', but instead it makes more sense to realize that no matter what, we've all lost something this year in some way or another. Some people's losses are greater, of course, but collectively as a world, the way we function and interact has been put on pause. That is not something that happens often, and it has affected us all profoundly.
I know this will pass, and someday -- probably not too far away -- we will feel whole again. I know that next school year will be filled with some of the same unknowns and some new problems to solve. I am becoming more okay with being in a state of not knowing what comes next. I have no doubt that we'll rise to the challenge, and that eventually, we'll be able to sit close to one another again. And until then, we'll do the best that we can.
Over the past three months, we have been communicating with students over email, google meet, and over the phone. We have tried to motivate them to do some school work, to get that one thing done so they could graduate or finish a course. Everything took 3 times longer and took way more effort. We got through on some level to most of them, but not all. And, really, a lot of them did do it... they did what they needed to do to get to their next step. Marks have been recorded, students will move on to the next grade, and walk across the stage when it is safe to do so, but it feels unfinished.
The highlight of my teaching time during these three months has been connecting with students. The times that I have felt the most useful and the most normal have been when I have seen them face-to-face (over the internet) and taught them something. I've had days where I was super productive, and days when I could hardly do anything at all, and a whole pile of regular in-between days, but the ones where I got to actually work with a student made me feel most like myself. I am a teacher. I have been since I tutored and studied with friends in middle school and high school. It feels so strange to be sitting at a computer not interacting with people. When we connected and we learned together, it felt almost normal. But that didn't happen every day. I've spent more of my time in meetings, filling out spreadsheets, and waiting, than I have teaching. The pros of the meetings (seeing colleagues -- even virtually) outweighed all of the new things we had to track and be mindful of. It was good to see people (even though we looked like the Brady Bunch) other than my husband and my dog.
I have had more freedom in my day than I am used to. The gift of time to plan and to learn has not gone unused -- I've taken webinars and read books and taken time to plan. But it's hard to plan when you don't know what you're planning for, and what next week or next month will look like. The absolute plethora of edu-babble and resources streaming from the internet made me stay away for a time. As with anything else, I didn't want to mirror what someone else was doing, or know the 10 best things to do when teaching remotely, especially when I was overwhelmed and mourning "normal". I would scroll and read titles and feel some FOMO, and move on. I'd go walk my dog and clear my head or take a nap and then look again (why is social media so addictive?) and repeat. I felt like I was missing out when someone else posted about what a great workshop they had gone to, and I had not even heard of it -- or, worse, it was one mentioned in of the emails that I had skimmed but not really read. I'm mostly over this feeling now, but it flares up from time to time. I think I was wanting to fill the void of not being in the classroom with knowledge, but at the same time wasn't in a mental space to take new things in.
Other than the students, I miss small talk with my colleagues, and the more serious talks where we brainstormed solutions to problems we were having. I miss the quiet time in my classroom before everyone was in school when I would have a tea and get planning done. I also miss the act of coming home. I'm grateful to have a job I love, a home that is safe, and friends and family who love me. I'm grateful to be safe, and I'm grateful to those who are making it so that I can be. It doesn't make sense to quantify and measure our losses against each others', but instead it makes more sense to realize that no matter what, we've all lost something this year in some way or another. Some people's losses are greater, of course, but collectively as a world, the way we function and interact has been put on pause. That is not something that happens often, and it has affected us all profoundly.
I know this will pass, and someday -- probably not too far away -- we will feel whole again. I know that next school year will be filled with some of the same unknowns and some new problems to solve. I am becoming more okay with being in a state of not knowing what comes next. I have no doubt that we'll rise to the challenge, and that eventually, we'll be able to sit close to one another again. And until then, we'll do the best that we can.
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