I have no idea. I haven’t seen their faces once in thirty days. I hear their voices–well, most. Some haven’t even shared that. They are only letters in the chat. I see their work–well, most. Some haven’t even shared that. They are blank cells in Skyward. I see their dark screens with names in white–well, most. Some haven’t even come to class once. They are names on a roster for me to mark absent. I am teaching screens.
Yes, many I have seen. Many I have heard. Many work. Many show up. But even the “animated” screen seems…well, distant. We go through our daily routine. We even smile and laugh, but it seems of late that even in this, fewer each day partake. In the gallery, I see more names than faces, faces I once saw, but now the screen. I try not to take it personally. I will not make them turn their video on. And, thus, behind the screen we go on.
And that’s not easy, for either. They, too, must feel the distance. They, too, must feel the contrivance. They, too, must feel the fatigue. They, too, must feel the apathy. They, too, must feel that this…. That this is not real. I imagine that’s how they feel.
And so, as I meet them each day, I breathe in deeply and try my best to imagine that they are there in the room with me, that I can see them, that I can hear them. And for now it’s working. But if it will last, I do not know.
I have no idea.
Happy Thursday, all.
Do. Reflect. Do Better.
I know. Every day I watch a student try to make this work. That sense of unreality is always there. You are doing the best that can be done, but I feel your pain as a teacher. All we can do is all we can do… Keep strong.
Thank you, Diane. Happy Friday.