5:15 . . . This alarm is never easy. These days, I slog out a bit late, still stuck to headlines and tangents, a news diet that has crowded out calm at an increasing rate for the past five years.
6:40 . . . Breakfast done, lunch is coming together, the pace picks up; don't forget the go coffee.
7:30ish . . . (It used to be earlier.) . . . It's time to fire up the machine:
Key into the lock to enter classroom.
Lug the shoulder bag, lunch box, coffee cup, sundry items, over to the desk area.
Hit the powerstrip for lamps and laptop charger.
Walk over to the east window, unlock, and crank open at least 5".
Turn on small exit fan, it's an insert held in place, partly, by a summer screen duct taped to the window frame.
By the free-read bookshelf, hit the HEPA air filter, make sure it's on the germ setting.
The iPad is next, clasped to a stand horizontally, mini-dongle awaiting the laptop's arrival at this mobile standing desk. I turn it on.
The Promethean Board projector system follows; turning that on allows me access to the Apple TV settings where I can find the daily bulletin window, the one that announces class changes, student of the month, and various rotating calendar items on screen.
Once class is about to begin, that's when the Hybrid fun really starts.
8:00ish . . . This is time to check emails, meet with families and other teachers for IEPs, 504s, and any other student support team meetings. As the end of the quarter approaches, these morning slots are filled with students wanting to workshop essays and discuss revisions and my feedback. There are even a few regularly scheduled meetings, weekly, as students are a bit untethered in the role of being virtual students and are struggling finding ways to focus on tasks independently.
Some mornings, I even have time to begin looking at last night's homework or responding to student writing before class. It's never uninterrupted time, though, as Hybrid and in-person students start popping into the classroom by 8:30. It all happens so fast!
I plug the dongle into my laptop, now on the standing desk. Then, I plug the MOVO area microphone into a different USB port on the laptop. This provides superior ambient sound, as in the teacher-student dialog in the classroom.
The chimes for students joining the class online keep pinging, and I then join the Meet via Calendar on my laptop. This is "command central," the place where I can share documents and control what is seen on screen. When I log in, here, I wave to the early arrivals at home, eating breakfast or waking up, peering into the camera. "Morning, Peter! Just setting up, here. Give us a minute."
The power supply needs to be connected to the laptop, so I haul that over. All of this takes a lot of juice. Then, the last plug in for the morning is the sound bar. This will broadcast the student voices from online into the classroom at a volume level everyone can hear. Hopefully, we can have a coherent conversation.
9:05 . . . After first bell, it's time to take attendance. I can easily check the classroom, where several students will have slipped in as I'm acting as tech roadie and set up guy. "Morning, folks." Chit chat and attendance follows, allowing for a few stragglers to join us online.
This is a tricky part, as I ask students to turn their cameras on daily. While some cannot do so successfully without sacrificing bandwidth, some can. I need to see as many faces on my laptop screen as possible before I start sharing documents, or I will fall into the despair of fearing that no one is "out there" at all. 14- and 15-year-olds are experts at tuning me out in person. Turning off a camera and mic make that all the easier.
Sometimes, when I ask a student to turn on mic or camera, I regret having done so. I have seen basements with insulation drooping from between the rafters, clutter like a hoarder show, black light dungeons of rock, or just simple kitchens. One never knows. Sound also yields sudden surprises like screaming younger siblings, anger television or music soundtracks, orders barked from rooms afar. The demand for mics and cameras has softened.
OK, class up and running. Many days, in my new World History classes, we start with a CNN-10 video. I must remember to mute my own mic, share a tab (not whole screen), and check with remote students if we're all systems go. It's chunky, skipping, and sometimes pixelated on a good day. The audio is the key, though.
One odd feature about sharing a screen, be it for a broadcast or a document share, that's when I lose track of the faces (or avatars) at home. My screen is what I am projecting only, and I rely on verbal check-ins. "So, Locke was making claims about the sanctity of life, liberty, and property. Does that sound familiar? Is that language we know from a separate document or a different place? Timmy?" I pause, waiting. "Timmy? Are you there? Tim? Is your mic working, buddy?"
These asks are to share the wealth of conversation. If, like me, a student can learn better by verbalizing, by conversing, I want them to have that experience. It's also important to note when students are, or are not, engaged. We need to check for understanding, regularly. "Timmy?" I'll pause again, and on many days, my students have heard me say, "Well, I guess he went to make a sandwich." I try to keep it light.
Every once in a while, I will have moved on. "Let's take a look at the responses about Rousseau's socia . . ." Then, a sudden garbled break in, "Yeah, Locke was. . . . [diginoise garble]. . . " and it's apparent that Timmy's response from 120 seconds ago is just now trying to break through the airwaves. I pause, let it pass, and keep moving on.
Adaptability
So, wash, rinse, and repeat for each class in the day. It's screwy. Prior to the holidays, families were worried about sending their students to school, and I might have only one or two students in the classroom while all the rest are online. We try to act as though there is a classroom culture. We try to act as though it's a normal day.
One thing is for certain, these students have adapted. The teachers have adapted. We're doing it, daily, weekly, monthly getting better at doing things we never dreamed of doing one year ago. Here we are, though, losing touch with the energy that brings a classroom discussion alive, that ineffable spark that surges through a great conversation, the immeasurable pleasure of seeing recognition in the eyes of those understanding something for the first time.
Like music without an audience or a sporting event with cardboard cutouts, we're playing all four quarters this year, open for Hybrid learning, whether or not we have a quorum. The skills we've developed will serve us well in the future, too, provided we can direct them to the right purposes. However, there's no denying what we've lost, and the jury's out on what it means for us moving forward.
2:15 . . . In-person learners are hitting the busses, and the afternoon meetings have begun. Once I leave the building at 4:00, 5:00, or 6:00 or so, depending on that day's grading and workload, it's off to the home office where the planning happens, devising lessons and making instructional videos into the evening, on weekends, and over breaks.
I'm shouting, but this year, it's like shouting into the wind.
