Last night I didn’t sleep well, I felt under pressure, anxious, unsettled. This morning two of my teacher-education courses opened online.
As I tossed and turned in bed, I thought about the two groups of students I would meet for the first time on my screen today. I wondered how many would find the link to the Zoom session, how many would win their battles with the internet infrastructure in the regional areas of northern Israel. I wondered how many would be preoccupied with the current financial, social and health problems connected to the pandemic. I tried to imagine myself beginning a new academic year as a student in today’s reality.
Apart from my concerns regarding the students, I worried about my performance as an educator in the present conditions. My own high expectations of my professional self caused me to panic. What if the Nearpod presentation settings I have selected aren’t the correct ones and the slides and activities I have prepared won’t work? What if I can’t be welcoming and inviting enough through the screen? Maybe my instructions and explanations aren’t clear enough? There may be students who don’t understand how the course, with its unusual structure, is supposed to work. What if I can’t transmit my genuine care for them and my honest desire to get to know them via Zoom? What if they don’t participate in the activities because they feel apathy, boredom, frustration or confusion? What if I mess up my only opportunity to make a positive first impression? Thirty years of teaching have not soothed the nerves, and I still can’t begin a course or program without doubting my ability and worrying that the seeds of motivation and curiosity won’t germinate.
Despite the restless night, I woke with the energy of new beginnings. I focused on making the last adjustments, checking the links I needed in the lessons, and organising my desk. Ten minutes before my second-year “Teaching English to young learners” class opened, I entered the Zoom room, took a deep breath and began greeting the students as they joined me. Most were smiling; most turned on their microphone to say ‘good morning’ and most looked at me with anticipation.
I think my effort to make them feel at ease and even ‘at home’ in the course paid off. Most of the students attended with their cameras on, and there was almost full participation in the activities.
What did I attempt to do in that one and a half-hour session that framed the educational experience in a relational setting?
Greeting the students as they entered, as much as possible, was essential, just as it is in a physical classroom. The message was ‘Welcome, I see you’. I heard myself saying ‘I’m happy you’re here’ a few times.
I made a point of signalling that I want to respect those who arrived on time and to start on time. I always have an activity ready for those who are waiting, so they don’t feel they are wasting their time, and I am free to be present for those who are having connection troubles or arrive a few minutes late.
I asked the students to write their names in the chat box in English, in the spelling they prefer and asked how they like to be named. That was another critical step in the building of respectful relationships, especially in a culturally diverse study context.
I left introducing myself until after the first activity so that the majority of students were there. My introduction was professional and personal; it signalled that I am interested in interaction and that there is an expectation that I will get to know them too. As in face-to-face teaching situations, I wanted them to see that I am an approachable person, an experienced educator and extremely passionate about my work.
I described the course structure in detail: my choice of flipped learning, my decision to meet on Zoom once a fortnight (and not weekly), for 45 minutes (and not 90), in two groups of 18 students (and not in one large group). I made it clear that I was focusing on their learning needs and quality social interaction. I tried to accompany the discussion of alternative modes of assessment and the adoption of many low-stakes assessment tasks, with a message that if you keep in touch, do the work and are significantly involved in the learning in the course; problems shouldn’t arise.
I made a point of inviting questions and listening hard to those asked. I stopped several times to invite questions and was happy to see that comments joined the questions. One of the questions asked about the structure of the course was a student repeating what I had said in an attempt to check her comprehension. I seized the opportunity to commend her understanding and invited her to explain again for the benefit of others. Between the lines, I was saying: ‘Please do participate’, ‘your voices are important’, ‘you have a role in the learning of the group’ and ‘when you talk, we’ll listen’.
An additional way in which I showed the students that I see them as individuals was to add physical activity (or a break to make coffee) mid-lesson. I also made them a game about useful student habits.
One last way, I attempted to engage the participants was to describe at length the connection between the course and their teaching practicum. I emphasised the reciprocation of the two learning environments and stressed the relevance of the course content to every one of them.
Before the students moved on to their next lesson, I requested that each of them turn on the microphone and say goodbye. I always enjoy ending the class with a chorus of goodbyes and waves, and then I remain online for those who want a private word with me.
I finished teaching my two lessons exhausted; communicating through the screen is draining. Despite the fatigue, I sensed accomplishment, excitement, curiosity about the future, and confidence that many of the seeds had germinated.
