Last-class days are usually ho-hum. I expected only two or three students to come and listen to my instructions for a future online exam.
I was shocked to see them all!
Perhaps because it was the last day, even those who chose silence through the term put their larynx to work. And since I had no formal agenda, except for the instructions that were spelled out in a few minutes, the talkies were free-wheeling.
We talked about their plans, the weather, some politics, nuggets of wisdom, past lessons, and countless inanities that needed no brain surgery.
Then when the final minutes came, I nonchalantly said, “Okay, goodbye for now. See you when I see you! Let’s take one last class photo.”
And suddenly, a blast rocked my screen. From each frame sprang out faces and words that knocked me over.
I didn’t know whether to cry, laugh, babble, or snivel. I did all.See, online classes are frustrating, if not heartbreaking. A teacher, who exhausts all bags of tricks to engage her students, never knows whether she is connecting or not. Body language and facial expressions that usually guide a teacher's tempo in a classroom, are non existent. Closed cameras show only grinning photos.
That was why on this last day, I expected yawning.
The shock wave triggered by that blast from the class blew up my senses and turned my throat into a fist. That night, like a weeping willow, I bowed down in thanksgiving for this burst of grace.
Students' going away reactions, no matter how they've behaved in your class, always brings as teacher back to that special happy place. I so miss teaching—the live kind though.
ReplyDeleteYes, "that special happy place." Keeps us energized, doesn't it?
ReplyDelete