Better Conversations During Distance Learning
Nothing really prepared me for a global pandemic in my 34th year of teaching. One day I’m in my classroom happily teaching high school English, as I have for so many years; the next day, I’m home nervously thinking about my internet speed and trying to figure out how to be an effective teacher from afar. Last spring, like most educators, I limped through to the end of the school year, creating online assignments and video messages, emailing my students incessantly and basically trying to be a positive force in a world that seemed anything but. Fast forward to September, and I am literally a technical genius—hosting live Google Meet classes for 30 students, switching to Zoom for professional development (and personal happy hours) and creating pithy videos on Screencastify, clever assignments on Flipgrid and meaningful assessments on Google Forms.
Yep, it is no exaggeration to say that we teachers have truly leaned into pandemic teaching and, despite our own uncertainty or lack of technical acumen, we have jumped headlong into the challenges and possibilities of this moment to change the way we do business.
For me, though, the one thing that really hasn’t changed during these uncertain times is my deep belief in the power of a good conversation. The more I know about teaching and learning, the more I understand that there is nothing more important than my relationships with my students and the community I create in my classroom. Informal discussions and casual conversations have always been the way I foster these connections, and I’m not going to lie, despite my aforementioned technical prowess, I have been struggling to do this well in a virtual setting.
Recently I had one of those lousy teacher days. You know the ones—when you feel like everything is going well and that you’re totally on your teacher game—and then you get that email. Often that email is from a parent, sometimes from an administrator. This one, however, was from a student—one of my favorite students, in fact, who was writing to tell me that I embarrassed her during our virtual class that morning. When she didn’t know the answer to a question about last night’s reading, she felt like I pushed her to answer and embarrassed her in front of her classmates. After thinking about it for a few minutes, I responded to my student with an apologetic email—no caveats or explanations—just a straight up mea culpa and an invitation to a private google meet later in the afternoon. During our one-on-one, I apologized again and told her I really appreciated her email and that because of it, I would try to be more sensitive with how I use “cold calling” in our virtual class. Later, I thought about what she said and how it might have been different in a real classroom. I might have asked a question and seen right away who could answer it, or who was slumping down in their chair and looking down at their notebook. Hmmmm.
As fate would have it, the very next day, after virtual classes were over, I logged onto a faculty meeting. After the meeting, I was feeling slightly self-conscious about a comment I made to one of my colleagues. I picked up my phone to text one of my friends, who was also in the meeting, hoping that she would reassure me, and then I saw that I had a bunch of new text messages. “Did I sound ridiculous asking that question?” read one. “I really hate the way I look in these meetings,” said another, and yet another, “Do you think it was rude that I didn’t have my camera on?” In all, I got 5 text messages, all from colleagues in the same faculty meeting, articulating some insecurity about their appearance or perceived performance in the meeting. And then it hit me: My teacher friends who spend hours each day on camera in front of 25 or 30 students are uncomfortable and self conscious in a virtual faculty meeting. Wow.
And then I began to think about why this is so ridiculously hard and I realized that it just isn’t natural. Our computer cameras zoom in our faces and the little tiles literally expose every expression, every idiosyncrasy, and yes, every wrinkle—and more profoundly, they force us to watch too. It’s just plain weird and, really, no wonder so many of us come away from so many meetings, feeling insecure about how we seemed to others, when we seemed so uncomfortable to ourselves. And then, all of a sudden, it occurred to me how many of my students, with their self-conscious, sensitive, sometimes socially awkward teenage brains, must feel this way too. And, really, no wonder so many of them prefer to stay out of the unforgiving glare of their camera’s gaze, or if they are on camera, prefer to stay silent. Wow, again.
So, the problem, of course, is that school, and especially virtual school, goes a lot better when students show up for the discussion, faces and all. There are many important reasons why students should not be forced to be on camera and this in no way seeks to undermine that conversation, but, if your district is requiring cameras for students, as mine is, how can you acknowledge these inherent challenges and have better, more engaging class discussions?
These recent experiences—and maybe some new insights—have helped to inform my thinking about conversations with my students, especially when we’re not in the same room. These are a few simple things I’ve been trying in recent days and they seem to be help students to feel more comfortable showing up—and participating—in our virtual conversations:
Use the time at the beginning of the class, while students are still logging on, to chat individually with students about their lives, just as you might at the door of your actual classroom. These brief little conversations build comfort and rapport and signal to students that you’re interested in them. Class conversations seem to go much better when they are rooted in rapport.
Start your class discussion with a question (mine are about our reading) in the chat and have students write their responses, but wait to post. After a couple of minutes, have everyone post their responses simultaneously. (I have heard this called waterfall or cascade responding.) Now, read through the comments in the chat aloud and ask students to elaborate or explain their responses. This gives students a minute to collect and articulate their thoughts, making for better discussions.
Give students more room to guide the conversation, rather than just responding to your questions. You can do this by asking for volunteers to lead discussions or by utilizing a more formal Socratic Seminar method with student facilitators.
Surprise students less. Give them a heads-up, via the Google Classroom stream before class, about what you’ll be asking them during the class discussion.
When you can’t praise the quality of the response, praise the act of responding.
Acknowledge the inherent problems with virtual discussions. Be vulnerable about your own discomfort and give students space to articulate theirs.
Finally, if there is a problem or misunderstanding with a student that you notice, or that they bring to your attention, resolve it face to face. If the student is learning at home, invite them to stay on the meet after class for a minute to talk about what happened—or to join you in a Google Meet or Zoom call a little later. After all, this is what we would do in real school.
