Chaos begins with a simple command: “Ok, students. If you’ll click on the link and pull up Google Slides, we can get to today’s assignment.”
A virtual classroom of seven-year-olds erupts.
“What is a link?” one boy said.
“Pull up what, our pants?” asked another.
From there, it became Lord of the Flies. This is what online schooling looks like at the moment for many of us. I sat back and watched as Thunderdome began.
From the relative safety of our kitchen table, my son and I bore witness to the carnage. 15 faces looked back at the teacher, confused expressions started to give away to panic. The teacher said to do something, and they did not know what that meant.
Do what? What do we do? Today’s word of the day is Frustration, boys and girls. Can you say “AAAAAAAAAA!”
This is more distance screaming than it is distance learning.
“Ok, Friends,” the teacher said to regain control. It’s her keyword that I’ve noticed over the last couple of weeks. She says friends, but none of the faces on the screen look very friendly. I believe one child picked up a play-doh knife. “If you’ll go into the chat feature, you’ll see blue words. That’s a link,” she said.
“What’s a chat?” asked a little girl.
I spend most of my days now working next to my son, which means that I am repeating the second grade myself. It’s not so bad as I enjoy color time. I don’t actually get much writing done as I’m constantly interrupted to help with reading or whatever the hell a number bond is. I’ve had four lessons and still have no idea.
And with two other kids in middle school and high school, my attention is often needed elsewhere. I am an IT consultant, a mathematician, a writing instructor, and an elementary student motivator. I run from the one fire to the next.
My official title is as a “learning coach” but that makes as much sense as a number bond. What I am most days is just like the kids on the screen. Frustrated.
“Dad, what is a chat and where is it?” my son asks. This is why I stay next to him. There is going to be a gap here in vernacular between what they wanted the child to do and what he can actually do. He can navigate YouTube videos and unlock my phone, but the inner workings of Google Slides are beyond him. And me, most days.
“It’s right here, buddy.” I click on the chat, show him how to work it and get him set up. The rest of the class are calling in their own “learning coaches” and they all look as tired as me. One mom makes her son put down the playdoh knife.
And let me be clear, I do not blame the teacher for any of this. It’s new for her as well so we are all trying to navigate it together. I know she’s tired, and I’m impressed with her ability to keep things together. The patience of a saint is the term that comes to mind, and it’s amazing some days to watch. I wonder how much she cusses when she hits “end meeting” on her own computer.
Most days, it’s a failure of technology and poor district design that I blame. School websites were never meant to handle this load and third-party portals that tried to quickly cash in on the need just aren’t up for the job. So, I sit next to my son and watch things get worse.
“I don’t know what I’m doing!” a boy yelled. It’s a fierce scream, and I understand it as somedays I stuff my face into a pillow and do the same thing. I find it cathartic. The last time was with my older son’s math homework. The website we were supposed to be using did not recognize the right answers, which lead me down a two-hour rabbit hole convinced that I couldn’t do simple addition.
“Ok, friends. We are going to go over this together.” The class begins to calm down and most screens have parents in them. My heart breaks for those that don’t through no fault of their own. I’m lucky that I’m very flexible whereas I know most parents are not. My wife has to lock herself away in our room to work. I can’t imagine if she had to do both that and teach.
Eventually, all the kids get to the right screen and the lesson for this morning continues on. I complete some of my freelance work, which at the moment is writing radio ads. Not to brag, but if you want a good C-B-D ad, I’m your guy. I have found that I can sell the need for relaxation in today’s market. It’s honest work.
I know that things will settle down, and I keep telling myself that we will all find our way. That if we practice grace and kindness, in a month this will seem like a breeze. Which is scary because I’m going to need a new scream pillow by then. As my son finished his lesson for the day, I make a reminder to go put away all the playdoh knives.
—