Covid-19 and Education, Education

When will it end?

It all began in the third week of March when we were told that because of a new virus that was killing people in great numbers, we would have to teach from home. Personally, I had been using Blackboard to supplement my in-person classes over the years, so I thought the transition wouldn’t be that challenging; and to tell you the truth, it wasn’t. I was able to adopt this CMS and move forward with it. I think the fact that I had completed my own degree entirely online was helpful. Of course, the set-up in the doctoral program wasn’t anywhere near the innovation that Blackboard offers. In my program, assignments and materials were uploaded to the course page, and students had to complete a certain number of assignments within the deadline and upload it to the assignment page.

We are now close to the end of October and here we are, still teaching from the bedroom, living room, the basement, the attic, the bathroom, and who knows, maybe from the pigsty! Nobody knows when this thing will end! You watch the news and they’re talking about an average of some 70, 000 new cases every day! Lord, where are we headed? Just today, one of my students emailed me because she couldn’t take the midterm exam. I had already marked her absent for the evening since she never showed up or inform me that she would not attend. Well, her email had an attachment, and guess what? She tested positive for this virus! But you know what she told me? Teacher, can I take the exam? Resilience and determination!

What do you tell such a student? That she was absent, and that you would have to think about it? No, I don’t need to think about it. Here is a student who has just been diagnosed with one of the most deadly and feared viruses of our time, and what’s on her mind is that she missed her exam? No, she doesn’t have to ask me twice. I wouldn’t have marked her absent if I had known this. When I meet her for the conference, we will agree on a day and time for her to take her test. And I hope she does very well, too. And I pray that here symptoms are not of the worst kind. I pray that she will be up and about. I pray that she won’t spend a single day in the emergency room because of this virus. And I am sure she will be just fine.

How many of you out there have students who have tested positive? How did you feel? Sad, intrigued, scared? Did you pray for your student and ask whoever you believe in to come to his or her rescue? Maybe you said “Godspeed” in your heart. Share your experience and let’s have a conversation about the fears that this virus instills in us. But also the light that may come out of this unpredictable situation.


It takes commitment… and much more!

Many times, I have vowed to keep a daily writing schedule; many times, I have failed to keep this promise. Each time I return to my journal, I realize that it’s been more than a week, a month, sometimes longer since I wrote my last entry. And yet, I have a story to tell, many stories to tell. What is it that keeps published writers to the grindstone? What is it that sustains their ever productive inspiration and endeavor?

In 2002, after many years of teaching, I decided to enroll at a New York City college to further my education. I had graduated from the University of the Ivory Coast in 1989-1990 and been teaching since then. Once in the United States, these credentials became worthless as I strived to continue my teaching profession; I had to do it all over again if I wanted to join the field of education here in New York. Maybe worthless is a bit of an exaggeration. But I was made to feel as if I had not spent four years studying assiduously at an institution of higher education. Out of the 175 credits that I had received for my bachelor’s degree in the Ivory Coast, only 17 were initially accepted for transfer. I would spend my first few months at the college visiting the admissions office to try to convince the employees in charge that I deserve much more than they had credited. Eventually, I would receive 37 transfer credits! Nothing more.

I was unphased and focused on completing my degree program as fast as I possibly could. I left the main campus, transferring to a satellite campus known as the Center for Worker Education, where courses carried four credits each. Each semester, I would sign up for four courses, a total of 16 credits per semester. The first time I chose my four courses, my advisor started shaking his head. “This is too much work. Are you sure you want four courses? Most people only complete three per semester.” I said, “Yes, four courses if there are no official rules against it.” The grades started coming in, Dean’s List, a series of 4.0’s most semesters! I was on a roll! Just to think that a mere year or two earlier, a two-year college was giving me a hard time, asking me to take noncredit courses before joining mainstream classes because, according to their calculation, I did not have a 2.0 GPA for full admission! How is that possible when I received honors at the University of Ivory Coast? The systems are different, and there has to be a better way to evaluate credentials from certain countries! Anyway, while working toward the completion of my degree, I signed up for an autobiography course in 2003. Although the course was in two parts, theory and practice (the actual writing of the autobiography) spread over two semesters, I took only the first semester. To be honest, I did not like the grade of B+ that I received on the course, so I said, fuck it! and stayed away from the second part of the course.

Now, during my first semester in the course, I had gathered enough material, acquired enough background to start drafting my autobiography. The work progressed rather fast and soon I had some 50 pages! As I write this piece, I have 124 pages completed 10 to 15 years ago. Once in a while, I will open the document, read several passages from the unfinished autobiography, promise to revise and build on it. But each time, days, weeks, months, years go by without the thought ever crossing my mind again. I am convinced that it has taken me so long to complete the piece, not through lack of skill. My English has greatly improved since moving to this country some 23 years ago. As an aside, I completed my bachelor’s degree in three years and went on to get a master’s degree in English Education from the same college. And I subsequently taught English Language Arts at the middle and high school levels before beginning to teach college freshman composition courses. So language skills are not the issue. I read abundantly and in a variety of genres, so I have more than one model to tap into. Yet, here I am with a piece of writing that could have been completed some 15 years ago!

Well, if language skills and writing models are not the issue, then what could be? I know I have been very busy, sometimes working two and a half jobs at a time… reading and providing feedback on student essays, observing teacher candidates in various public schools of the city and providing feedback on their teaching, and quite frankly a host of other things that have taken much of my time, drained me of much of the youthful energy I once had, and sucked out quite a bit of my initial motivation. The inspiration is very much alive, but the extra push that will keep me to the grindstone seems to have vanished over time. I don’t mean to make excuses; after all, we all have super busy lives. Who, in a large cosmopolitan city, doesn’t? But yeah, this is my reality. Still, I have not given up; never will. Maybe a sabbatical can help… but wait, I am not a full professor and a sabbatical is a luxury I can’t afford. Well, other people set time aside for daily writing, usually early in the morning. Okay, but I go to bed after one or two o’clock in the morning. Do you expect me to be up at four or five? I need my rest. Just speculating here and committing my thoughts to this document. But quite honestly, I have to find a way to continue writing more consistently. I have published several shorter pieces and still several projects on which I am currently working. I will finish that autobiographical piece. I am determined to get it done!

If you chance upon this piece and take the time to read it till the end and have any tips, please feel free to leave some here, and thank you!


En fait de lecture

Bon, la lecture continue tant bien que mal. Je me suis promis d’ecrire quelque chose, mais je ne sais pas exactement quoi. Pour le moment, ce qui me semble approprie, c’est de continuer a lire, lire lire. S’il arrivait que je saisisse quelque chose d’interessant, ce serait tant mieux.

Il y a peu je suis tombe sur ce livre de Mohamed Mbougar Sarr qui vient de remporter le prix Goncourt. A vrai dire, j’ai du mal a me separer du livre depuis que j’ai commence a le lire il y quelques jours. L’histoire accroche et la lecture avance sans que j’aie a forcer. Presentement, je profite d’une petite pause pour ecrire quelques mots sans savoir ou je vais. L’important etant de saisir ma reaction dans le temps. Pour le reste, on verra apres s’il faut s’atteler a ecrire une reflexion plus poussee sur l’oeuvre.


Summer School

It was shortly after I had lost my first public school job. It all lasted a few months. I started in September of that year, and by December I was on life support. By February of the following year, I was officially out of the system. This is how it happened.

I had just finished my first year teaching high school English at Cardinal Hayes High School, one of the well regarded Catholic high schools in New York and beyond. After meeting with the principal, I learned that I would be allowed to return to the school the following year. My performance hadn’t been stellar, as suggested by the principal, but it was good enough for the principal to renew my contract. So clearly, there was nothing to worry about on the job front. I knew I had a job the following academic year. But the minute my plane landed at JFK Airport one summer evening in June, I had been dreaming of teaching in a public school; the salary was attractive for the newcomer I was, and I felt it would help me support the four-month-old daughter I had left behind in the Ivory Coast and, who knows, I could even help those of my relatives who were still struggling to eke a living back home. So when the opportunity presented itself, I could not pass it up. This was the opportunity I had been looking for all these years. I had even sent my credentials to the State University of New York for evaluation for an opening in the city’s public schools, but they had informed me that my degree was deficient in some area, that I needed to take additional courses to qualify as a potential teaching candidate in a New York public school. Meanwhile, I had found employment at ICS, a confessional school in the South Bronx. As a middle school English teacher, my contract was renewed twice until 2004. I had begun my first year at ICS when terrorists crashed their planes into the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center, Killing thousands of innocent people.

I can’t remember what we were doing, but it was shortly after the class had begun. The principal’s voice came on the public address system: “Turn on the TV; there’s been a plane crash in Manhattan!” First, I thought it was one of those twin-engine planes that sometimes crash in trees for mechanical reasons or for lack of experience of the pilot in training. I turned on the TV anyway, and boy was I wrong! On the screen, I saw the plane slash through one of the Twin Towers, smoke billowing into the sky. Behind me, I heard a chorus of “Oooohhhhhs!” We sat watching, not sure what to do. Suddenly, we saw another plane flying toward the remaining tower. For a brief moment, I held my breath, unsure if it was going to hit again but hoping there were rescue workers inside assessing the damage caused by the crash; I was wrong again. The second plane slashed through the second tower at an angle, leaving a gaping hole in it! Soon, that tower would crumble to the ground! For us, students and teachers, the day was over. Parents began calling the school to check on their children; many of them even showed up to pick them up. 

When I left the school that morning, I called my wife, who was working downtown at the time, to see how she was doing. She was fine, thank God, although there was “smoke and dust everywhere and people were going home or trying to cross over to the Jersey side.” By her reckoning, the situation was rather chaotic and her boss had told her and her colleagues to stay at their desks. I went to the babysitter to pick up my daughter who was just a few months old at the time, wondering all along what the whole situation meant.

With an expired contract four years later, I had to look for work somewhere else; I would be unemployed for the next six months or so. While waiting and looking for a stable and decent job opportunity, I tried my tutoring skills at my alma mater, where I would later complete my graduate degree in secondary school English Education. The pay was the bare minimum, but I delighted in helping students polish up their writing and grammar. But with a young child and bills piling up, I could not continue working only 20-hour weeks and for a minimum wage. Besides, my wife began complaining and urging me to do something about my situation. The unemployment check was less than $400 a week and couldn’t help cover our regular expenses let alone money for entertainment and other activities I needed for my physical, mental, and emotional well-being. I had to start looking harder for a new job that would offer a decent salary. And for a good reason! I was raised to with the understanding that the man of the house was the breadwinner. My father single-handedly raised more than fifteen children on his meager army man salary. I know how this might sound to some, but I was not going to sit back and let myself be groomed by my wife. If anything, I should be pampering her, not the other way around.

The next opportunity that offered itself was at a proprietary language school. This school paid a lot less and offered limited benefits, but after six months of struggle without a source of income, I didn’t have to think twice before accepting the offer. That signaled the beginning of my year-long stint in that school. Teaching ESL to a predominantly Asian and Hispanic student body was an experience that I embraced enthusiastically. Within a few weeks, word had gotten around, and scores of students wanted to take my classes. I taught a variety of courses, including grammar, American history, reading, and writing, listening, in addition to running the noontime conversation class. With the reputation that I had built in my first weeks of teaching at the school, needless to say, the conversation class was packed every day. During my tenure at this school, I received two evaluations, both of which corroborated the students’ enthusiasm for my classes. Unfortunately, I am a person who is always looking for something better although what that means, I am not sure. One December day, before the holiday season kicked in, I tendered my resignation and was on my way to teach for the Manhattan Educational Opportunity Center, the MEOC.

In September of that year, I had found an adjunct position at Hudson County Community College in Jersey City, New Jersey. So one December afternoon, I was walking to the 32nd Street Path Train when my telephone rang. I had just completed an interview at the MEOC about an hour earlier. Although I thought I had done well during the interview, I did not expect a call for at least a week or so. Apparently, I had made such a good impression that Ms. Nelson, a veteran teacher who had conducted the interview with Ms. Brown, then on of the school administrators, called to congratulate and offer me the ESL position. As I crossed Broadway to descend into the subway station, I could barely hear the cars honking their horns and notice other pedestrians rushing to the opposite side of the street before the light turned to let the cars proceed on Broadway. During my train ride, I couldn’t get my mind off the MEOC. My three-hour class that evening felt like a 30-minute chat with my students. The following week, I began teaching at the MEOC as an ESL adjunct lecturer.

My tenure at the MEOC lasted a little more than three years. Here again, as at the proprietary language school, word got around very fast and many new students sought out my classes. I taught an intermediate level ESL class that comprised students from various Spanish countries, as well as Africans. Many students approached me to seek advice on their progress in my class and on career plans. The atmosphere felt like in a small country college; students felt comfortable asking questions and speaking to teachers, and teachers felt close to students. I am not sure about other teachers, but I personally had a genuine interest in my students’ queries pertaining to education and work. Indeed, I felt that it was part of my responsibility to orient them to the best of my knowledge. Consequently, we build mutual respect and a relationship akin to a big brother relationship. Back then, I used to work the morning shift, which ran from 10:00 AM to 12:30 PM. Twice a week, I would commute to Jersey City in the evening for an evening course I taught at Hudson County Community College. Even with both salaries, I had a hard time making both ends meet. Paying the then $600 or $700 monthly rent for our two-bedroom apartment was sometimes a real struggle. Hence, it wasn’t surprising that I kept looking for other opportunities. Anything that paid better would be welcome even if I had to leave New York. It was on one of my electronic forays that I chanced upon, I believe, an article about the new chancellor of the Washington Public schools, Michelle Rhee. As I read the article, I felt that I could be part of the innovations she was bringing to the school system. Besides, I felt that I could make a lot more than the meager income I was making at the time. As I dug deeper, I realized I could sign up to teach summer school in the District of Columbia Public Schools (DCPS)! Without hesitating a second, I completed the online application process. A few weeks later, I received an email informing me that I was being offered a summer position. My dream of teaching in the DCPS was well on its way to becoming a reality. With a light heart and high spirits, I went on with my two jobs at the MEOC and Hudson County Community College, knowing that come June, my life would change for the better.

On June 25, 2009, I embarked on a Greyhound bus, DC-bound. A few weeks earlier, I had made arrangements, via the internet, to rent a room in Washington, DC. Dorothy, the woman with whom I had been communicating via the internet and by telephone was to pick me up and take me to her house, where I would be staying while I taught summer school. I arrived in DC in the afternoon. It must have been around 4:00 PM or 5:00 PM; I can’t remember the exact time, but I do remember I had to wait for a long time before Dorothy eventually made her way to the Greyhound station in North East DC to pick me up. While I was waiting, I sat down to watch one of the large-screen TVs in the station waiting area. Soon, CNN began broadcasting news of Michael Jackson being carried unconscious to a California hospital. My first reaction was that he had overdosed on some substance and would be out of the hospital in a day or two, but in any event, no more than a week. It was on this hopeful note for the pop icon that I got in the back seat of the jalopy in which Dorothy had come to pick me up.

As we drove to her house, we made small talk since we were meeting for the first time. But the radio was on and the conversation soon veered to Michael Jackson. I can’t remember the exact content of our conversation, but I know all three of us in the car, Dorothy, myself and the male driver, prayed that Michael would get out of the hospital soon. The drive from the Greyhound station in Northeast, DC to Dorothy’s house in Southeast, DC lasted about 30 minutes. Before we got to our destination, we were clobbered by the news of Michael Jackson’s death. At first, we were in disbelief. But as more and more radio stations broadcast the news, we eventually awoke from our disbelief. Yes, Michael Jackson had just died at the age of 50! Who could have believed his life would be cut short so unexpectedly at a time of unprecedented medical advances? But he was gone as the hours that followed would confirm to us. Once in the house, we began an impromptu tribute to The King of Pop. We played all of Michael’s songs we could get our hands on and stayed up in disbelief into the wee hours of the morning.

Dorothy lived in a two-bedroom house with the living room and kitchen on the first floor and the two bedrooms on the second. The house also had a basement, where she kept her washing machine and drier, as well as any junk that would normally be in an attic. There was a shared bathroom and shower on the top floor and a simple bathroom on the first floor.  The backyard had a deck, where we once had a barbecue, and a two-car parking space. As part of my rent, I had a television set with cable in my bedroom. In this room, I would take my quarters until the end of summer school 2009. Every weekend, I would walk to the supermarket about a mile away to buy groceries, which I kept in the large refrigerator in the kitchen. I set time aside to cook at least twice a week so I could have fresh food when I came back from work. I didn’t bother my host and didn’t expect her to cook or provide for me. But sometimes she did share a dish. On such rare occasions, she would tell me, “Steven, I made this or that… you can help yourself.” In general, I felt comfortable sharing the house and kitchen with Dorothy since there were just the two of us. One of her nephews visited once for a barbecue and her brother joined us toward the end of that summer, which was not much of a problem since he spent much of his time in a third room Dorothy had reserved for her daughter.

In DC, they celebrate the Fourth of July with a lot of firecrackers apart from the official fireworks, which are common in almost all cities across the country. I was sitting on the back deck one June night when I saw a group of youngsters walking up and down the big yard, many houses shared. Then I heard a succession of explosions. I knew they were firecrackers because we used them many years ago in the Ivory Coast around Christmas and New Year’s. Dorothy and I sat there, enjoying a six-pack of Heineken I had purchased from the grocery store off Wheeler Road. The merriment went on until very late, probably into the wee hours of the morning. Firecrackers could still be heard when my host and I turned in for the night.

Before summer school, all the teachers and administrators had to attend a day of professional development. I found this useful since it was my first time teaching in the District. Several workshops were led by local teachers and administrators, covering the curriculum, the standards, and mandatory assignments. The day was also an opportunity to meet and exchange with future colleagues and learn about the experiences of those who had already taught summer school in DC.

When summer school finally began, I was glad to learn that I would be working with sophomores and juniors. I felt that these students would be more mature since they were older than the ones I had had at a public middle school in New York prior to joining an adult English language program. My experience was not what I had expected, which is why I spent only a few months at that school. With older students, I expected to provide activities that were more engaging, convinced that they knew what they wanted from summer school. Most of them needed passing grades in the respective subjects they were taking in order to be promoted to the next grade. 

The program ran mainly in the morning and early afternoon, with each class meeting for three hours. As I had expected, my classes ran uneventfully. Most of my students, in both the sophomore and junior classes, appeared to be attentive. At any rate, they did not disrupt the class or talk out of order. These students showed a genuine disposition for learning. Indeed, for the first few weeks, they mostly came to class on time, completed their assignments as expected, and participated actively for some and not so actively for others. I was enjoying my days in summer school, to say the least. Obviously, with students so well-behaved, who wouldn’t want to secure a permanent job in the Nation’s capital? Such was my desire to work in Washington, DC and to make a difference that I resolved to apply for a full-time position. I would stay in the Nation’s capital to explore the possibility of bringing the rest of the family once everything was on track.

Around the end of summer school, I heard about job fairs organized by the DC Public Schools in different parts of the city. Using my DC Metro map, I planned my route to attend some of those fairs. In the process, I interviewed with several schools, but the outcome wasn’t very promising. I eventually got to a table attended by a man and a woman. I greeted them and proceeded to grab some of their literature to read on the metro, and maybe call them up to see if they had an opening. At this point, they finished with the lady they had been interviewing. Directing they look toward me, they asked in unison, “Are you looking for an interview?” I paused for a second; my mind was not on having an interview now. I had just finished half a dozen already and I was thinking about what to make for dinner that night. I hesitated one more second, but before I had had a chance to say something, I heard the lady say, “What’s your subject area?” I answered, “Secondary English.” From then on, things went fast and I ended up with an offer of employment at a school in South East! The paperwork was immediately processed and I was asked to report to the DCPS central office to be processed by Human Resources.

Meanwhile, classes were still in session at my summer school assignment. Following the interview and the offer of employment, I proudly walked into the school building as usual. I picked up my material and proceeded to the classroom; I might as well have hit the lotto jackpot! The students I had in my morning and afternoon class were in high school, and I didn’t have any management issues with them. My only challenge was to motivate the handful who were not really into what we were doing in class. Most of my students knew that their promotion to the next grade depended on their performance in my class, so they usually completed their assignments and made their best effort to be in class on time. Now, working with the two high school classes was one reason why I was elated at the offer of a permanent position within the District of Columbia Public School system.

At noon, we the faculty usually gathered in the teacher’s lounge on the first floor, where we shared the space with the administration. A few minutes earlier, I had bought my chicken salad sandwich from a grocery store a few blocks away. I had sat down to eat lunch when my summer camp supervisor inquired about the interviews the previous day. I answered that I hadn’t been very successful in securing interviews and that I had been looking to work in a high school. I told him I was offered a position at a middle school, which I had accepted and intended to report to the DCPS office to complete the paperwork the following Monday when we had concluded summer school.

“Congratulations!” he said with a smile across his face.

“Thank you, I am really excited that I will be able to continue my career here in Washington, DC,” I replied before adding, “The school is in South East. The name… wait, I forgot. I think it was Johnson.”

His face changed immediately as he asked me quizzically, “Did you say, Johnson? I would think twice before accepting a position at Johnson.” I was not exactly sure why he had cautioned me about Johnson. That was the least I had expected. However, I did not seek an explanation right then because I wanted to savor the notion that I would be working in the DC public schools. Around 3:00 PM, I collected my teaching materials as usual and proceeded to the metro station, homebound, musing my supervisor’s response. In time, I would learn what he had meant by his comments. For now, I was content that I was going to work in the Nation’s capital. At the end of the day, I collected my stuff and sauntered through the hallway, down the stairs, and into the train station

At the metro station, I decided to call Charlie, a friend of mine from New York who had moved to Maryland a few years earlier to share the good news. He was excited that I would be in Washington, maybe in Maryland, and that we would be able to visit each other frequently. When our telephone conversation was over, I descended the stairs to the platform. My train pulled up a few minutes later. I boarded and the doors closed. A new experience was about to begin.


So we’re done reading, but…

So we’re done reading. As usual, I took the time to scaffold the reading, making frequent pauses to ask questions to help my students process the reading. Today, we’re reading Who Was Rosa Parks, a reader for English learners. We’re working virtually, on Blackboard Collaborate Ultra, our consecrated distance learning platform. As usual, the students’ microphones are muted unless they need to ask a question, answer one, or make a relevant comment. Happy that we’ve done a good preliminary job of parsing up the reading, I proceed to the next step, which is summarizing the whole chapter, some five pages peppered up with illustrative drawings. So my question to the class: “What are some of the most important points of this chapter?” Silence. I repeat the questions after about 15 seconds. Dead silence. I rephrase the questions after another 15 seconds. Still silence. I decide to wait a little longer…

As educators, we know that language learners have a longer processing time, especially if the question or task they have to complete requires deep thinking. I have learned, when teaching a mixed class of native English speakers and English learners, to provide ample time for the language learners in the class to jot down their ideas before beginning the discussion. Just how much is enough time is any teacher’s guess. The circumstances may vary, so the processing time should be allotted according to the students’ backgrounds, and who, better than their teacher, knows how much time is appropriate? In general, my students would start responding or raising their hands to participate within ten seconds of my asking a questions. Well, that’s when they feel confident that they have the right answer. So in general, I am observant of the processing time. But an extended silent period can raise a red flag!

Now, let me say here that in general, my students’ cameras are off because of obvious technological issues. Some students don’t have access to a camera or have to choose between appearing on video and accessing the others functionalities of their devices, especially if they are using a cell phone. Also, the more videos are activated, the more chance there is that the system will begin to falter at some point. Maybe the audio might become affected, voices might become tinny, and the system might need to be refreshed. Such a situation might take several minutes before the platform has reloaded. So I am okay with videos off. Periodically, some students will turn on their videos, and that is perfect, too.

The reason why I mention the videos is that I have no idea what the students are doing in their bedrooms, dining rooms, or living-rooms, or whichever part of their apartment or house they have decided to turn into their circumstantial classroom. So when you ask a question about a selection or chapter that you have just parsed up with the participation of some students, and the silence on the students’ end lasts more than thirty seconds, there is cause for concern. Did they get it? Are they getting it? Are they really sitting in from of their computers or tablets or whatever devices they are using to log in to the virtual classroom, or are they slacking off? How motivated are they to make the best of this learning opportunity?

Michelle D. Miller’s book on how to teach effectively with technology can be a must read if you can relate to my situation. In it, the author delves into the psychology of learning both online and in a face-to-face setting. In essence, she speaks to the importance of motivation, especially in these times, where most of us, educators, are confined to our homes, distance-teaching students who might lack the ability to self-motivate. Miller stresses the importance of selling our curricula. In other words, the students need to understand the real-life implications of what they are learning or are expected to learn in class. She also suggests the use of an approach similar to the one used by electronic game designers, that is, the ability for the learners to retake say, a quiz several times until they have received a satisfactory school. The point here is twofold: the learner will have repeated the quiz, which may help retain information. Additionally, a better score or grade is likely to be a good motivating factor for the student who could then pay more attention in class the next time around.

One of the Miller’s suggestions that speaks to me personally, and which has proven to work in the brick-and-mortar classroom is chunking. This approach implies teaching materials in smaller chunks and assessing the students’ learning frequently. So instead of waiting until the end of the week to assess the students on a set of chapters, test them at the end of each chapter. They will remember the information better and longer. With the latitude to repeat a quiz until they have received a score that is to their liking, they are likely, to develop an interest in their learning or, at the very least, to become a little more confident in case their challenge was in this area.

In an online setting, the students need to feel their instructor’s presence. One way to achieve this is through frequent assessments, but assessments are just one way to make your virtual presence felt. Whenever possible, you should interject in group discussion when workin synchronously. If the students are participating in an asynchronous activity, say a discussion board, take the time to show them your interest in the quality of their ideas. Comments on their contributions without being too intrusive. Recast any thoughts or ideas that seem unfocused without deterring the students from further future participation. You do not have to respond to every student’s posts; there just isn’t enough time for that. But by responding to several posts, especially if you make sure that you respond to a different group of students each time, they might begin talking to one another about your comment. If nothing at all, they will become more alert, which might lead them to aim for quality, knowing that you take the discussion board contributions seriously.

So if you’re done reading and the silences start getting too long, hold your students accountable for their learning; quiz them frequently, but allow them to retake a quiz or test until they have received a satisfactory score or grade. Chances are you will become less frustrated, they will build more confidence, and learning will most likely improve.