March 3, 2020: My last day in the classroom
03 03, 21 06:37 Filed in: Reflection
Under normal circumstances teaching can be a risky profession at certain times of the year when students return to campus with colds or some variant of the flu spreads through the dorms. You get use to hearing coughing and sneezing as students wander into class, and over the years you get accustomed to the idea that "catching a cold" is just part of the job. Nothing to be concerned about unless you are a germaphobic hypochondriac.
But it was different on the morning of March 3, 2020. Listening to the news on my usual 60+ minute commute to campus, it was hard not pay attention to growing concerns about Covid-19 and warnings about the vulnerability of folks 65 and older, especially those who have health issues (what we now call "co-morbidities"). Being 73, a type 2 diabetic with a history of cardiovascular issues who is obese, I paid particular attention to those messages that morning.
Over the past two or three class sessions I had noticed that students were increasingly "under the weather" -- displaying the usual signs of coughing and sneezing fits. But on this day, as I made my way to the classroom through the crowded corridor (it's literally a mob scene between class times), I felt as if each point of "contact" was a threat. After finally making my way into the classroom, as I began my usual routine of setting up my laptop for use in my lecture, I could hear more than a few folks make those unmistakable sounds of the cold and flu season. At that point I decided that I would shift my class to "online" status. There were hints that this might be an option in the future, but I was not going to wait.
In recent years I had built in an "online" option into my non-online courses as a way of dealing with times when either the weather or some other event made it necessary to miss a scheduled class. Typically these were online lectures rather than "Zoom" sessions, but over the years advances in instructional technology (e.g., Canvas, Blackboard) had made it possible to deal with the traditional "snow day" scenario. As a result, what would otherwise seem like a radical transformation of the class from bricks-and-mortar to online would not prove that difficult. The trick was to do so smoothly in the middle of a term.
But the classroom was a risky place for someone with my vulnerabilities, and so I told the students then and there that all future classes would be online. And since this was my final semester at UNH (I planned to retire in May), that March 3 class session was my last one.
After class I packed up my laptop and whatever else was related to my courses that spring term and did not return to campus until I made a quiet and very brief mid-summer trip to pack up what remained in my office. By the evening of March 3rd I had made the needed changes in the syllabus that would make the adjustment to a fully online course as convenient as possible for students. There was actually no negative feedback from either students (none would miss the in class quizzes) or the "powers that be".
The next week was spring break, and by the time it was over the university-wide transition to online courses began. It turns out I was just a week or so ahead of the game.
But it was different on the morning of March 3, 2020. Listening to the news on my usual 60+ minute commute to campus, it was hard not pay attention to growing concerns about Covid-19 and warnings about the vulnerability of folks 65 and older, especially those who have health issues (what we now call "co-morbidities"). Being 73, a type 2 diabetic with a history of cardiovascular issues who is obese, I paid particular attention to those messages that morning.
Over the past two or three class sessions I had noticed that students were increasingly "under the weather" -- displaying the usual signs of coughing and sneezing fits. But on this day, as I made my way to the classroom through the crowded corridor (it's literally a mob scene between class times), I felt as if each point of "contact" was a threat. After finally making my way into the classroom, as I began my usual routine of setting up my laptop for use in my lecture, I could hear more than a few folks make those unmistakable sounds of the cold and flu season. At that point I decided that I would shift my class to "online" status. There were hints that this might be an option in the future, but I was not going to wait.
In recent years I had built in an "online" option into my non-online courses as a way of dealing with times when either the weather or some other event made it necessary to miss a scheduled class. Typically these were online lectures rather than "Zoom" sessions, but over the years advances in instructional technology (e.g., Canvas, Blackboard) had made it possible to deal with the traditional "snow day" scenario. As a result, what would otherwise seem like a radical transformation of the class from bricks-and-mortar to online would not prove that difficult. The trick was to do so smoothly in the middle of a term.
But the classroom was a risky place for someone with my vulnerabilities, and so I told the students then and there that all future classes would be online. And since this was my final semester at UNH (I planned to retire in May), that March 3 class session was my last one.
After class I packed up my laptop and whatever else was related to my courses that spring term and did not return to campus until I made a quiet and very brief mid-summer trip to pack up what remained in my office. By the evening of March 3rd I had made the needed changes in the syllabus that would make the adjustment to a fully online course as convenient as possible for students. There was actually no negative feedback from either students (none would miss the in class quizzes) or the "powers that be".
The next week was spring break, and by the time it was over the university-wide transition to online courses began. It turns out I was just a week or so ahead of the game.
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