Every year, I am supposed to complete a set of modules to requalify to be a substitute teacher. Yes, I am a licensed, retired teacher, but that doesn’t matter. The modules vary but this year I find twelve: Active Shooter, ADHD, AED, Anaphylaxis and Anaphylactic Shock, Asthma, Bloodborne Pathogens, Concussions in Schools: Prevention – Control – Treatment, DCFS – Mandated Reporter – Illinois, Diabetes Awareness, Domestic and Sexual Violence, Sexual Harassment and Suicide Prevention. For the record, I support these trainings. Teachers should know how to manage concussions, asthma and anaphylaxis. Education classes don’t always cover critical health and home life scenarios.

I will be listening attentively to a couple of these sessions. Active shooter has been changing over the years and is getting better. We used to be told to hide in a dark corner, crouch down out of sight, and wait silently with the windows covered and doors locked. We practiced this too — enough so that I am sure any young shooter who returned to his school knew exactly where everyone was located and what those locked doors meant. The new ALICE drills are much more sensible — if you can get out, GET OUT. Use your brains and don’t crouch like a bunch of waiting ducks in an amusement park arcade.

But, I confess, “Bloodborne Pathogens” bores me. I had this one down a decade ago. In fact, I suspect I could have passed the test when I was twelve, if I had been twelve in 2020. But I don’t mind bloodborne pathogens. It’s easy. I put it on. I turn the sound down. I turn the TV up. I let the slides unfurl. The words are spoken and written. I quickly scan the written. If something unexpected turns up, I’ll stop to pay attention. But for years, I’ve just been waiting until “Next Slide” highlights itself. I click on Next Slide. The detectives pile into their cars and drive down to the wharf.

I paused on a few slides this year just to review. But I also made my husband a cup of green tea, wrote this blog post and watched while Chicago P.D. took outrageous liberties with police procedure. Somewhat distracted, I accidentally clicked out once, but the module took me right back to my place. The PPE section seemed creepily prescient in COVID-19 times.

When taking the test at the end, I knew there was a vaccine for Hepatitis B but not one for Hepatitis C. If I had not known, though, I am sure I could have asked Siri for the answer to that question. Our kids are home with their phones. It’s easy to keep those phones off the screen and out of sight. (I checked. Siri gave me the answer.)

Next I started AED (Automatic External Defibrillators) and stopped. Too much useful, unfamiliar information to watch television. I’ll save that one. I am sure kids do their own version of that prioritization, deciding when it’s worth paying attention and when not.

I switched to Mandated Reporter — a very familiar course. Like bloodborne pathogens, I’ve done this PD over and over again. I took a picture of the DCFS hotline phone numbers. For fun, I did this at an angle from below my screen. I could easily snap shots of my screen without my teacher knowing with almost no practice. I could also just use the PrintScreen key or another utility, but maybe this new phone skill will be useful. I’m just playing. I will bet lots of kids are just playing — which may prove useful as they discover new skills. In the background, NOVA talks about cats. I learn DCFS in Illinois accepts about 70,000 abuse or neglect reports a year, impacting about 100,000 children. Those numbers are rather staggering. I also learn domestic cats arose about 10,000 years ago in the Middle East. I am half-learning bubbles of disconnected subject matter, as I am sure many students in remote-learning situations are doing.

Eduhonesty: I am an adult, flipping between tabs on this computer and channels on the television, while exercising my legs and feet on my sturdy Rubbermaid footrest. I rock the gray platform forward and backward. I sip my ginger iced tea. And I finish one more module.

This post helps capture why many teachers hate online learning. Do I have Ella’s attention? How am I to know? I am conspicuously short of clues. All I can see is Ella’s face and maybe a few details in the room behind her. I can’t necessarily see her hands. I don’t know where her phone is. If I were Ella, I might build a stand and move the phone around my Chromebook, maybe even use clips to attach the phone on top of my laptop. That way, I would always be looking toward the screen.

Remote learning is fraught with pitfalls. But I don’t believe the in-person alternative is a good move in any viral hotspots. This blog has been emphasizing the fact that we do not know the long-term effects of getting sick with this virus — and viruses can have effects that last forever. But Plan B where we put the kids online requires a great deal of care. Especially our kids with ADHD may suddenly be hit with scenarios where no one is available to easily say, “put the keys away, Josue, it’s time for science now.”

Teachers who are just getting started — you must work in checks throughout the lesson. Kids have to know they will be expected to give you feedback at the start, middle and end of the lesson. Don’t wait to call with concerns.

Parents — if possible, you can’t leave those kids on their own. Even the kids who have never been any trouble. I’ve told the story before of my youngest, who quit doing her homework one semester. I was student teaching and nonstop busy. Her dad was managing the household, and had been asking her if she had done her homework — but he didn’t check. The school ought to have been raising more flags, but that’s another issue. She took three grades down to D before she got caught. This kid had been an “A” student previously.

I understand some of us are just stuck. Rent and mortgages must be paid. What outside childcare, where? But if nothing else, I’d be texting to encourage my child to do the day’s work. Yes, I recognize the phone irony here, but I guarantee those phones are not mostly locked away for the day. Schools have trouble keeping phones out of classrooms. How are they going to keep them out of bedrooms?

This time calls for cheerleading, cheerleading and more cheerleading. “What did you do today? Show me! Oh, what a great job.” (If it’s not a great job, a “What a fine start. I bet you could find more detail on the platypus at Google” is perfectly OK, too.) “What about your other subjects?” I’d suggest even setting aside a regular time to have the kid(s) show you their day’s work.

Our kids are kids. They need us to lead them through the traps inherent in online learning. The days can be so crazy right now. Our kids need us to be the calm in the storm of 2020.

Here are a few ideas: Schedule a time during the day to go over the day’s lessons. If possible, bring in a cup of milk or cocoa (I was never exactly nutrition mom.) and a treat every so often throughout the day to keep spirits up. Print daily work to put on the refrigerator. Tell them you are proud of them when they work hard. Help them when they get stuck by explaining concepts they don’t understand. Model the math if you are able. If you don’t remember trigonometry, find a friend who does — or hire a tutor. Help kids to learn to pace themselves and sometimes get out ahead by starting upcoming work early.

We can do this. But we can’t trust the kids to do it independently. Heck, we can’t trust retired adult teachers to do their modules without sneaking in a little Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D on the side. But I will be ready to manage bloodborne pathogens. And our students will be able to learn the order of operations for mathematics, plant parts and functions, or whatever their days’ lessons hold — as long as we keep redirecting them and ourselves toward the larger goal of knowledge.

To each and every one of us fighting to make remote learning work:

P.S. Some districts are having students turn off the camera and do their class via chat rooms. Ummm… no. Simply no. From my September 10th post:

Admins, the plans where you don’t make students turn on their cameras? That plan’s not working if my social media feeds can be trusted. How do you even know whose body is behind that black screen? Or that Godzilla screen? My feed defaults to Godzilla if I choose not to be seen. But if you are looking at Godzilla, I might be out making tea. And I chose to be in the Godzilla Zoom. If I were nine, I might choose not to be in any virtual classroom. How many of our kids have Fortnite on their phones? Even those who don’t can get all sorts of fun freebies at the app store. No camera? No camera = phone game for many, I’m sure. With luck, a few of our kids are quietly reading while they ignore their laptop.

If we want this to work even reasonably well — I am sure of one thing: you must keep the kids in view.