Crystal Lane Swift

Zoom Class on Wednesday

The only reason I remember that it’s Wednesday is because I set an alarm on my phone.  “1 PM—Public Presenting.”

It’s listed as Public Speaking in the college catalogue, but that label isn’t quite right.  You don’t need to use a literal voice to present.  You need verbal communication, sure.  But not necessarily vocal.  We’re an audio-centric culture, really.  We conflate words with oral expression.  We read aloud, sound it out, avoid foreign films because we don’t want to do the work of reading the subtitles, judge people’s talent and intelligence by their voice.  At least I know that was/sometimes still is me.

I decide I’ll wear a professional top and black yoga pants.  I’ve had so much sourdough lately, I think I’ve expanded past the limit of the waistbands in every other pair of pants I own.  I minimally comb my hair and but on my anti blue light glasses. 

The pedagogy groups I am in on Facebook say requiring simultaneous zoom meetings isn’t equitable.  I took that to heart and spent the few days provided by a modified calendar setting up asynchronous assignments. 

I’m not sure if I showered or shaved those few days, but I did manage to bathe my daughter.  She gets a fresh, clean outfit every morning.  I could sell or donate practically everything in my closet at this point. 

After I had set up an asynchronous class, my students requested a simultaneous meeting.  One mentioned that no one in her house communicates in her language.  Most of the class agreed.  Another revealed his mom and dad had both been hospitalized with the virus, and he needed someone to chat with.  Yet another offered that as an essential worker, they cannot keep up with coursework between shifts without the accountability of class meetings.  The class voted unanimously to continue to meet simultaneously on zoom.

So, today I open our (optional) bi-weekly zoom class.  Faces pop into view.  I assign a captioner.  I watch the students as they communicated back and forth with each other.  I do my best to communicate directly with them, but whenever my ASL isn’t quite good enough, the students watch the interpreter.  This semester will end.  This pandemic will end.  Hopefully, our connections never will.