The Incredible Cleaning Man
Delightful Distractions During Online Teaching
I’m no air traffic controller, but I do keep watchful eyes on multiple screens at one time.
In accordance with one of the three “bottom lines” of Magic Ears, one of the companies I contract with to teach English to Chinese children, I am careful to minimize disruptions in my virtual classroom. I have up to four students at a time in one class, which means five little windows are open at all times, mine included. The classroom itself is a dynamic one full of cartoons, games, short videos, songs, and other engaging activities taking place on the main screen. In a 25-minute lesson, I balance frequent individual with whole-class instruction, while encouraging appropriate interaction among the children. All the while I am constantly monitoring what’s going on behind their heads.
But why? What exactly am I looking for? I am looking for anything that might distract another learner. Errant arms of a hovering mother, floating chopsticks coming in to feed a child, moms hiding in piles of laundry thinking we can’t see them, dads walking around shirtless, granddads walking around pants-less, rapidly changing scenery because Eason is taking his class while in a basket on a bicycle, waiters and waitresses because Elsa is in a restaurant, customers because Dora is in her parents’ store, or bathing beauties because Eason has reached his destination: a spa.
Whatever their surroundings, the show must go on. By clicking an icon on a student’s tiny window, I can shut off the camera as needed. This does not shut off the camera to me, only to the other students in the class.
I continue monitoring backgrounds so I can turn the camera back on as soon as possible. This may lead you to ask, do I ever get distracted?
Of course. My favorite distraction was the incredible cleaning man. As soon as I saw adults in the background I turned the camera off for the students, but I could not look away. I watched as Dad entered the room, crawled up a stepladder, and proceeded to hang a freshly laundered curtain across an open closet. Then he dragged the stepladder all around the room, scampering up and down the ladder balancing a long Swiffer, deftly swiffing every nook and cranny in that room from floor to ceiling. Soon Mom appeared, and together they made the bed with military precision. Poof went the sheets! Snap! Tuck! Crease! Poof went the pillows! Toss! Fluff! Straighten! Together they completed the deep cleaning by disappearing on their hands and knees, presumably to clean the floor, popping back up to move to other parts of the room with their brooms and mops. Just as the lesson ended, they gathered their brooms, mops, the Swiffer, and stepladder and exited the room.
Where were they going next? I wanted to watch!
Did I mention Dad was not wearing a shirt, and Mom’s cleaning negligee looked like an evening gown, deep maroon with cream lace?
Not all distractions are as entertaining. Recently I had a little fellow suddenly start walking around at the beginning of class. I knew to turn off the camera, and thank goodness, because not only did he end up in the bathroom, but he placed his tablet on a stool in such a position that his entire anatomy was exposed when he pulled down his britches. He stayed on the toilet for most of the lesson, and when he was done he stood up and turned around for a bit, ensuring an up close view of both his front side and his back side. This child was only about 4 years old, purely innocent. Still, I wasn’t expecting all that.
But back to the cleaning couple, my current favorite distraction. After that lesson, I immediately spent my morning’s earnings on a stepladder (damn you Amazon one-click), lost in a delirious state, fantasizing that if only I had a stepladder then I too would deep clean a room in 25 minutes.
When the stepladder arrived, Joe and I took it out of the box, remarked on its sturdiness and craftsmanship, then had a brief discussion about where we would keep it (somewhere out of the way, yet easily accessible because we were going to use it a lot!). I may even get myself a cleaning negligee! “Okay, always put it back right here,” I said, propping it in a perfect spot in a seldom-used but easily accessible hallway.
As if someone turned off my own camera and muted my mic, that was the end of the show. The stepladder sits unused, inanimate, propped against the wall, collecting dust and cobwebs. I await another power clean in a student’s background to inspire me take my cleaning to the first level.
