Caught on Camera

Posted on Jan 16 2009 at 5:58 PM

“We have to do what?” I blurt out, as my eyes scanned the syllabus for spring term. Assignment 1: videotape yourself teaching twice this semester (to be evaluated by your cohort and professors). Assignment 2: Observation and written evaluation by your supervisor once a month. Perfect… I’m just in the process of figuring out how this whole teaching thing works, and I have to be critiqued? Already? I let it sink in for about 20 seconds before I start mentally planning what day, what lesson, what to prepare.


Feeling a burst of confidence and a sense of let’s-just-do-this-and-get-it-out-of-the-way, I planned for next Thursday morning (very typical). But here’s what I didn’t plan for: my plane back from a three-day conference in Washington D.C. would be arriving the night before at 11:00 P.M.; it would be just my fourth day teaching Writer’s Workshop; double-the-pressure and double-the-nerves would be the direct result of choosing to videotape on the same day I scheduled my supervisor to observe. Okay, it was a poor choice. Here’s what happened:


I wake up to “Kiss Me” by Sixpence None the Richer, playing through my cell phone at 5:40 A.M.  As I run mindlessly through my morning routine, I’m feeling energized and excited for the day’s challenge. Let’s do this, I think. When I walk into Room 32, I begin my preparation—agenda on the board, lesson plan and materials attached to my clipboard, Matilda propped up on my reader’s chair, discussion questions artistically displayed on the chart pad, handouts in order of distribution, attendance box open on the computer, purple pen in hand—I’m ready.


The clock hand points to 8:55 and in pour the kids—smiling, distracted, bubbly, still half asleep.  We share a few quick hello’s and casual check-in’s. It’s just like any other morning (I try to convince myself), but then I hear the “power-on” chime of the video camera. I am suddenly aware of my place in the spotlight. Not only are all eyes on me, but there is a sense of permanency. Written record. Video record. Anything you say or do will be documented and analyzed. With each word that leaves my lips, I hear it back, as if through the eyes and ears of the observers. I am the fourth evaluator in the room today, painfully aware of my every move.


The camera keeps rolling and I am falling into the role of actress, playing a part for my diverse audience. I know my nerves are beginning to take over as I catch myself constantly glancing back to my notes, eyeing my lesson plan then checking the clock, fidgeting with my bangs, adjusting my sleeves… but it’s not just me. My students are silent! With three adults in the room, a teacher assistant, and a video camera, they are feeling the pressure as well. My gestures and tone beg them for feedback, but they are unresponsive. Minutes pass and I go through the motions, feeling disconnected and just not myself.


I finish the lesson and meander to the back of the room to face my supervisor, disappointed that I didn’t get the chance to show her a real day in my class teaching Writer’s Workshop. With tears threatening to burst through, I pull up a chair beside her, “That did not go well,” my voice trembles. Her face draws back, eyes wide, “What?” she remarks, somewhat startled. “You didn’t feel good about that?” Now this catches me off guard. Did she just witness the same lesson I acted out? She thinks it was successful? Here I am, feeling like I have just barely escaped disaster, and she tells me I’m a natural? Well, I guess that’s life; you are always your own toughest critic. So although this morning has been an emotional one, I think it is exactly what I needed: assuring words to remind me to celebrate the small successes, focus on what does go well. Because she is right—there is much to feel proud of. And the bright side? It can only get better from here.

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