The Phone Call
by Kimberley Glover
AFTER TEACHING ON-LINE for four years, I have come to expect that my phone will ring several times on Sunday night around 11:30 p.m., just half an hour before weekly assignments and exams are due. Occasionally, I’ll receive a call mid-week from a student who has disappeared from the course for several weeks and suddenly realizes that s/he is failing, but mid-week calls are few and far between. One afternoon, I received the following mysterious voicemail message:
“Hello Professor Glover, this is Dawn from your Criminology I class. Will you please give me a call at your convenience sometime during the next week.”
During the next week? The voice on the message was calm and composed, and taking into consideration it was Thursday, there was nothing to indicate that an “academic emergency” had reared its ugly head. I listened to the message again. Did she really say “sometime during the next week?”
There was no frantic undertone to indicate that the student was waiting by the phone, as students normally are (rehearsing their excuses) when I return their calls.
Finally, I got up enough nerve and fortitude to return the call the following morning. Surely, I was in for some surprise. After all, students don’t call just to ask simple questions or to say they are enjoying the course. They send e-mails telling me about the stress they are under, and how the formidable deadlines are distracting them from their social life. As the phone rings, I practice my scholarly voice. Finally, I hear the familiar click that the line has been picked up, but instead of reaching the student, I have reached Dawn’s voicemail. Frustrated, I leave a friendly message.
A few moments later, my home phone rings. It’s evening, and naturally I expect the call is from an overly friendly solicitor who wants to consolidate my non-existent credit card debt.
It is Dawn. Ah, the suspense will soon be over.
She is in the final week of the course, and had already submitted her final exam. I have already checked, and all assignments have been submitted and graded. Her final grade in the course is an A. Maybe she’s calling for career advice; maybe she’s calling to inquire why she earned 92 percent as opposed to 98 percent.
Dawns speaks clearly: “Professor Glover, I just wanted to call and personally say thank you.”
I’m confused. What? Could this be? No, it must be a mistake.
“Thank you for what?” I ask suspiciously.
Had I miscalculated her grade higher than she had earned?
“I just wanted to say thank you for posting your photo on the course Web page, and for participating in the discussions.” I actually respond with “is that the only reason you called?”
She answers sincerely with a simple yes.
After getting over the initial shock, I ask Dawn if she is implying that other professors teaching on-line courses do not post their photos or participate in discussions. She explains that none of her previous on-line professors had done so. During a few moments of pleasant conversation, I clear my crackling voice and quietly wipe the tears from my cheeks.
I hang up the phone as my husband walks into the room. He sees my tears and asks “who died?”
“My assumption that all on-line professors really do work as hard as I do just passed away.”
I went on to explain that one single student, one seemingly insignificant soul amongst almost two hundred of my on-line students, had called just to say thank you. She had simply called to say thank you. That was it; that was all there was to it.
Before I hung up with Dawn, I asked her one last thing. I asked her to make me a promise that if, in the future, another of her professors were to make an impact on her, that person would receive a similar phone call. I confided to her that in four years of teaching on-line, she was the first student I’d ever taught who had phoned to say “thank you.”
I know that I work hard, and I know that I am a good instructor. I have battled against those that believe that you can never really form a relationship with your students through an internet connection. I communicate via e-mail with them, guide their discussions, and provide meaningful feedback to their assignments and exams. Had I been naive to assume that all other on-line professors did the same? Evidently, so. Teaching in the classroom presents entirely different challenges and rewards. I have a love for the traditional classroom and an even greater love of the on-line environment. I feel tremendous satisfaction when I am able to teach students in Iraq, Spain and even Australia. I have occasionally felt disgruntled when I hear my on-campus colleagues speak casually of picking up an on-line class to pay for a vacation. You do not simply “pick up an on-line class.”
To those who teach on-line courses, I hope that you will be the next to receive a call from a caring student like Dawn. However, take a moment and ask yourself this question: “Do I deserve that call?”
