Lockdown Bangkok: What it is like for divorced parents and their child
It has been fourteen years since the ex-hubster and I officially called it quits. We are way past playing hardball over child custody, or who gets to spend weekends or holidays with who.
Our son is 15. He goes to an international school along Suhkumvit 71, not far from its sister school in Ekamai. Monday to Friday he commutes to school from the condo we live in about forty minutes away. He comes home in the afternoons to healthy meals I prepare for him.
Homework is done usually after dinner. I go back to my own work while he plays with his gadgets for a while before lights are turned off for bed. We go to church on the first day of the weekend and then he is off to his Dad. This is pretty much the routine the three of us follow.
Then the novel coronavirus broke out
I nagged the son a bit about consistency in wearing a mask and always making sure that he washes his hands with soap and water. Masks and clean hands have quickly become my personal anthem.
Midway in March, our son came home from school smiling. I then knew classes were canceled. He let me check the parent-teacher communication on my phone for formality and before I could concede, he hurrayed in glee. I motioned him to a pile of books, notebooks, and folders on a desk, indicating what it spelled out for him: schoolwork for every subject of every day that he was home.
His party face snapped out like a candle flame you would blow on a birthday cake. Poor kid. Maybe I should have let him savor that moment of excitement. I was no different at his age. Ecstatic when there was no school.
I let him ask his Dad if he could advance his stay with him. Dad readily agreed. That was when he got stuck in his Dad’s house, and I saw him only once in two weeks.
Welcome to Google Classroom
Our son’s school homeroom adviser contacted me. Through her I heard about Google Classroom for the first time, i.e. I had to deal with the web service first hand which is the only way for me to function as a homeschooling parent during this crisis. On top of monitoring, assisting, reminding, and keeping track of schoolwork, I also had to concentrate on earning remotely.
My head spun. Friends asked where I was. They thought I was back in my home country.
I am holed up in a highrise in the Thai capital.
“Tell our boy he’s not on vacation,” I messaged my ex, as I forwarded him subject codes that the teacher sent me.
Suddenly we were coordinating. It was nice.
I became an alarm clock in the mornings, waking up our son via the ex-hubster’s phone, to make sure he gets into the first period on time for attendance checking. Sometimes I would discover them just stirring from sleep. Ex-hubster is adjusting back to a similar timetable he followed for thirty years before he retired from his corporate job.
Their tardiness sends me sprinting to Facebook Messenger to apologize to the teacher. Thankfully, the teacher is considerate. She tells me she is also just learning Google Classroom herself.
Like everybody else, she is dealing with some difficulty too, eg. getting used to an online classroom interface, sorting out codes, keeping up with students’ questions, updating lessons, and seeing to it that everyone understands quizzes and test directions.
After a week, a parent remarks on group chat, “Are students’ work assignments now still considered reasonable? My daughter stayed up until 10 last night. She said she needed to finish work because there would be more coming.”
Teachers respond that the amount of work they give is equivalent to what students are given in the normal classroom. “Please let your daughter rest,” they suggest. I silently add, “He should probably insist rest. Daughter still up at 10 PM from working practically all day? And at a young age? I’m having none of that for my son, particularly nowadays.”
This virus is teaching us new things — new meanings, new values, new perspectives. Many things.
Parents watch in the chatrooms how their children’s online classes are conducted, and how children interact with their subject teachers. In a way, it is fun, a kind of movie-binging.
“Mr. G, how or where do we gather materials for our Ten Commandments project? 7 Eleven?” a student asks.
“Nooo, kids! Look around your house. Use any material available. Recycle them. Repurpose!” Mr. G sounds frantic.
And he should be. Imagine exposing kids to the virus in a convenience store because you required them something that made them go out of their house.
The ex asks me to go over our son’s requirement on Temperance and sends me the file. He wants my comments on it. The due date tells me that unless there are changes and the Thai Ministry of Education releases new announcements, our teenager would be homeschooling until the end of May.
He came back to pick up three textbooks he left in the condo last week. His Dad waited in the parking lot.
“Baby, are you hungry? I made your favorite tuna carbonara,” I tried to entice him to stay a few more minutes. A subtle frown crossed his forehead. He is developing a stance against being called ‘Baby.’
“No, thanks, Mom. I need to hurry back,” he headed for the door.
“But I haven’t even hugged you yet!”
“Social distancing, Mom.” He hollered in the hallway.
I watch my son disappear into the lift. A twinge fires through my chest.
