These thoughts are, for the most part, nicely entrenched in my brain as I go about the business of teaching classes and writing report cards. They are comfortable and validating and seem to make sense given my immediate experience. And then some troublesome Copernican life experience pops up and blows the whole system to hell.
Recently my school held its biannual Sports Day. Basically, it entailed seven unpaid hours of my Sunday being spent at a local soccer complex. Our current school semester started in April and Sports Day was to be our first exposure to our new kindergarteners' parents as well as UV rays, this winter being unusually cold and sunless by Korean standards. I was enthusiastic about getting a tan but less so about meeting certain parents.
To be fair, there was actually only one upcoming introduction that had me worried. Let's call the student Rufus (for reasons of confidentiality and because I've always wanted to name a Korean kid Rufus but so none of them have let me do it and also because Rufus sounds like a canine name and this particular child's listening skills are roughly equivalent to those of a feral dingo ).
Anyways, this kid has been an upside-down floater in my koi pond since Day One. Impervious to coloring pages, incapable of correctly repeating simple phrases like, "May I go to the bathroom?", an inveterate picker of boogers and thrower of pencils. I mean, after seven weeks of quality instruction (at least B+/A- in my estimation) his "G"'s still looked like demented sideways sixes. He hadn't made a lick of progress since the first day he was committed to my class, and I had let his parents know as much in no uncertain terms in his last report card, despite my Korean co-teacher's pleas for more diplomatic language. She just had no idea how brutal the original report had been. I don't know if the words "hopeless" and "utterly incompetent" have ever been erased so often from a 300 word document concerning a 6 year-old.
So when Sports Day rolled around, I was anticipating the uncomfortably limp handshake and indirect eye contact that occurs in social settings where both parties have a bone to pick but must put up the pretense of politeness since they are both rational adults. When 2:00 PM rolled around the kids and their families began to trickle in, but there was no sign of Rufus. I was briefly hopeful that I'd dodged this particular bullet and my attention was soon diverted by three children trying to ram their index fingers into various orifices that did not appreciate the intrusion. (On a side note: there must be an especially hot and unpleasant circle of hell occupied solely by whatever sadistic Korean invented the dung-chim. If you don't know what this is, you're much happier for it. In this case ignorance is indeed bliss.)
But eventually Rufus and his parents did arrive. It would be more accurate to say parent, actually, since only his mom was present. As it turns out, his old man was currently living in America for what I can only assume are job-related reasons. A few weeks earlier, my Korean co-teacher had mentioned that Rufus would be going to America someday but her details were hazy and I didn't think much of it. There was never any indication that his father was already living abroad.
As I watched the little hellion scamper about, an absolutely demonic grin on his face as he grappled with an equally fiendish friend (not from our academy), I felt a surge of empathy for his poor mother. She was chatting with the fiend's mother, apparently invited along for moral support, about god-knows-what. Since I couldn't understand what they were talking about, I imagined what their conversation must sound like.
"How is your husband doing in America?"
"Oh he's fine, it's been a rough couple of weeks but I'm starting to get used to it. Rufus is such a handful though, plus I have to work and find a buyer for this damn apartment and mountains of paperwork and oh I'm so nervous about leaving...just a little frazzled. But it's OK."
"You poor dear. When are you leaving? Rufus has been studying at the English school for a few months now, he must be learning a lot. I bet he'll fit right in."
"We've only got about a month left. And are you kidding? Look at the kid - he can barely keep his own pants on. Nobody can understand what he's saying in Korean, let alone English. Sometimes I dream that I'm a tiger and thus fully justified in eating my own young."
The direct scorching heat might have been getting to me a little bit by the end of the hypothetical exchange, but for the most part I think it could be accurate. Watching the two women chat, I was reminded that although the time spent in the English hagwon defines the students' lives in my eyes, there is quite a bit going on in the outside world that I (and most teachers) will never see.
It's so easy to judge the kids by how well they follow the rules, fulfill class objectives, demonstrate noticeable improvement. Some students are so sullen, disengaged, and flatly disinterested that from inside the hagwon it's difficult to imagine them being bright or charming or almost lovable under different circumstances. Occasionally after an especially toilsome lesson it's actually easy to picture the students as English-learning robots and assess them solely on the criteria of performing that single function.
The 2011 Jerry z.5 model is full of glitches. Aesthetically it's an abomination - keeps emitting uncontrolled vapor/waste from the cranial section in my immediate vicinity, doesn't use tissues. Its memory is all but useless - can't perform basic functions or retain the most simplified data. No match for the Robert 5.0. Now THAT'S an English-learning automaton. Way better external design, data retention a Cray would envy, very user-friendly. Even brought me a pack of cookies the other day.
But of course they aren't robots, they are human beings like you or me. Albeit smaller, stinkier, and more infatuated with dinosaurs (some of them, anyway). And not only are they human, they're also in the very earliest stages of development. They are learning a foreign language at about the same age I was learning to not poop in my pants. It's really amazing that we have any enthusiastic students at all, in my opinion. Why should they learn English instead of jamming erasers up their noses?
Travel? Please...the most exotic vacation destination most of them can imagine is Jeju Island, where English is not in especially high usage. They're not going to be dreaming of hiking around Stratford-upon-Avon or Greenwich Village or whatever passes for a tourist destination in Canada. World wandering is not high on the bucket lists of most 6-12 year olds.
Lucrative jobs? Ditto. If I had cared about getting a high-paying job when I was that age, I would have put down the Civil War books and sports equipment and learned something useful, like fractions. Very few people think that far down the road when they're in K-6.
The joy of learning? Maybe. But that's kind of a Judge Stewart re: pornography case - the kids might know they're excited about learning something when it hits them full force in the face, but it's very hard to explain why such enthusiasm is valued or desirable. Either they feel it's interesting and absorbing, or they don't. And if they don't, you can try to change your tactics up a bit, trick them into buying whatever you're selling, but if they don't bite...well, the world needs ditch-diggers too (to quote the less distinguished but more entertaining Judge Smails).
By the end of Sports Day, Rufus' energy reserves had been entirely exhausted. He literally collapsed in a happy and snot-covered heap on the soccer field's scratchy artificial turf, a look of dumb beatific contentment on his face. It was strange to see that mask instead of his usual maniacally blank eyes and cheek scrunching grin. His mom went over to pick him up and she grunted as she hefted his limp form onto her shoulder, Rufus' small frame immediately tripling in weight as do the bodies of all sleeping children.
But eventually Rufus and his parents did arrive. It would be more accurate to say parent, actually, since only his mom was present. As it turns out, his old man was currently living in America for what I can only assume are job-related reasons. A few weeks earlier, my Korean co-teacher had mentioned that Rufus would be going to America someday but her details were hazy and I didn't think much of it. There was never any indication that his father was already living abroad.
As I watched the little hellion scamper about, an absolutely demonic grin on his face as he grappled with an equally fiendish friend (not from our academy), I felt a surge of empathy for his poor mother. She was chatting with the fiend's mother, apparently invited along for moral support, about god-knows-what. Since I couldn't understand what they were talking about, I imagined what their conversation must sound like.
"How is your husband doing in America?"
"Oh he's fine, it's been a rough couple of weeks but I'm starting to get used to it. Rufus is such a handful though, plus I have to work and find a buyer for this damn apartment and mountains of paperwork and oh I'm so nervous about leaving...just a little frazzled. But it's OK."
"You poor dear. When are you leaving? Rufus has been studying at the English school for a few months now, he must be learning a lot. I bet he'll fit right in."
"We've only got about a month left. And are you kidding? Look at the kid - he can barely keep his own pants on. Nobody can understand what he's saying in Korean, let alone English. Sometimes I dream that I'm a tiger and thus fully justified in eating my own young."
The direct scorching heat might have been getting to me a little bit by the end of the hypothetical exchange, but for the most part I think it could be accurate. Watching the two women chat, I was reminded that although the time spent in the English hagwon defines the students' lives in my eyes, there is quite a bit going on in the outside world that I (and most teachers) will never see.
It's so easy to judge the kids by how well they follow the rules, fulfill class objectives, demonstrate noticeable improvement. Some students are so sullen, disengaged, and flatly disinterested that from inside the hagwon it's difficult to imagine them being bright or charming or almost lovable under different circumstances. Occasionally after an especially toilsome lesson it's actually easy to picture the students as English-learning robots and assess them solely on the criteria of performing that single function.
The 2011 Jerry z.5 model is full of glitches. Aesthetically it's an abomination - keeps emitting uncontrolled vapor/waste from the cranial section in my immediate vicinity, doesn't use tissues. Its memory is all but useless - can't perform basic functions or retain the most simplified data. No match for the Robert 5.0. Now THAT'S an English-learning automaton. Way better external design, data retention a Cray would envy, very user-friendly. Even brought me a pack of cookies the other day.
But of course they aren't robots, they are human beings like you or me. Albeit smaller, stinkier, and more infatuated with dinosaurs (some of them, anyway). And not only are they human, they're also in the very earliest stages of development. They are learning a foreign language at about the same age I was learning to not poop in my pants. It's really amazing that we have any enthusiastic students at all, in my opinion. Why should they learn English instead of jamming erasers up their noses?
Travel? Please...the most exotic vacation destination most of them can imagine is Jeju Island, where English is not in especially high usage. They're not going to be dreaming of hiking around Stratford-upon-Avon or Greenwich Village or whatever passes for a tourist destination in Canada. World wandering is not high on the bucket lists of most 6-12 year olds.
Lucrative jobs? Ditto. If I had cared about getting a high-paying job when I was that age, I would have put down the Civil War books and sports equipment and learned something useful, like fractions. Very few people think that far down the road when they're in K-6.
The joy of learning? Maybe. But that's kind of a Judge Stewart re: pornography case - the kids might know they're excited about learning something when it hits them full force in the face, but it's very hard to explain why such enthusiasm is valued or desirable. Either they feel it's interesting and absorbing, or they don't. And if they don't, you can try to change your tactics up a bit, trick them into buying whatever you're selling, but if they don't bite...well, the world needs ditch-diggers too (to quote the less distinguished but more entertaining Judge Smails).
By the end of Sports Day, Rufus' energy reserves had been entirely exhausted. He literally collapsed in a happy and snot-covered heap on the soccer field's scratchy artificial turf, a look of dumb beatific contentment on his face. It was strange to see that mask instead of his usual maniacally blank eyes and cheek scrunching grin. His mom went over to pick him up and she grunted as she hefted his limp form onto her shoulder, Rufus' small frame immediately tripling in weight as do the bodies of all sleeping children.
Seeing their fragmented family and hearing a brief synopsis of their story helped me understand how I, and all teachers, fit into the lives of students. Especially teachers in the private language academy business. More specifically, it helped me understand the limited role that I play in the lives of my students (without minimizing that role). Very few kids are going to go home and break their toys/kick their dogs/weep bitter tears because I don't like their journal entries. They don't wake up in the morning and go to sleep at night with the conjugated forms of irregular verbs running through their minds. They aren't going to suddenly realize what unmotivated and underachieving loafers they are after failing to complete a week's worth of homework and receiving an exasperated tongue lashing.
They've got other stuff going on. They've got social hierarchies to navigate, parents to please/disobey/love/manipulate, taekwondo boards to kick, pianos to practice or avoid practicing (depending on personal inclination). They have toys to play with and idols to emulate and treats to covet. They have body image issues and superiority complexes and hormones and societal pressures and older siblings and a thousand other stressors to consider. Their lives have dozens of dimensions beyond learning English - some of them with more immediately important ramifications to consider. I share their lives for, at most, 13 hours a week. I have little idea what goes on during the other 155.
So it turns out that I am not the Sun, and my students are not planets. I still can't decide on a good cosmological analogy for them, but I have now decided that I am a comet. I flash in and out of their solar systems. For some this might be a newsworthy occurrence, others will have more important/interesting things to do and pay little attention. And at this time, that seems to be "just the way things are".
All I can do is try to be the brightest damn comet I can be.
They've got other stuff going on. They've got social hierarchies to navigate, parents to please/disobey/love/manipulate, taekwondo boards to kick, pianos to practice or avoid practicing (depending on personal inclination). They have toys to play with and idols to emulate and treats to covet. They have body image issues and superiority complexes and hormones and societal pressures and older siblings and a thousand other stressors to consider. Their lives have dozens of dimensions beyond learning English - some of them with more immediately important ramifications to consider. I share their lives for, at most, 13 hours a week. I have little idea what goes on during the other 155.
So it turns out that I am not the Sun, and my students are not planets. I still can't decide on a good cosmological analogy for them, but I have now decided that I am a comet. I flash in and out of their solar systems. For some this might be a newsworthy occurrence, others will have more important/interesting things to do and pay little attention. And at this time, that seems to be "just the way things are".
All I can do is try to be the brightest damn comet I can be.
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