Dear Friends,
I still live in a foreign, often strange, often funny country. Though I don’t write it down as often as I used to, my life is still foreign, often strange and often funny. Here are a few from the past few weeks.
The point of this is that I had a crowd of Chinese people rolling, crossing oceans and historical divides and doing it all in Chinese. Notorious BIG once expressed the pleasure he felt from “rocking” a crowd of thousands “from the front to the back.” Ss someone who considers himself to be pretty funny, this experience gave me a similar feeling.
The one that will stand out 10 years from now though, is a student named Lucifer. I taught him English conversation for the past two years. Because of me, he can flawlessly say things like, I seldom go to the movies, or What are some of your hobbies and interests? When I met Lucifer, his English name was Andy, but there were three other Andy’s in his class. He came to me one day and asked that I call him Damien; a week later it was Satan; eventually he settled on Lucifer. If these seems odd, consider that I’ve had students in the past named Azzip (whose best friend was Pizza), Garfield, Helios, Piggy, Duck, Dinosaur, Amigo (she was a girl) and Isnt (so many opportunities for Abbott and Costello scenes).
Anyways, back to Lucifer. At this point, I’ve taught (not exaggerating) over a thousand high school students and I’ve found some patterns. In a class of thirty, about 4 will despise me- they’ll wish death upon me and make it fairly well known (hence yelling FUCK YOU while throwing hot dogs). About 20 will be completely oblivious to my existence… rarely noticing that I am in front of them with a book and a white board. The remaining students want nothing more than to be with me 24 hours a day. These kids show up 5 minutes early to class and leave five minutes late. They come up with reasons to hang around, like sweeping the floor, erasing the white board, ratting on their classmates who cheated or talked during silent time, asking what to study for a test that is three moths away, etc. When I try to escape to the office, they just follow me there.
In the first few months of teaching, I loved these kids. They noticed how wise and wonderful I was. They gave a purpose to my otherwise useless existence. They listened to me and nodded their heads. By October of my first school year however, I wanted to be left alone during break time. I didn’t care who cheated on which test, I didn’t particularly care what Rebecca did last weekend. I wanted to go to my office alone and bitch about my students. This is hard to do with students present.
Lucifer was one of those kids that was always around, but I liked him. He showed me his international coin collection, and I made it a habit to get a few coins for him when I went abroad. He’d bring me ice cream or chocolate sometimes. I asked him once, how his high school exit exams were going once… They are very (he paused for a moment) BULLSHIT! I smiled… I liked Lucifer and I liked watching him as he went through these monumental years of his life.
So… I was particularly excited to congratulate him at his graduation; I bumped into him as the ceremony was ending… I gave him a hug and asked how he was feeling…
I feel… I feel I don’t understand… I am so happy, but really too sad.
Often, broken English pads simple statements, giving them a very profound quality. I liked that this emotion mixed him up; I liked that he had a whole life of bitter-sweetness ahead of him, though he didn’t really know it yet.
I am a man though, so I don’t crying
I lied to him… I told him that I cried at my graduation and was proud of it. Lucifer looked down for a minute… when he looked back up at me he had tears in his eyes…
Really?? He asked in a choked voice.
I assured him that it was okay… I told him that any grand moment from that point on may make him laugh or cry, but that the most special would do both. We parted ways, I went back to my office, remembering why I had wanted to be a teacher in the first place, 100% sure that I knew what to do with my life.
It is actually illegal for a foreigner (I am a foreigner) to teach kindergarten. The manager of the school, a Harvard educated woman named Catherine, assured me that when the police come for their monthly inspection, I will be notified by a secret code over the intercom and I will have a few moments to leave the classroom and hide in the attic.
I can’t help but remember hiding our cat in the garage when the landlord came by to visit.
I still live in a foreign, often strange, often funny country. Though I don’t write it down as often as I used to, my life is still foreign, often strange and often funny. Here are a few from the past few weeks.
***
Last night I went out with a good friend of mine, a fellow teacher from Oklahoma. Accompanying us was his Taiwanese wife, half a dozen of her cousins and friends and a few other Americans. Somehow, the table became centered around me, and before I knew it, I was telling the whole group a story about my teenage years, when (among other things) I spent my free time dressed as a bumble bee, handing out balloons to children of white trash families. This invariably led to my story of the time that I was accosted by a mentally disabled preteen (while dressed again as a bumble bee) who proceeded to hug me so hard I thought I would turn blue from a loss of blood and oxygen to the head. In the end, his parents pried him off of me, while I gasped for air and the boy screamed and cried. The point of this is that I had a crowd of Chinese people rolling, crossing oceans and historical divides and doing it all in Chinese. Notorious BIG once expressed the pleasure he felt from “rocking” a crowd of thousands “from the front to the back.” Ss someone who considers himself to be pretty funny, this experience gave me a similar feeling.
***
I stepped in quick sand today. After sitting through two hours of Indiana Jones, the worst two hours since the last terrible movie I saw, I said that I didn’t believe in quick sand. It does, and Taiwan has it; it almost killed me today. It may have ruined a pair of shoes too. I recently got into a band called Dengue Fever… I recommend listening to them.
***
***
Last Friday was our high school graduation. It felt so strange to think it was just another Friday for me, but for many of these kids, it was one of the real turning points in their lives. One of my ex-students would be going onto study Engineering at Penn State; this kid, Taiwanese through and through, got 60 points higher than me on the American SAT! Another of my kids would be moving across Taiwan to study for his teaching degree. Another kid named Jay came to me and shook my hand. He looked me in the eyes and apologized (he threw a hot dog at me in class once- not as a joke, he threw it while he shouting FUCK YOU). I then looked him in the eyes and apologized for calling him a “real asshole”- teachers make mistakes too.The one that will stand out 10 years from now though, is a student named Lucifer. I taught him English conversation for the past two years. Because of me, he can flawlessly say things like, I seldom go to the movies, or What are some of your hobbies and interests? When I met Lucifer, his English name was Andy, but there were three other Andy’s in his class. He came to me one day and asked that I call him Damien; a week later it was Satan; eventually he settled on Lucifer. If these seems odd, consider that I’ve had students in the past named Azzip (whose best friend was Pizza), Garfield, Helios, Piggy, Duck, Dinosaur, Amigo (she was a girl) and Isnt (so many opportunities for Abbott and Costello scenes).
Anyways, back to Lucifer. At this point, I’ve taught (not exaggerating) over a thousand high school students and I’ve found some patterns. In a class of thirty, about 4 will despise me- they’ll wish death upon me and make it fairly well known (hence yelling FUCK YOU while throwing hot dogs). About 20 will be completely oblivious to my existence… rarely noticing that I am in front of them with a book and a white board. The remaining students want nothing more than to be with me 24 hours a day. These kids show up 5 minutes early to class and leave five minutes late. They come up with reasons to hang around, like sweeping the floor, erasing the white board, ratting on their classmates who cheated or talked during silent time, asking what to study for a test that is three moths away, etc. When I try to escape to the office, they just follow me there.
In the first few months of teaching, I loved these kids. They noticed how wise and wonderful I was. They gave a purpose to my otherwise useless existence. They listened to me and nodded their heads. By October of my first school year however, I wanted to be left alone during break time. I didn’t care who cheated on which test, I didn’t particularly care what Rebecca did last weekend. I wanted to go to my office alone and bitch about my students. This is hard to do with students present.
Lucifer was one of those kids that was always around, but I liked him. He showed me his international coin collection, and I made it a habit to get a few coins for him when I went abroad. He’d bring me ice cream or chocolate sometimes. I asked him once, how his high school exit exams were going once… They are very (he paused for a moment) BULLSHIT! I smiled… I liked Lucifer and I liked watching him as he went through these monumental years of his life.
So… I was particularly excited to congratulate him at his graduation; I bumped into him as the ceremony was ending… I gave him a hug and asked how he was feeling…
I feel… I feel I don’t understand… I am so happy, but really too sad.
Often, broken English pads simple statements, giving them a very profound quality. I liked that this emotion mixed him up; I liked that he had a whole life of bitter-sweetness ahead of him, though he didn’t really know it yet.
I am a man though, so I don’t crying
I lied to him… I told him that I cried at my graduation and was proud of it. Lucifer looked down for a minute… when he looked back up at me he had tears in his eyes…
Really?? He asked in a choked voice.
I assured him that it was okay… I told him that any grand moment from that point on may make him laugh or cry, but that the most special would do both. We parted ways, I went back to my office, remembering why I had wanted to be a teacher in the first place, 100% sure that I knew what to do with my life.
***
I got hired to teach in an ESL kindergarten for the next school year. The government (non-linguists that they all are) is convinced that teaching English to five year-olds will hinder their ability to fluently speak Chinese in the future. This not only contradicts all linguistic research done in the past 100 years, but discounts that most of these children are already bilingual (Taiwanese and Mandarin). It is actually illegal for a foreigner (I am a foreigner) to teach kindergarten. The manager of the school, a Harvard educated woman named Catherine, assured me that when the police come for their monthly inspection, I will be notified by a secret code over the intercom and I will have a few moments to leave the classroom and hide in the attic.
I can’t help but remember hiding our cat in the garage when the landlord came by to visit.
***
I’ve recently developed an addiction to batting cages and air hockey.
***
missing you all, love mattto
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