A Day In My LIfe, Part IV

Part IV

Making Moves

I think it’s safe to say that human beings crave routine. Routine means certainty, and certainty seems to be something we as a species value dearly. But what if you don’t like your routine? What if the only certainty available to you does not fulfill your hopes and dreams? This is essentially the key question. We have to balance our love of certainty, our fear of the unknown, with how much we are willing to risk in order to pursue our dreams.

I hop on the bus to Aston 1. Aston English Schools is my employer, and has four campuses throughout Wuhan, referred to as Astons 1, 2, 3, and 4. Kids come there after their regular school hours for extra English lessons. This is the reason I teach mainly weekends.

Aston 1 is where I spend most of my time. Friday afternoon is when the Aston classes start, and I have class at four. The bus from DFH takes about ten minutes or so, which gives me about an hour to have some food and go over my upcoming lessons. The bus is packed, as always. The usual stares. A blind man gets on the bus. No one stands up to offer him a seat. This is standard practice in China. Although it annoys me, I don’t think it’s fair to criticize them for this. It’s simply a cultural thing.

Eat street. Or at least that’s what we call it. My favorite place. I wave at the lady making wraps. Not today, I say to myself, but she returns my smile nonetheless. I’m in the mood for some ma la tang, which I think literally translates to numb hot soup. It’s essentially a spicy noodle soup, except you pick your own ingredients. And there are a lot of them. The guy knows my order by now. Very meat heavy compared to the average Chinese order, and therefore relatively expensive. $1.50 well spent. Next I go to a small coffee shop on the same street. The lady working there remembers me as well, because of both my size and my order. Coffee, black, no cream or sugar. A decidedly un-Chinese coffee.

I’ve retreated to the teacher’s lounge (lounge is a bit strong of a word) and am enjoying my food. The other foreign teachers working Aston 1 today are also here, and the usual banter ensues. Some of our Chinese assistants, all young women (hooray!), are also present, and the room is alive with chatter. I look down at my watch. Only 5 minutes until my C3 class. Yoyo, my assistant for this particular class, tells me it’s time. “Bu yao shang ke,” I reply, which means, “I don’t want class to start.” Nevertheless I gather my things and follow Yoyo down to classroom A2, ready to impart wisdom.

Day In My Life, Part III

Part III

Belly of the Beast

Children love at the drop of a hat. It is by far their most beautiful quality. They aren’t skeptical, or wary. They recognize that love should be given to a person who brings them joy. It is the only condition they know, and really, it is the only condition that matters.

Class is 40 minutes long. I spend most of these simply saying words aloud and having the kids repeat them. Anytime I involve any students in what, for China, would be considered an “unusual” classroom activity (i.e. getting them to stand, play games, etc.), their excitement level immediately spikes. Today’s game is no different. Almost all of the students are standing and yelling so that I may call on them. I oblige most of them, and by the time I’ve done that class is over. On my way out they follow me all the way to the school entrance, some giving hugs, some demanding high fives. I wave one last time and then walk home. It’s 9:20.

My next class isn’t until 11:30, which gives me some time to eat and have more caffeine. I make some coffee and some eggs, and then sit down in front of my computer to check my email. I lose track of time, and then realize it is now quarter to eleven. The bus only takes about half an hour to get to DFH, the other Chinese primary school I teach at, but I enjoy getting there early and catching the kids during recess. Recently I’ve been trying to teach a group of boys how to play basketball during this time, but this invariably degenerates into me running around and playing with half of the school’s student body. I don’t mind though. It’s not every day you get to make a lot of people happy.

As a student, you try to convince yourself that teachers are impartial arbiters of academia, simply there to preside over and guide the fair and equal education of all. Shockingly, I have learned that in my case this hypothesis does not hold. I have favorite classes, and I have hated classes. Some students I would consider adopting, some I want to fail just out of spite. In a sense I have come to admire my former teachers for their ability to even make it somewhat believable that they didn’t have favorites. It is fucking hard.

            Luckily for me, the two 3^rd grade classes I teach at this particular school are my favorites, and I am filled with energy. We play games, we laugh, we sing. This lesson is based on ‘I can (verb), I can’t (verb).’ The smart kids get it immediately, and the dumber kids follow their lead. Soon they are one-upping each other with ridiculous things they claim to be able to do, and everybody is in stitches. One boy claims to be able to stand on his head. I decide to call him on it. I march him to the front of the class, and demand that he stand on his head. He gets really quiet and mumbles something in Chinese. He looks embarrassed. I then grab him by the ankles and hold him upside down, with his head barely touching the ground. I express astonishment that he can indeed stand on his head. He roars with laughter, and the other students right along with him. Even the stern Chinese teacher helping me breaks into a smile, then a giggle. As soon as I put him down, everyone else wants a turn. I tell them later. They reluctantly sit down, but they are still beaming. This is when I love the job. This part is fun. 

Day In My Life, Part II

Part II

The Hamster

Complete mastery of a language is nigh impossible. Complete mastery is not simply the correct and unerring use of the words and rules of a specific language (shit, spell-check can do that). I have taken a couple of books from my dad’s very snobbish library (although he is actually smart enough to justify such a collection) and started reading them. Mostly I have been engrossed by the short stories of William Faulkner. His command of the English language is breathtaking. He is concise yet eloquent, the ultimate balance in written English. In a sense calling myself an English teacher after reading Faulkner seems inappropriate. Teaching English to Chinese people is simply teaching them how to communicate with someone who speaks English on that person’s terms. It is at its core a convoluted exercise in translation. That is not language. The English language is properly presented on Faulkner’s pages, and its beauty is as important as its meaning. It cannot be translated.

My first class is at a primary school a mere 15-minutes walking from my apartment. After picking up a couple of dumplings, I accelerate to a brisk pace. The cool air is refreshing. The caffeine is starting to kick in, and now I am truly awake. I pass by a succession of small shops selling hot noodles for breakfast. What looks to be the Chinese middle class is clustered around these shops getting bowls of re gan mian, a local noodle specialty. As I arrive at the entrance to the school, the parents and their kids stare. Just another day in China.

Instead of a bell, this school plays an instrumental version of Elton John’s Can You Feel the Love Tonight over the loudspeakers to signal the start of class. This particular class consists of 40 or so first graders. As soon as that tune begins, they scamper to class and start jockeying for seats in exactly the manner you would expect of a first grader. Their Chinese teacher, who assists me when she is not busy on her cell phone, lectures them in a stern voice. Their attention however isn’t with her anymore. They have spotted me lingering outside, waiting for the Chinese teacher to finish her morning duties, and are now pointing and craning to get a better look at the foreign Gulliver. They are all smiling. I can’t help it either. I smirk back at them, then make a funny face outside the window. They roar with laughter. Some of them yell “Hi Seb!” as I poke my head through the door. The Chinese teacher has finished her announcements, and is beckoning for me to come in. Enter stage left.

Being welcomed by first graders is a unique feeling. There is no pretense. There is no formality. There is no courtesy. There is only honesty. I can see their happiness, their excitement. Their smiles, their laughter, their bodies bouncing up and down. All of it is palpable. I love them for that. I greet them with “Good morning, how are you”, and they reply in unison “I’m fine how are you?”, their voices briefly subdued by the rigidity of this exchange they have been forced to memorize. Class begins. Of course they have forgotten everything. But the Hamster runs on.