I heard a soft rapping and thought it was my upstairs neighbor chopping vegetables. But the knocking continued so I opened the door just as the girl was about to leave.
“Can we have a chat?” she asked, and I let her in.
I didn’t remember her name but I knew her face. She was one of my better tenth grade students. I remembered her because her English was very good and she participated a lot in class. Whenever we ran into each other in the hallways, she greeted me cheerfully, her round face all smiles.
Today she was different. This chat, it turned out, would be an emotional unloading.
She sat on the edge of the chair, back straight, her eyes not leaving mine as she spoke. First she told me that she really wanted to talk to me because she felt like she related more with adults. There was no one in class she really connected with.
“Everyday I sit in my seat and I am -- ” She searched for the word in English. “Silent.”
She brought up her parents, who she said both worked so hard for her to go to school. She had just tried calling them on a school payphone, but all of the phones were broken except for one and now there was a long line to make a call. I asked what her parents do, and she told me they both work in a factory in Shenzhen. She repeated her previous statement, that they worked very hard. For her. She seemed pained as she spoke this sentence.
To fail at school was to fail her family and make their sacrifices all for nothing. The stress of performing well on the national college entrance exam or gao kao – more than two years away – already weighs heavily on her. Now she was doing terribly in science, she said. She spoke her worries about what would become of her if she didn't do well on the gao kao. The pressure was pushing her down, she said.
“I am falling and falling,” she said in Chinese and made a downward motion with her hands. She didn't always feel so helpless. In the past, she was like “Superwoman.”
But lately her health has suffered, she told me. I had noticed last week that she had gotten her hair cut into a short bob. I found out the cut was not to try out a new style. Her hair was falling out. She wanted to cut it to make the hair loss less obvious. She told me every time she washed her hair about 150 to 200 strands fell out. She had other problems too, like headaches and stomachaches. She couldn’t eat the dining hall food. It was too oily and made her throw up.
She was trying not to cry in front of me, constantly bringing her hands over her eyes, but the tears came and I handed her a tissue.
In English, she said, “My heart is tired.”
I spoke little the entire time as she shifted from Chinese to English and back. I didn’t know what to say, except some general encouraging statements, like, “Have confidence in yourself. You are a good student.” At the same time, I felt like this pressure to be the good student was the source of all her physical ailments. In a softer voice, I said, “Don’t put so much pressure on yourself. Just do your best.”
I stood up finally and told her I had to get ready for class. She thanked me for the chat and I watched the back of her bob as it descended the stairs.
As foreign teachers, what are we equipped with? I can sit and I can listen, but ultimately I can only silently disagree with the educational system in place here and watch as my students struggle not to be swallowed whole.
Friday, April 23, 2010
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
When does enthusiasm die?
Between seventh and tenth grade, a lot happens to my students. They shoot past me in height. Their voices deepen. They care more about hairstyles and clothes. But the biggest change is not physical. As they transform from kids to young adults, what I notice most is my students' loss of excitement over learning.
When I began teaching, I found my seventh graders to be intolerable. I referred to them as my "little monsters." There was one week I started nearly every class period by breaking up a fight. I still regularly send troublemakers to the office, whether it is for cutting off a strand of a girl classmate's hair or throwing someone's notebook into a puddle. But I've come to understand that what makes the seventh graders monstrous is too much energy. Once I could control that energy, I had a class of (generally) well-behaved students who threw themselves into repeating vocabulary words and reading dialogues like they had been dying all week to do this.
On the other hand, I walk into many of my tenth grade classrooms to bored looks or heads on desks. It's depressing for a teacher to open class with a bright, "Good afternoon!" and only get a wave of grumbles. Contrast that to the seventh graders. I walk in and they are all on their feet by the time I have set down my bag. Their "GOOD MORNING, MS. LEE!" makes my ears vibrate. I love it.
The tenth graders' boredom and reluctance to speak any English continues throughout class. Getting them to participate is like pulling teeth. There are always at least three or four students in each class who dutifully raise their hand to every question I ask. But I cannot seem to get others to volunteer, despite my mantra, "Don't be shy; just try!" It's quite the opposite problem with my seventh graders. All of them want to answer my questions. The class will cry injustice when I accidentally call on a student twice in one class period. ("Teacher," they say to me in Chinese, arm straining to reach the ceiling. "Just give me a chance!"
I don't think this change from wild enthusiasm to an I'd-rather-watch-paint-dry attitude is sudden. Maybe if I taught eighth and ninth grade as well, the difference between seventh and tenth would make more sense to me. But I don't. I only see the before and after. What happens in between is a mystery to me.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
I failed the Chinese government’s ‘psychological test’ – Am I crazy?
The PRC administers an online test to its foreign language experts. As an oral English teacher here, I had to take the test. I was evaluated on writing, basic knowledge and my psychology. In the last two categories, I failed miserably. (The result for the writing test has not come in yet so I could have failed that one as well.)
My score on the basic knowledge was 56. For someone who has never failed a test in her life, this result should have been devastating. However, I’m actually not so concerned. Throughout the test, I was thinking, This must be a joke. Here are a couple of the questions:
What color of the majority of Chinese have? [sic]
a) White
b) Black
c) Yellow
d) Pink
American psychologist Bruner thought the essential factor of studying was _________.
a) to form a kind of cloze
b) to form one's own cognition structure
c) to form the link between stimulation and reflection
d) the cognition of circumstance
How these questions could give any indication of my capability as a teacher – or a human being – I have no idea.
However, I was feeling more self-conscious about my score of 61 on the psychological test. According to the evaluation report, my high scoring areas were in “Drink, Extent of Mental Health, Harmonization Capability, Heart Endurance, Sense of Achievement, Emotional Stability, Tendency Towards Violence, Professional Spirit.” I did not have any low scoring areas.
Apart from the “Tendency Towards Violence,” the rest of the high-scoring areas are positive. Yet, how did I still receive such a low score -- especially since the introduction to the test stated there were no wrong or right answers? One should simply answer to the best of their ability based on their life experiences, which is what I did.
So when the test asked me if I would sing at a party, I said I would if asked by friends. Do I think smoking relieves stress? As an ex-smoker, I answered, Yes, sometimes. And when the test asked my strategy for playing chess, I chose, "I normally think about N steps and design a trap for my counterpart." (Maybe that’s why I have a “Tendency Towards Violence"?)
Other questions included: Do you like to laugh? Do you believe that drunken people normally conduct themselves badly? If you went out for dinner in a restaurant, where would you prefer to sit?
I confided in my boyfriend my scores. His first reaction was disbelief. Then I shared with him some of the questions and he laughed, taking full advantage of the situation to poke fun at me for both the scores and my freaking out over the scores.
“Am I really crazy?” I asked him desperately.
“Well,” he said. “A little.”
His answer was of no relief, and I was starting to doubt all my answers on the psychological test questions. But I felt comforted when he reminded me that this was a Chinese psychological test.
I may have Chinese written all over my face, but it’s the good U.S. of A that instilled my morals (maybe lack thereof, to the Chinese), my opinions and my personality. If Americans were all rated on a Chinese standard of normal, healthy behavior, I suppose most of us would seem pretty crazy.
My score on the basic knowledge was 56. For someone who has never failed a test in her life, this result should have been devastating. However, I’m actually not so concerned. Throughout the test, I was thinking, This must be a joke. Here are a couple of the questions:
What color of the majority of Chinese have? [sic]
a) White
b) Black
c) Yellow
d) Pink
American psychologist Bruner thought the essential factor of studying was _________.
a) to form a kind of cloze
b) to form one's own cognition structure
c) to form the link between stimulation and reflection
d) the cognition of circumstance
How these questions could give any indication of my capability as a teacher – or a human being – I have no idea.
However, I was feeling more self-conscious about my score of 61 on the psychological test. According to the evaluation report, my high scoring areas were in “Drink, Extent of Mental Health, Harmonization Capability, Heart Endurance, Sense of Achievement, Emotional Stability, Tendency Towards Violence, Professional Spirit.” I did not have any low scoring areas.
Apart from the “Tendency Towards Violence,” the rest of the high-scoring areas are positive. Yet, how did I still receive such a low score -- especially since the introduction to the test stated there were no wrong or right answers? One should simply answer to the best of their ability based on their life experiences, which is what I did.
So when the test asked me if I would sing at a party, I said I would if asked by friends. Do I think smoking relieves stress? As an ex-smoker, I answered, Yes, sometimes. And when the test asked my strategy for playing chess, I chose, "I normally think about N steps and design a trap for my counterpart." (Maybe that’s why I have a “Tendency Towards Violence"?)
Other questions included: Do you like to laugh? Do you believe that drunken people normally conduct themselves badly? If you went out for dinner in a restaurant, where would you prefer to sit?
I confided in my boyfriend my scores. His first reaction was disbelief. Then I shared with him some of the questions and he laughed, taking full advantage of the situation to poke fun at me for both the scores and my freaking out over the scores.
“Am I really crazy?” I asked him desperately.
“Well,” he said. “A little.”
His answer was of no relief, and I was starting to doubt all my answers on the psychological test questions. But I felt comforted when he reminded me that this was a Chinese psychological test.
I may have Chinese written all over my face, but it’s the good U.S. of A that instilled my morals (maybe lack thereof, to the Chinese), my opinions and my personality. If Americans were all rated on a Chinese standard of normal, healthy behavior, I suppose most of us would seem pretty crazy.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Becoming a better teacher (What I’ve learned so far)
For me, teaching will never be easy. I find new challenges in every class everyday. However, I’m finding this semester to be a lot smoother and therefore a lot more enjoyable. Why the change? Three things: I acquired new skills, put in place procedures and, for the most part, tried to have more fun during class. Here is what I’ve learned:
1. Take advantage of technology
For a long time I put off using a portable amplifier and microphone. I thought the sound from the amplifier was muffled and, more importantly, the thing looked silly. However, the school gave me one for Christmas and since then I’ve been a huge fun. As soft-spoken as I am, I don’t believe all of my students could hear me clearly. Although the amplifier does not have a crystal-clear sound, it is still better than me trying to yell at the top of my lungs. Another advantage: I used to be plagued with sore throats and coughing because I was shouting for 45 minutes straight. Now, no more sore throats and coughing.
I also recommend taking advantage of computers and projectors. I was spending a lot of time during class writing sentences on the blackboard when I could just have the students reading them right away if I had a PowerPoint presentation. This semester I have been wholeheartedly devoted to the PowerPoint. I prepare a lesson on my laptop, bring my laptop to the classroom and just hook it up. This way I can include a lot more visuals. I can also use my laptop to play English songs for my students if they are good (see #2).
2. Have a system of both rewards and punishment
Last semester I established a system of consequences ranging from a verbal warning to being kicked out of the class. However, I had no system for rewarding good students. This semester I started a “star and check” system. A student gets a star for good behavior, such as volunteering to answer a question or to read a dialogue. A check is for bad behavior, such as talking in class or causing some other disruption.
Logistically, I simply had to get a class roster for each class. During class, I have the class monitor, a student leader, draw the stars and checks. With a reward system in addition to a punishment system, students are overall more well-behaved. In my classes, the incentive for good behavior has decreased the bad behavior, so I’m spending a lot less time disciplining and more time on the actual lesson.
If the whole class behaved well and a lot of students participated, I usually play an English song before the end of class. They love anything by Michael Jackson.
3. Have a protocol
For common tasks like passing in papers or answering questions, do the same thing every time and do it effectively. I am working on the passing in paper procedure now. Students in the back pass forward and then I collect from the students in the front row. Sounds simple, but with classes of up to 87 students, this takes some practice. I recommend taking the time to practice.
In answering questions, the rule is obviously to raise your hand. However, I sometimes have trouble getting new people to raise their hand. So, if I want two students to read a dialogue, I choose a student who has volunteered and I let that student choose another student who has not yet read during the class. This encourages students to raise their hand so they can call on fellow students, and it also saves me the trouble of picking students and looking like I am picking on certain students and not others.
4. Charades
I don’t mean playing the game in class. What I mean by ‘Charades’ is that as a teacher you cannot simply explain something with words. You must use your facial expressions, your gestures and sometimes you must turn into a performer. I incorporate a lot of dialogues into my class. Sometimes these dialogues allow for actions. I’ve discovered that the action-oriented dialogues to be the best crowd-pleasers.
5. Spy
Well, maybe get permission first, but I recommend sitting in on another teacher’s class. I sat in on a couple of classes that I was having a lot of problems with, mostly chattiness. Having this different view of the classroom (I sat in the back) allowed me to break down the problem areas. (Oh, those boys sitting together just won’t do. They are just talking the whole time. And those two over there definitely aren’t listening; they’re playing chess.) I must also give a lot of credit to my boyfriend. I have watched a few of his classes and he is quite the teaching master. He's one of the few people who is a natural at it. Watching someone who is good will help make you better.
6. Don’t lose your head
This last tip is the hardest one to follow. Obviously, one will ask, How does one not lose one’s head? What’s changed for me is that I stop taking things personally. Before, when students talked continually, I used to think that they were purposefully disrespecting me. But, as one English teacher pointed out, “You can’t treat your students like adults. They are still children and they will act like children.” So I remind myself of this.
Learning to be a teacher means constant self-evaluation and adaptation, so I’m always changing as I go along. Who knows, I may have a new list of tips a couple months from now.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
The reluctant role model
I think I am pretty normal as a person goes. I don’t have any amazing skills, haven’t any out-of-the-ordinary experiences (besides, perhaps, teaching in China) and my personality is, well, normal. Yet my students are very curious about me. To them, my life and everything about me is out-of-the-ordinary. That is, out of their ordinary. As the foreign teacher, I am a vision of another (probably better) life.
Mostly, they want to know about the United States. What is school like there? What do students do in their free time? Sometimes the question is simply: Is America great?
In Chinese, America is mei guo, which literally translates into “beautiful country.” To my students, everyone is rich and beautiful and happy in mei guo. Some students questioned why I would come to China. In their minds, it is silly to live here for a year when I already had the life most of them would only dream about.
Through my embodiment of their dream, I have also become something else: a role model. I have become a role model more for the ideals I embody than for who I am individually, but nonetheless I am one. I am not just an American, but the American. What I say and do becomes an example of what all Americans say and do. That means I must be very, very good in every way.
To be a role model at a high school in small-town China is to be watched carefully. During class, I notice their eyes wandering to the clothes I wear and the bag I carry. (“So fashion!”) When I walk down the cramped aisles, the students’ eyes are not on the blackboard or even on my face, but down at my feet to see what shoes I am wearing. (I have received two e-mails from two different students suggesting I wear more beautiful shoes. Apparently flats are not “so fashion” here.)
Looking good, or at least put-together, is a small problem. A bigger challenge is being good. By good I mean these traits: patient, friendly, warm, engaging, outgoing, fun, funny, generous and very smart, teacher-smart. Plus, I must be all of these things all of the time; in other words, I must be perfect.
I didn’t take on this responsibility of being a role model. It was thrust onto me when I stepped into the job. To be honest, perfection is a pain in the ass. I do the things I may not want to do but know I ought to. When I have talkative students in class who refuse to shut up, instead of throwing a broomstick against the wall as I would love to do, I calmly remind them of the class rules and consequences. When all I really want to do is switch into hermit mode and burrow myself in my apartment, I patiently stand in the hallways for a few minutes to talk to students between classes. In general, I talk more, smile more, laugh more. I am quite fun to be around.
So, I wonder, Can I actually become this better version of myself? Could this be a self-realizing prophecy? If others believe enough in this better version of me, could it become true?
The short answer is no. I can be that better version of me only sometimes and inevitably slip backwards at other times. But, I think, the point is not perfection. It's the wanting to get there that counts. I never thought about what it meant to be a better version of me, and then my students came along.
Mostly, they want to know about the United States. What is school like there? What do students do in their free time? Sometimes the question is simply: Is America great?
In Chinese, America is mei guo, which literally translates into “beautiful country.” To my students, everyone is rich and beautiful and happy in mei guo. Some students questioned why I would come to China. In their minds, it is silly to live here for a year when I already had the life most of them would only dream about.
Through my embodiment of their dream, I have also become something else: a role model. I have become a role model more for the ideals I embody than for who I am individually, but nonetheless I am one. I am not just an American, but the American. What I say and do becomes an example of what all Americans say and do. That means I must be very, very good in every way.
To be a role model at a high school in small-town China is to be watched carefully. During class, I notice their eyes wandering to the clothes I wear and the bag I carry. (“So fashion!”) When I walk down the cramped aisles, the students’ eyes are not on the blackboard or even on my face, but down at my feet to see what shoes I am wearing. (I have received two e-mails from two different students suggesting I wear more beautiful shoes. Apparently flats are not “so fashion” here.)
Looking good, or at least put-together, is a small problem. A bigger challenge is being good. By good I mean these traits: patient, friendly, warm, engaging, outgoing, fun, funny, generous and very smart, teacher-smart. Plus, I must be all of these things all of the time; in other words, I must be perfect.
I didn’t take on this responsibility of being a role model. It was thrust onto me when I stepped into the job. To be honest, perfection is a pain in the ass. I do the things I may not want to do but know I ought to. When I have talkative students in class who refuse to shut up, instead of throwing a broomstick against the wall as I would love to do, I calmly remind them of the class rules and consequences. When all I really want to do is switch into hermit mode and burrow myself in my apartment, I patiently stand in the hallways for a few minutes to talk to students between classes. In general, I talk more, smile more, laugh more. I am quite fun to be around.
So, I wonder, Can I actually become this better version of myself? Could this be a self-realizing prophecy? If others believe enough in this better version of me, could it become true?
The short answer is no. I can be that better version of me only sometimes and inevitably slip backwards at other times. But, I think, the point is not perfection. It's the wanting to get there that counts. I never thought about what it meant to be a better version of me, and then my students came along.
Monday, March 29, 2010
No classes, but I get a lesson
I overcame the huge temptation this morning to make up an excuse and call in sick. The rain is back. It doesn't let up. It's gray. Without a clock, you can't tell if it is morning or evening. I have four classes Tuesday mornings with my junior students. I really didn't want to teach four classes this morning with my junior students.
But I didn't call in sick. I obeyed my alarm when it went off at 6:45 a.m. I took my morning coffee and hauled ass -- umbrella-less -- to the dining hall where I was met with a mob of students and had to wait 10 minutes for my bowl of noodles. By the time I got my breakfast, most people had finished eating and I had to suck down my noodles and again haul ass to the junior department building on the other side of the school campus.
When I reached the third floor, I tried the office door but it was locked. A teacher saw me and said, "The students have testing this morning, so --"
"So I don't have classes," I finished her sentence.
Of course. The foreign teacher is out of the loop. Again. This certainly isn't the first time I've been notified after the fact.
"Do I have to make up the classes?" I asked. The teacher suggested I ask Mr. Wu on the fourth floor. Up another story, I entered the office and asked, "Do I have to make up classes?"
Mr. Wu was not in the office, but two other teachers were there. I already knew the answer to my question. One teacher said, "No, you don't."
On my way out of the junior department, I ran into Mr. Duan, another English teacher.
"Oh, I'm sorry. We forgot to tell you," he said immediately when he saw me. The Chinese expression he said first was, "bu hao yisi," which literally translates into feeling embarrassed but is the Chinese way of saying, "Sorry."
So I headed back the way I came, through the rain and gray. I could have stayed in bed. I could have avoided getting wet and gross. I went through my usual thoughts of cursing the school officials for never thinking to inform me that I do or don't have class.
But halfway back to my apartment -- I'm quite wet at this point -- I had a wonderful thought: Soy hot chocolate. Yes, that is how I will enjoy the morning. Really, I shouldn't be pissed at all. I have four free hours that I thought I did not have. Yes, it would have been nice to know, say, last night. But I guess this way it's a surprise.
Living in China is the embodiment of the phrase, "Expect the unexpected." Except I never expect the unexpected. I expect plans to be carried out. I expect people to be on time. I expect things said will be true a few days from now. Usually the unexpected is bad news: You missed the train by 10 minutes and now you have to wait four hours. You have to teach classes on Saturday from now on. The bus drivers are on strike. In these moments, I always calm myself with thoughts of, "Well, it could be worse." Thankfully there are still trains running today. Thankfully I still get a weeklong vacation every month. Thankfully I can still grab a taxi.
And, thankfully, this time the unexpected was good. So this morning -- more caffeinated than I need to be -- I will take a hot shower, make my hot chocolate and soak up a good book. I would've been in my warm apartment anyways had I called in sick, but I'm glad I followed through with my plan. This way I get a reminder that nothing -- especially nothing in China -- is for certain.
But I didn't call in sick. I obeyed my alarm when it went off at 6:45 a.m. I took my morning coffee and hauled ass -- umbrella-less -- to the dining hall where I was met with a mob of students and had to wait 10 minutes for my bowl of noodles. By the time I got my breakfast, most people had finished eating and I had to suck down my noodles and again haul ass to the junior department building on the other side of the school campus.
When I reached the third floor, I tried the office door but it was locked. A teacher saw me and said, "The students have testing this morning, so --"
"So I don't have classes," I finished her sentence.
Of course. The foreign teacher is out of the loop. Again. This certainly isn't the first time I've been notified after the fact.
"Do I have to make up the classes?" I asked. The teacher suggested I ask Mr. Wu on the fourth floor. Up another story, I entered the office and asked, "Do I have to make up classes?"
Mr. Wu was not in the office, but two other teachers were there. I already knew the answer to my question. One teacher said, "No, you don't."
On my way out of the junior department, I ran into Mr. Duan, another English teacher.
"Oh, I'm sorry. We forgot to tell you," he said immediately when he saw me. The Chinese expression he said first was, "bu hao yisi," which literally translates into feeling embarrassed but is the Chinese way of saying, "Sorry."
So I headed back the way I came, through the rain and gray. I could have stayed in bed. I could have avoided getting wet and gross. I went through my usual thoughts of cursing the school officials for never thinking to inform me that I do or don't have class.
But halfway back to my apartment -- I'm quite wet at this point -- I had a wonderful thought: Soy hot chocolate. Yes, that is how I will enjoy the morning. Really, I shouldn't be pissed at all. I have four free hours that I thought I did not have. Yes, it would have been nice to know, say, last night. But I guess this way it's a surprise.
Living in China is the embodiment of the phrase, "Expect the unexpected." Except I never expect the unexpected. I expect plans to be carried out. I expect people to be on time. I expect things said will be true a few days from now. Usually the unexpected is bad news: You missed the train by 10 minutes and now you have to wait four hours. You have to teach classes on Saturday from now on. The bus drivers are on strike. In these moments, I always calm myself with thoughts of, "Well, it could be worse." Thankfully there are still trains running today. Thankfully I still get a weeklong vacation every month. Thankfully I can still grab a taxi.
And, thankfully, this time the unexpected was good. So this morning -- more caffeinated than I need to be -- I will take a hot shower, make my hot chocolate and soak up a good book. I would've been in my warm apartment anyways had I called in sick, but I'm glad I followed through with my plan. This way I get a reminder that nothing -- especially nothing in China -- is for certain.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
AUDIO SLIDESHOW: To be a high school student in China is to be 'so lucky'
Shelly was one of the first students I met when I arrived. I was touched by her friendliness and willingness to show me around the school. Since that first meeting, Shelly and I have become close, even though she is not in any of my classes. We often see each other at the dining hall or during the activity period before dinner when I am running on the track. Shelly loves English and is eager to practice with me. Sometimes she comes to my house to ask me a grammar question or just to chat.
Last Sunday, we decided to enjoy the sun and sit outside on a school bench. It was a calm, quiet afternoon with most students out for the few hours that they didn't have to be in class. It was a perfect time for reflection. That afternoon the topic was what it means to be a high school student in China. So here is what Shelly told me, in her own words.
Last Sunday, we decided to enjoy the sun and sit outside on a school bench. It was a calm, quiet afternoon with most students out for the few hours that they didn't have to be in class. It was a perfect time for reflection. That afternoon the topic was what it means to be a high school student in China. So here is what Shelly told me, in her own words.
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