My first day to teach a class by myself, I had been in the country less than 24 hours. I was jet lagged. I was overwhelmed by the newness of things. And I was faced with students to whom I wanted to be an inspiration. I pictured them breathlessly telling their parents about the first day with their new teacher.
Kid: (in Korean) I don’t know, Mom. I just get it now. English is clearer to me than it’s ever been. Here’s a sonnet I’ve composed to capture my feelings about this incredible woman.
Mom: (in Korean) Gee.
So imagine my disappointment when, at the end of my last class that first day, my student Julie (who had appeared highly impressed with my teaching methods) said, “Teacher seems nervous.”
Nervous?! I think you mean poised, you little bitch. I just got off a plane! I had no training! Nervous? Your mom seems nervous.
Meet Julie.
(I was pretty sure a visual would make the “bitch” comment twelve times funnier. Now lighten up. I forgave her.)
Then there’s my other Julie. She was in middle school and was intensely hesitant to speak. I would often try talking to her as if we were a couple of girlfriends hanging out over coffee in hopes I might coax some complete sentences out of this very sweet girl. It tended to do the trick and one day I was rewarded with the following dialogue:
Me: I like boots.
Julie: Me too.
Me: Tall ones?
Julie: Mmmm...
Me: Like (lifts leg and indicates just below the knee) this tall?
Julie: Oh. Not so high. My legs are too thick.
Me: They’re not!
Julie: (wistfully) I wish I had teacher’s legs.
Me: (flips hair) Oh, Julie. (flips hair) Don’t be silly. (flips hair) They aren’t that fabulous.
Julie: .....
Me: (flips hair)
Now, I know what you’re thinking. “Finally! Korea is beginning to catch on to the wonder of Sarah’s beauty.” Yeah, that’s what I thought. Until I met Betsy.
Betsy is five years old. The first day in her class, I was meeting all these darling little bitty ones. They were so sweet and seemed infatuated with me and my hair. Everything was going great. I was sure I was glowing. Then Betsy, from the back of the class yells, yells, “You have a fat face. You are fat!”
Did the other children rally against her in my defense? Shout, “Betsy, are you mad? Have you seen the woman’s legs?!”
Not quite. The three or four girls nearest her started chanting, “You are fat! You are fat!”
I blinked. I tried to smile. But this small person had just knocked the wind and its accompanying pretension right out of me.
And I felt my remarkably large face go bright red.
3 comments:
I'm sure that the children adore you! What fun to touch kids in another culture. Your job rocks.
whatever, that betsy seems like a right little hussy. and you can tell her i said so. of course, you'll have to explain to her what hussy means, which might prove awkward since she's five...
so, you are a self-described "practiced narcissist."
that is so hilarious, as was your whole blog. glad you seem to be doing so great!
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