The Foreign Teacher and Her Students

by Lori C. Brown | 2009

A nagging feeling lives in my stomach, as if a beginner tap student’s floor is my nerves and she clanks away making intolerable noises, but I feel far too bad to tell her to stop and that she is awful, because it gives her way too much joy. So she continues without feeling any empathy and you’re left with the headache.

Thinking about the craziness that will unfold once I get out of the elevator and enter the hagwon (Korean for private school), I am less than thrilled.

However, just the opposite happens: when the elevator doors open, wonders of different-aged children chirping with joy to see their English teacher.

"Lori, Lori, Lori..." call my small, bright-faced students.

"Hiiiiii" I send out warmly with a big-toothed smile to my kids, and give hugs all around.

"Hello," I say to my bosses and co-worker; both by now have become like family to me.

They respond with a genuine "hi." I feel lighter.

To be reminded of how much you’re appreciated and loved in your day can ease any avid tension broiling in the bellows of your body.

Maybe I get these occasional anxieties because my work day starts late, around 2 in the afternoon, enabling the joy of lounging in my existence with espresso, music, writing, stretching, eating, or lying in my bed as I frolic through thoughts or think of nothing at all. And the servitude to my innate need for laziness goes without question, with an occasion of gusty, cool winds. My deck windows are open, and the currents of air hurl me off into a calmer place. Soon the hours get shorter and shorter, and the break of time dawns on me.

"Shit!" A slight smirk escorts me when I shout it. As if I may get caught for saying a bad word.

I scramble to get everything together, and I never fully prepare for an unknown day. Working with kids can lead to unheard of incidents and usher the very individual into unpredictable events.

Will it be a good day or will it crash and burn? The pressure of not knowing hassles me, so I make an attempt, before the inexorable hours of teaching, to picture my day. I close my eyes and breathe... only leaving me to be an extra five minutes late to work. I remember my father always eager to inform me of how inappropriate it was to be late for work; I recall agreeing with him, but always, my mind instinctively retracted and pulled out the memory that my father was late to everything, his whole life.

It is not right to be rushed, I think to myself, so I have taken up time management, and in-between minutes of teaching I recollect myself. In short, currently working on the word tardy, I take 1- or 2- minute meditation sessions that I sandwich in-between my 5-minute breaks; it ultimately leads to a sort of rejuvenation for the next 40-minute intervals of in-and-out emotional states of kids.

It is rather important to regain composure and energy with kids; children are far more sensitive and receptive to people’s energies. I was always told this, and studied it within the psychological teachings of my college years. However, I was not physically aware of the intensity and its effects. It was one thing to understand notes on projection screens and listen to your professor’s lectures, but when the time came to be the "teacher" the real learning began. Advanced time for lesson planning, so your kids don’t stare at you bored out of their wits in trying to learn a language they are forced to study. Trying to maintain control of classes filled with 6- and 7-year-olds, and then trying to get a class of exhausted teenagers who have been in school from 8 a.m. through 10 p.m. more involved. Working with all levels of age and having to change your energy to fit each order is no easy 7 hours of your day.

The consequences for such extremities are far milder if one gets to the simple truth. Kids, Korean or otherwise, are not stupid, and though they occasionally act like seeming crazies in a mental ward, if they wanted to they could read you like a book and know you better than you know yourself. As if they are the witch’s magic mirrors from the tale of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, ready to reveal the truth about you. Conversely, when it’s time to ask for the children to fess up the facts when there is trouble, the magic, and all logic, fly out the window as to never have existed.

Although scary at times, the reality of "getting it together" seems more than just a saying, but a steady and realistic metaphor that beams on you like those uncensored fluorescent lights that strategically point out all of your flaws.

Teaching kids may almost be like babysitting for some teachers, but for others like myself, it is an unearthed revelation that soars me through the depths of my subconscious.

Screaming out from the end of the classroom, Jessica, one of my students, belts out, "I love you teacher Lori!"

An infectious smile appears. "I love you too."

Send all comments & inquiries to notes@borderhopping.net.

Copyright © JAMILA productions. All Rights Reserved.