I walk into room 201 at my school at precisely 4:25. It’s Thursday. I’m exactly half-way through my week; sitting on top of the proverbial ‘hump’—5 classes down, 5 more to go. When I enter the classroom, 8 hyperactive kindergarteners await me. They all yell out “Teacher Andrew!” in unison. And so the madness begins.
This group of kids is my Treehouse 8 class, Level 1. These kids hardly deserve to be at the Treehouse level. They’re far from it. If the Treehouse levels were constructed as an actual treehouse, these kids would be nowhere near the treehouse, perched on top of the tree. No—they’d be at the very base of the trunk of the tree, amusing themselves by eating the bark or something like that. To say this class is a handful would be a severe understatement. They’re more than a handful—they’re a whole boatload of craziness.
When I first learned I would be teaching these kids for, well, the next year, I was a little upset. Sure, it’s only Level 1 and the kids can be pretty cute. But still, they are so incredibly young and inexperienced. There’s no way most of them would have passed a competency exit exam for PREACP had there been one. I’m not even sure some of these kids are ready for finger-painting.
But Hess is a private English school. Even if the kids aren’t ready or passing, they move them up to the next level to continue to make money and keep the parents happy; obviously content to falsify progress in the name of making money. And I can’t even be upset about it—I, too, rely on the tuition the parents pay. It’s how the system works.
But before I could be upset for long, a realization slaps me across the face allowing a new perspective to come to light. At 6:30 on Thursday, one of my Chinese Teachers asks me what class I just finished teaching. “Treehouse 8," I respond unenthusiastically with an air of exhaustion. “Oh yes!” they reply excitedly. “Treehouse 8—that’s your and Teacher Zoe’s (Chinese Teacher) class! You’re first very own class! Those are YOUR kids!”
Boom. There it was. What this teacher said was obvious, but somehow it hadn’t hit me before then. I hadn’t thought of it that way. The impact on my attitude towards the situation was incredible.
These are my babies. I’m responsible for their progress. No Native Speaking Teacher has had them before. It’s up to me. Their destiny is in my hands.
With my other classes, I haven’t invested so much in emotion into my kids’ performance. Obviously I love to see them succeed, and clearly I don't enjoy giving out low homework or test scores. But really there’s only so much I can do right? I can work my hardest during my 2 hours to teach them, but really success is impossible unless these kids study outside of school. The grade they ultimately receive is based on just that—how committed they are. Therefore, I haven’t really cared much about how my kids do.
But with this class it’s different. There’s no way these kids are going to do any kind of studying at home. So, once the clock strikes 4:30, I have exactly an hour and 50 minutes (10 minutes for break) to drill them as hard as humanly possible on things like grammar, phonics, and vocab. And this is especially challenging considering that learning is just about the last thing these kids are interested in. They’re far happier bouncing off the walls, tattletaling on another student speaking Chinese, hitting each other, or shooting me with their imaginary guns (not as violent as it sounds, I promise—it’s actually a sign of affection I think?).
The task we have been handed is certainly not easy. At times, it actually seems impossible. In putting us in charge of such a rowdy and beginner group of students, it seems like Hess basically told us to pull the sword from the stone; to domesticate an unruly pack of hyenas; or whatever other metaphor for accomplishing an impossible feat you can think of.
But yet retreat is not an option. No matter how difficult or frustrating, we must succeed in our endeavor. These are me and Teacher Zoe’s babies (not insinuating any promiscuous activity between me and her…). Since both of us are relatively new teachers, this is our chance to really make a difference and make a name for ourselves.
It’s sink-or-swim time. Or, as my friends in Zombieland might put it…It’s time to nut up or shut up.
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| you said it, Columbus. |
