When an unbearable 13 year-old girl would try anything to be in the spotlight, there is little a teacher can do. Then I thought of our politicians and I attempted bribery.
"If you can keep your mouth shut for the whole class, speak only English and only when asked to, I'll give you 50€" I meant Monopoly money, of course.
"But then we get 50€ as well for the same" Obsiously the other classmates protested. I hadn't thought of them but I took it in my stride:
"Naturally, I'll give you all 50€ if you behave, but whenever you speak Spanish or sing of insult somebody, 5€ less."
"That's unfair!" Shouted our Princess.
"Why?" I asked candidly.
"Because I'm special".
That was too much. FAAAAR TOOO MUCH. A riot started among the rest of the class. "We are all special! We are all different!"
I silenced everybody and I paused emphatically to walk up to her. She shrunk back in her chair, halfway under her table. That was already quite satisfying to me, but I wasn't through yet.
"And may I ask you, since you are sitting in a class just like other students, why you are so special?"
"Because... I like!"
"Because you like IT, uh?" I corrected.
"Porque me gusta. Porque me gusta ser diferente." She reverted back to Spanish at a loss for better words.
For a fraction of a second I forgot that I had been wishing to slap her face since I had met her. I simply pitied her. She must have felt insignificant after her younger brother had been born (byt the way, he's in the same class). She would go to any extend to stand out and be loved.
Then she started laughing hysterically at my face and talking to somebody next to her, while I was still leaning on her desk.
Then I remembered that I would have given anything to slap her face.
Incredibly she tried her best to stick to the 50€ deal during the class, at least until I accidentally erased everybody's score from the board 20 minutes before the end of the class.
How stupid of me!
The spell was over.
She was outraged: "¡Joder, siempre lo mismo, hostia puta!"
I had wiped clean all her effort, even though they were merely numbers on a board representing Monopoly money.
I had to send her out for a minute, her language had been too offensive, but I really felt sorry. It had been my mistake in the first place.
At the end of the class I asked her to wait for a second after the others had left. I congratulated her on her passing the test the previous day and on making an effort to improve her attitude. I had glimpsed something of a spark in her and I had to kindle it to make it grow into a lively fire. I had nothing to feed it upon, just a sweet, and I gave it to her.
It made all the difference. In her eyes, she had been given a prize nobody else had received! In the end she managed to prove herself special!
26/01/12
Happy, gotcha!
Since happiness is something that comes and goes without asking, I'm rarely aware of any blissful moment in my English classes. I never ask myself if I'm happy teaching, it's just my job, it pays my bills and I try to do my best. Enjoyment is simply not in the contract. But today I stopped for a second, wondering what one of my students was seeing in me and asking myself if he wasn't right after all.
I've got to give a little background first. At the beginning I was quite reluctant to teach a class of 5 year-old boys at 5 pm. Not that I have anything against number 5, a part from the fact that I can't stand Channel n.5. It was because that class was a bunch of restless hockey players who are buddies in the same team and everywhere else. It was because they had driven another teacher mad and their register was full of notes about kicking and biting. I had been given a mission: taking them back on track, no matter the violent fights, no matter the fact that the director's son is in there too. Just keeping them safe while I spoke some English to them would have been enough.
When I first set foot in there, it was in the middle of November, halfway through the term. Their books were anywhere but in their folders. What's worst, their first term booklet had already been finished, the activity book too, and they still didn't have a clue about the animals in the zoo or the basic emotions. I couldn't touch the second booklet and even the resource pack was useless. The cd-rom was pitiable.
I forgot about the teacher's book and I completely relied on my (survival) instinct to build a routine and something vaguely resembling a discipline. Gradually they have got used to a score system in which they get a star everytime they do something well, be it an exercise or simply helping out in class. They have got used to losing stars whenever they misbehave. Now they obsessively compare their scores even if they can barely count up to 10.
They have got used to leaving their bags and their coats in a corner as soon as they arrive. They know that they are going to play 2 games, chase and memory, maybe sing a song, read a couple of pages from a book, write or draw on a couple of worsheets and that's it. They know their routine and that makes them feel immensely confident. They know what to expect and what I expect of them.
It's amazing the way we rely on routines to give us a sense of comfort from a very early age, only to try and escape from them when we get older.
At the beginning of the class they sit down at a little table and wait until I call everyone's name asking: "Are you here?" They soon started replying: "Yes, I'm here!". Recently they have added me too at the end of the list, which I find rather sweet, and they are also learning to ask me: "Lisa, are you here?" and they immediately answer: "Noooooo!" before I can say anything for myself. But something tells me they don't really mean it.
The second thing we always do is playing a chase game in which they have to touch the flashcard I call out before I catch them. "Lisa says I like tigers" and I roar running after them, who scatter in search of the right picture on the wall. "Lisa says I'm under the roof" and one day some kids remembered that the week before we had pretended the table was a house and then they decided they could as well hide underneath instead of touching a flat flashcard.
Then the strangest thing happened. "Lisa says I'm happy" and one kid today thought that he could as well go for the real thing and jumped to touch my face.
At first I didn't understand, I assumed he needed attention, I laughed and I tried to shake him off. But then I understood. He was repeating "happy" and pointing at my face. He meant to say I looked happy to him.
And then I realised I was really feeling happy, not just drilling the word into their little heads, not just pretending and putting up a face. Something clicked and I started laughing at myself, stroking the jumping child's head.
In spite of my assuring to everyone who wants to listen that I can't stand children, in spite of my aspiring to a thousand other jobs rather than teaching , in spite of my having become a teacher by mistake, working for an unknown school in an unknown village, in spite of everything, the kid was right.
Right there I was happy, I was having a good time playing chase with a buch of restless hockey players. Gosh, I discovered I could be a happy teacher!
I've got to give a little background first. At the beginning I was quite reluctant to teach a class of 5 year-old boys at 5 pm. Not that I have anything against number 5, a part from the fact that I can't stand Channel n.5. It was because that class was a bunch of restless hockey players who are buddies in the same team and everywhere else. It was because they had driven another teacher mad and their register was full of notes about kicking and biting. I had been given a mission: taking them back on track, no matter the violent fights, no matter the fact that the director's son is in there too. Just keeping them safe while I spoke some English to them would have been enough.
When I first set foot in there, it was in the middle of November, halfway through the term. Their books were anywhere but in their folders. What's worst, their first term booklet had already been finished, the activity book too, and they still didn't have a clue about the animals in the zoo or the basic emotions. I couldn't touch the second booklet and even the resource pack was useless. The cd-rom was pitiable.
I forgot about the teacher's book and I completely relied on my (survival) instinct to build a routine and something vaguely resembling a discipline. Gradually they have got used to a score system in which they get a star everytime they do something well, be it an exercise or simply helping out in class. They have got used to losing stars whenever they misbehave. Now they obsessively compare their scores even if they can barely count up to 10.
They have got used to leaving their bags and their coats in a corner as soon as they arrive. They know that they are going to play 2 games, chase and memory, maybe sing a song, read a couple of pages from a book, write or draw on a couple of worsheets and that's it. They know their routine and that makes them feel immensely confident. They know what to expect and what I expect of them.
It's amazing the way we rely on routines to give us a sense of comfort from a very early age, only to try and escape from them when we get older.
At the beginning of the class they sit down at a little table and wait until I call everyone's name asking: "Are you here?" They soon started replying: "Yes, I'm here!". Recently they have added me too at the end of the list, which I find rather sweet, and they are also learning to ask me: "Lisa, are you here?" and they immediately answer: "Noooooo!" before I can say anything for myself. But something tells me they don't really mean it.
The second thing we always do is playing a chase game in which they have to touch the flashcard I call out before I catch them. "Lisa says I like tigers" and I roar running after them, who scatter in search of the right picture on the wall. "Lisa says I'm under the roof" and one day some kids remembered that the week before we had pretended the table was a house and then they decided they could as well hide underneath instead of touching a flat flashcard.
Then the strangest thing happened. "Lisa says I'm happy" and one kid today thought that he could as well go for the real thing and jumped to touch my face.
At first I didn't understand, I assumed he needed attention, I laughed and I tried to shake him off. But then I understood. He was repeating "happy" and pointing at my face. He meant to say I looked happy to him.
And then I realised I was really feeling happy, not just drilling the word into their little heads, not just pretending and putting up a face. Something clicked and I started laughing at myself, stroking the jumping child's head.
In spite of my assuring to everyone who wants to listen that I can't stand children, in spite of my aspiring to a thousand other jobs rather than teaching , in spite of my having become a teacher by mistake, working for an unknown school in an unknown village, in spite of everything, the kid was right.
Right there I was happy, I was having a good time playing chase with a buch of restless hockey players. Gosh, I discovered I could be a happy teacher!
15/01/12
Teenage Cannibalism
Intermediate Teen Test
Complete the second sentence so that it has a similar meaning to the first sentence using the word given.
1. I always cook my parents dinner (FOR)
One innocent looking student wrote:
I always cook my parents for dinner.
Which is definitely more satisfying than "I always cook dinner for my parents".
Complete the second sentence so that it has a similar meaning to the first sentence using the word given.
1. I always cook my parents dinner (FOR)
One innocent looking student wrote:
I always cook my parents for dinner.
Which is definitely more satisfying than "I always cook dinner for my parents".
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