Some days you go to school and everything works out well. Your games are fun, your lesson is well received and you leave the classroom feeling as if you've truly inspired these kids that you think are the cutest buttons in all of civilisation. This is your 'Lean on Me' moment.
Other days, you wonder why you bothered to get out of bed. Once in a while, you enter a classroom where the kids just seem to exude a strong dislike for all things English. They drag their feet when given instruction, and when asked to offer an answer, always check first by asking 'eigo de?' (in English?). Really? What do you think?
It's painfully clear that today, these kids don't want to speak any English, and most certainly don't want it spoken back to them. They don't tell you this of course, but you'd have to be living in an incubator to not feel the 'not quite hostile but soon will be' tension in the room.
I joined the 3rd grade class at Elementary School and immediately upon entering their classroom, I wanted to turn around and leave. You could just feel something was off. I'd always had fun with this class, so I foolishly thought that I could somehow win them back. Not likely.
Several disruptions during the course of the lesson made it difficult to keep the students focused, much less interested. Four separate incidents, occurring simultaneously, each involving a different student was to blame.
One student who I think is autistic, lost the plot and began screaming and banging his fists on the desk for reasons apparent only to him. Another boy refused to remain seated in his desk, much less focus on the lesson. Instead he pranced around the class, shouting at the teacher pulling out books, and pens and whatever else, he could get his hands on. Still another boy, was wandering about the classroom, not talking to anyone at all, just flittering here, there and everywhere. He left the classroom to skip down the corridor several times so that a teacher aide was in constant pursuit. The fourth student was a girl who I was very surprised at, as I had never seen such an outburst from her before. She started crying, again for reasons apparent only to her and bolted out of the classroom. She didn’t go far as she had cocooned herself into a corner of the wall a little way down the corridor. The teacher left the class to go after her, smiled at me apologetically, but left me all the same with the remaining students. She came back in several times during the remainder of the lesson, to say a few words in Japanese to the kids, knowing that I didn't understand, smiled weakly at me but not offering a translation, and then disappearing out the door again. The boy who had initially been shouting at her, was now riding on her frickin' back!
Other days, you wonder why you bothered to get out of bed. Once in a while, you enter a classroom where the kids just seem to exude a strong dislike for all things English. They drag their feet when given instruction, and when asked to offer an answer, always check first by asking 'eigo de?' (in English?). Really? What do you think?
It's painfully clear that today, these kids don't want to speak any English, and most certainly don't want it spoken back to them. They don't tell you this of course, but you'd have to be living in an incubator to not feel the 'not quite hostile but soon will be' tension in the room.
I joined the 3rd grade class at Elementary School and immediately upon entering their classroom, I wanted to turn around and leave. You could just feel something was off. I'd always had fun with this class, so I foolishly thought that I could somehow win them back. Not likely.
Several disruptions during the course of the lesson made it difficult to keep the students focused, much less interested. Four separate incidents, occurring simultaneously, each involving a different student was to blame.
One student who I think is autistic, lost the plot and began screaming and banging his fists on the desk for reasons apparent only to him. Another boy refused to remain seated in his desk, much less focus on the lesson. Instead he pranced around the class, shouting at the teacher pulling out books, and pens and whatever else, he could get his hands on. Still another boy, was wandering about the classroom, not talking to anyone at all, just flittering here, there and everywhere. He left the classroom to skip down the corridor several times so that a teacher aide was in constant pursuit. The fourth student was a girl who I was very surprised at, as I had never seen such an outburst from her before. She started crying, again for reasons apparent only to her and bolted out of the classroom. She didn’t go far as she had cocooned herself into a corner of the wall a little way down the corridor. The teacher left the class to go after her, smiled at me apologetically, but left me all the same with the remaining students. She came back in several times during the remainder of the lesson, to say a few words in Japanese to the kids, knowing that I didn't understand, smiled weakly at me but not offering a translation, and then disappearing out the door again. The boy who had initially been shouting at her, was now riding on her frickin' back!
When the bell finally rang to signal the end of that disastrous lesson, I made a mad dash for the door, intent
on hiding out in the toilet for at least 20 minutes.
As I was descending the stairs, three girls from the class had called
out to me. No! I stopped midway down the stairs and turned
around. The three girls rushed to stand
a few steps above me. They turned to
look at each other, and then one of them counted ‘ichi, ni, san (1, 2, 3)’. Nothing.
They all began talking again, completely ignoring me and I slowly moved
down one step. My attention was rapidly beginning to wane, and if I thought for one second that I wouldn't make one or all three cry at my hasty departure, I would've slid down the bannister by now. They seemed to sense that their 'captive audience' was all set to make a break for it. Looking intensely at each other, they nodded their
heads as they all counted off, ‘ichi, ni, san’.
What followed was the most adorable rendition of ‘This Old Man’, I had ever heard. I was gobsmacked. An old nursery rhyme that I hadn’t heard in years, being sung by three little Japanese girls in a small rural town, in the middle of nowhere. This was Mastercard priceless this was. I don’t even think kids back home are taught this song anymore. To me this was a nursery rhyme belonging to a generation that had long grown up and grown old. As far as I know, the last time that song was voluntarily sung by a kiwi kid was back in the 80s. I’m sure if I asked my 7 year old nephew about this song, he’d cock his head at me and ask, ‘What’s a knick knack, paddy whack?’.
What followed was the most adorable rendition of ‘This Old Man’, I had ever heard. I was gobsmacked. An old nursery rhyme that I hadn’t heard in years, being sung by three little Japanese girls in a small rural town, in the middle of nowhere. This was Mastercard priceless this was. I don’t even think kids back home are taught this song anymore. To me this was a nursery rhyme belonging to a generation that had long grown up and grown old. As far as I know, the last time that song was voluntarily sung by a kiwi kid was back in the 80s. I’m sure if I asked my 7 year old nephew about this song, he’d cock his head at me and ask, ‘What’s a knick knack, paddy whack?’.
Every word
was pronounced correctly, and the tune was on key. By the end of their performance, a number of
younger children had gathered on the stairs, staring at me, staring at the
songbirds. I clapped loudly in
appreciation, and the wide-eyed little sprogs, unsurprisingly followed
suit. The three girls beamed at me,
obviously pleased that they had managed to sing the song without a hitch. They did more than that. I was immediately transported back in time,
to Kindergarten, when I first learnt this silly song. This was the song that helped me with my numbers.
And then in
true Japanese fashion, one of the girls then handed me a little paper crane before all three of them scampered away, holding hands.
Failed lesson forgotten.
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