And the familiar ought not be taken lightly at the moment. From what I gather regarding time spent abroad, there comes a point in most experiences when all things foreign become unwelcome. This 'crisis' phase follows the 'honeymoon' period and immediately precedes 'recovery' – or so we all hope. I don't see myself opposed to all things Korean per se – but I do find myself succumbing to the strong pull of the familiar. The danger in being seduced by the comfort of the customary is that I simultaneously spurn the advances of things au courant.
For the moment I feel vulnerable enough that I am content to embrace solace wherever I find it. I wrote earlier that I am cognizant – and somewhat concerned – by the possibility that the thoughts with which I am currently wrestling will be waiting for me wherever I go. Stated otherwise, the questions lie not with Korea, but with Cornelius. To be fair, Korea is foreign for sure, but it is not impossible – in fact, it is quite the contrary.
But enough melodramatic musings for now. Let's get down to brass tacks with the hilarity that is a Korean all-boys middle school. The reason I have the luxury of writing from a cafe is that those boys finally got what was coming to them...mid-terms. I exaggerate of course. For the most part things in school have reached a state of homeostasis – whether to attribute that to my being numb to the modus operandi in Korean education or to better behavior, I can't be sure.
I've tried a few new strategies recently that seem to be bearing fruit. My classroom seating situation consists of eight tables that accommodate approximately six students each. As anyone would expect, the tables in the back are the first to fill up, but I've started requiring the tables closest to me be filled first. A round table necessitates that half the backs of those seated there will be turned to me, but with my new seating scheme I insure that everyone has their chair turned to face me. A stranger entering the room may find it odd that only 50 – 60% of the space is used, but I have found I can minimize disruptions if I monopolize the attention in the room.
The greatest challenge continues to be material. I'm a bit of a Goldilocks instructor – often creating lessons that are either too easy or too difficult, but rarely 'just right'. A couple weeks ago, my primary guide at school – an English teacher that sits across from me in the teachers' lounge – approached me with a stack of new English textbooks. She began with the phrase, 'No offense' and proceeded to explain that the school wanted me to begin teaching from these books. I would never have thought to be offended, but since she used the phrase 'No offense' I naturally assumed that I should have been.
But try as I might, I wasn't. I figured I was considered a bad teacher by either the principal or my co-teachers. Honestly I'm not a trained educator. Some of my lessons have been hits but many have been near misses. I welcomed the guidance that I thought a book would provide and the guardrails for how to approach my classes.
Two or so rotations of lessons devised from the book have now come and gone and I'm not so sure the text is what I – or the students – need. I've read through a few chapters of each of the three levels and I have trouble deciphering demarcated levels of difficulty. Add to that the fact that I have many first-year middle school students that are of a higher English ability level than many of my third-year students and I have a recipe that seems destined to leave pupils on either end of the curve unsatisfied.
I have to hand it to the boys, however, for often giving me the benefit of the doubt. During orientation we were told of 'Rock Star' status many of us would receive in school – garnering attention for being such a novel addition to the faculty. Indeed I rarely walk more than a few paces down the hall without a high five or a 'Hello Corneeleeeuuuussse!' I thought it would wane after some time, but thus far the boys remain markedly enthusiastic at seeing me. And for their accommodations I am grateful. While they must realize my limitations in the classroom – some things translate regardless of language inability – I seem to have been granted a bit of license.
But I still have yet to get a definitive read on the principal. To be sure, he's an odd character. From what I can tell, his two primary pursuits are school gardener and interrupter of my classes. With respect to the former, he can usually be found tending to the hundreds of plants potted immediately outside the main first-floor front and back entrances. At one point earlier in the term, oregano was drying in the hallway. When I first spotted students lugging flower boxes up flights of stairs, I assumed they were receiving extra credit or at least members of some horticultural club. That is until my host brother informed me that the principal simply commandeers random students between class periods and assigns them garden tasks – nevermind them missing math.
As for interrupting my classes, almost as soon as I began teaching he began dropping in and observing. If he left it at simple observation, I would have appreciated a principal making an effort to insure that his students were receiving able instruction. When he began flipping light switches to his liking and resizing my computer screen mid-presentation, however, my admiration ceased about as fast as my concentration. One memorable class saw him enter through the outside balcony door and sit down with a team of students during a group project. Seeing as how the worksheet prompts were written in English and he speaks none, I wasn't quite sure what he hoped to glean.
But then again there is little about this man that I fully understand. He has, upon occasion, stopped me in the hallway and instructed me remove my hands from my pockets – instructed via a pantomime that left me thinking he considers someone who puts their hands in their pockets to cast the unsavory appearance of a disheveled, bow-legged cowboy. He has double-backed in the teachers' lounge to inform me that my back pocket was – purposely I might add – unbuttoned. Throughout all these occasions I have complied simply to end the encounter, but the moment I begin taking fashion advice from a man who sees nothing wrong with leaving the house in mismatched plaid jacket and pants while donning a be-dazzled tie is the day I need to seriously re-evaluate where my time in Korea took a dark and sinister turn for the worse.
Speaking of sinister, I will conclude this post with an entertaining anecdote about a particular student. He is a second-year and clearly the class bully. I've watched other students vacate a seat for him at literally the snap of his fingers. After I instructed him to remove a detailed drawing of me he left on his desk, he returned with another student and pointed at the spot for this poor boy to begin working while he himself turned to leave.
I try to insulate the other students from him whenever I can, but I'll be damned if this fellow isn't quite decent with English. Let's call him 'Chris' on account of that being on one side of his nametag. The other side is a category 1 expletive, but that's a tangent. I was halfway through a lesson called 'Dream Middle School' in which I first compared many facets of middle school in both Korea and America. The interactive element of the lesson ideally saw students writing about the best possible middle school they could imagine. They were given worksheets with prompts asking them about the length of classes, the school mascot, etc. I received the token responses one would expect from middle schoolers – lots of sports, short classes, and ice cream at lunch.
Chris's team, however, took things to a new level. At 'Sex Middle School', the building is shaped like certain female anatomy while the mascot corresponds to males. Club activities are a little too racy to repeat, suffice to say they are held in hotels. The English was perfect, but I felt it best that Chris's team not be permitted to present to the rest of the class. The next day, the co-teacher of that particular class approached me and apologized for Chris's behavior. She explained that he apparently commands quite a reputation not only in Se Kwang Middle School, but the entire city of Cheongju, as an able street fighter. I asked about his English skills and the teacher relayed that his parents had sent him to Singapore for language study.
Apparently trouble making is universally understood.
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