Saturday arrived, as it often does after Friday. I met Sarah at the school along with some of the other teachers: Eugenia, John, Lyon, and Jesse. Charles and Gregory were there as well. I finally met Lily Dai, the woman who hired me. Sarah and I escaped the school to open up a bank account, which means I can now be paid! Then we checked out my future apartment again. I wanted to inspect the shower’s pressure, temperature, and draining. All seemed to be in order, a new bed was scheduled to arrive Monday, and I was getting excited. My first ever apartment—in China! Who knew?
Sarah left for lunch leaving me Chinese-language-less. I had eyed pork buns earlier in the week in a 7/11 type store, went in, bought one, ate it, and bought a second. Delicious, but probably not the best thing for me to eat. I had returned to McDonald’s in the morning, as I was running late, and vowed that eating here would NOT become habit. I left 7/11 as I have now decided to call it and returned to school where I hummed and hawed until class time.
The bell rang. The bell rang again. Finally the bell rang the third time, which means class begins. And there I was… standing in front of 20ish students (almost ten were missing—out for some SAT reason or something). No matter how many first days of school one has, the first day of teaching is far scarier. Do I have enough material to fill the time? No, I did not. Will I be able to engage the students? Maybe, I think there’s hope. Will they talk in Chinese about me to each other? Yes, oh yes they will. Will they respect me? Not sure whether I have their respect or not. My introduction class, which was supposed to be laid back, covered my background and their background. I had them stand up to introduce and answer a few questions I wrote on the board. Then I talked a bit about the class and then I checked the time. I still had 20 minutes left of a 40-minute period. So I dismissed the formality of the class and walked around talking to students. This is going to be hard, the time things that is.
Finally the bell rang, which is usually what the students want, not the teacher, and I went out to dinner with Jesse and John. Jesse and John are the English department and boy does that ring true. We talked like I talked to people at Vassar about the world. It was nice to have a real conversation. Though eventually, the conversation turned to Chinese women, or rather, Chinese girls as all conversations with American men in China seem to do so. I learned more about Chinese maids and another bar where one can choose a girl and… The ‘…’ is not innuendo, but rather frustration with the amount of knowledge I’m accumulating about American men and Chinese women. The quote from Dazed And Confused about High School girls never getting older keeps playing in my head. So I focused on the good parts of our conversation. Dinner was alright (I know, I know, I need to improve my food). I walked back to Gregory’s and worked more seriously on class, making a syllabus and breaking down the year and topics to cover. Exhausted I headed for bed.
Sunday. The day of my first block class. Not having to go into work until class time, which was at 4:45 I spent the morning working more on the syllabus. I had an omlette for breakfast, far better than McDonald’s though I sadly headed to McDonald’s for lunch. I don’t want to eat there. I want to eat at Chinese places but I can point and grunt better with a McDonald’s menu. Finally at school, I needed to do a lot of lesson planning as the 80 mins of time was feeling like far too much for what I had. However, I needed to talk to Mark about my syllabus and a proper work load. He was nowhere to be found so I went to explore my classroom. I found a computer connected to power point, but it is all in Chinese. And then I saw Mary.
Mary was seated in the room and looked upset. Then, she dropped her head to her desk. Classic student I’m unhappy body language. So I approached. Mary looked up, surprised, but was willing to talk. She had just had her college counseling appointment with Hannah, Dipont’s college counselor, and was upset because her two safety schools are completely unappealing to her. She is worried about her SAT and TOEFL scores and fears she’ll end up in one of her safety schools. I left and returned with Fiske’s Guide to College 2012 and she beamed. We looked up her two schools and I also suggested she contact them to see if they have an honors program. They are only allowed to apply to schools that Dipont suggests as Dipont seems to care more about getting them into school than which school. Very different from US College Counseling, though I’m not sure they know that. Regardless, I will try my best to help these students and support them in ways that Dipont staff cannot. Working with Mary felt right.
I eventually sat down with Mark and we had a good conversation. He was impressed that I was able to breakdown the course into weeks without any teaching instruction or experience. I finally did something right, except for the fact that all of a sudden it was class time. My reading assignment was copied onto Chinese paper—not acceptable as it’s toilet paper-like and won’t fit into the students binders, so I decided not to hand it out and Simon and I are working on a solution. I did manage to copy my syllabus and essay assignment and make it to class on time. Good start. I asked five students to stand and introduce themselves again and answer my question about how their holiday was. Then we read the syllabus. Their English is not very good when reading aloud for students trying to have success in American schools next year! I asked them if they thought it was fair and they agreed. I stressed academic integrity as I have heard from Mark and the other teachers that the students often copy each other’s work—an offense that can get a student kicked out of American college. Then we read the essay assignment.
The essay assignment is the common ap essay. The reason I’m assigning it is two-fold. I want to know who these students are and get some insight into their lives and secondly, I want them to write their own college essay. Here’s the kicker of my situation. These students usually pay, or rather their parents pay, an organization to write the student’s personal essay. I was disgusted and, after learning some other things about Dipont, greatly questioned what I am doing in China. Eugenia, on of the other teachers, thinks I am naïve for trying to change the system, but I must try. She thought I could sell the essay idea to them as a tool to give the agency. I guess my conscience will rest a bit easier knowing the students are giving the agencies personal statements they, at least, wrote (but I’d rather see them do the whole thing). When I questioned the students about this, they tried to deny it. They were surprised that I already knew this from seven days in China. Honestly, I am more interested in their essays and ability to write in English, but nonetheless I will try to help them write for themselves.
After all of this, only 30 minutes or so had passed. So, I started teaching. I began with asking them about Aristotle. I discussed his challenge to Socrates and Plato about the belief of innate knowledge. I covered the psyches. Then Descartes. Cogito ergo sum, written on the board as in every philosophy/intro psych class. Then the mind-body problem, then Cartesian dualism, and then the bell rang. 1st period over and I’d covered maybe almost all of my material for the day. During the break I wrote the terms on the board from the first part of the lecture, as I noticed almost none of the students were taking notes. The students came back and I asked them again, about Aristotle. Then I asked them about Descartes, essentially we reviewed all I had just said and I was shocked and how little had sunk in. Crap! Teaching is hard. I learned it’s better to write on the board, especially because of their English skills. But these kids are used to blind memorization without consideration for what is being learned. Psychology can’t just be memorization; it’s a way of thinking. So I ploughed on and we started talking about different parts of psychology. I was following a power point I had made on my computer and then began to feel more like a teacher. I added many more angles of psychology, giving unplanned examples. I think all high school teachers should take improv classes. But I’m still concerned that none of it is sinking in. I am already dreading the first test and I’M THE TEACHER! Isn’t it supposed to be the opposite? I had no idea how much teachers care. Although, to be fair, I have had the pleasure of being taught by many caring teachers. Professor Trumbetta at Vassar cares immensely about her students. When I worked as her RA I saw firsthand the concern when a student makes a mistake on an exam—that’s teaching passion. And apparently, I have a little bit of it as well.
Somehow the class ended, oh that’s right, I left them out a little early as dinner was next and we had just talked about health psychology. I hope they learned something! I met up with Sarah and after a long wait I signed my lease and paid for the first 3 months. Thus I was late for Mike’s goodbye dinner, but just in time to go to Muse, one of Chengdu’s hottest clubs, according to Mike. I changed into more appropriate clothes, loosing the teaching threads, gobbled up some left overs from Lynette’s home cooking and taxied over with Mike, Shelley, and Helen. Shelly was Mike’s friend from the dumplings. Helen was very friendly and interested in Adele, hiking, exploring, and world travel. I couldn’t believe it! We exchanged numbers and I cannot wait to hang out and do something outdoors. Though Lynette told me the tragic news that Hannah has a boyfriend. No matter how much I say it, they don’t get it. I just want to have some friends. I’m 22, not 35+. I’m looking to settle down and I’m looking for a relationship. Chinese girls seem to date first and get to know each other later, not my style. But Hannah is not like the others, at least with pressuring me.
Muse was pretty awesome: crazy lights, performances, rising stages, and American music. Always surprised about the last one, the same beings true in NZ. The night was very fun and even a bit drunk, though they mix their liquors very weakly. Mike and I showed his friends what American shots look like, though few wanted to partake. And we danced. I danced. I danced like I hadn’t danced in a club since the beginning of the summer, which is true. Dancing is one of those things that if I stop and think about it feels very silly. While dancing however, I just focus on the music and respond to it and it just feels so natural. It was interesting to see that this new culture seems to like it just as much as Americans. I surprised Mike’s friends with my dancing skills, which really is one skill: the skill to look like an idiot, but in time with the music. I had a really good time, I signed a lease on an apartment, and I had taught my first double period. Things seemed pretty good.
Also, I should mention, I’ve met Cynthia another teacher. She is from NZ and thus I talk to her to talk, but also to hear that sweet sweet accent I’ve come to love and miss.
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