Hamster Porn

There are other stories, yes, and if they're in any way interesting I shall get to them. However, this one is only getting better with the telling, so I need to pass it on to you.

After 20+ years of teaching English Language and Literature in one form or another, and after a series of unfortunate events (for details, please see previous publications) I found myself teaching English as a Second Language. This involved developing a whole new set of strategies and techniques, and I would argue that when I DO teach literature, I am a better practitioner as a result. I know more about differentiation and translanguaging than I ever thought I'd need to, and am evangelical about the need for all teachers to be language teachers, regardless of their main subjects. I also have a few interesting views on immersion programs, if you ever care to talk about them and be bored to tears by my fervour.

During my last year in Korea, my role had morphed into that of 'Language Specialist', and it was an engaging one. I'd support teachers with planning and assessment, rather than just sitting next to children in class and helping them make sense of their lessons. (The LEAST effective use of an extra adult in your English second language class, if I might interject here) I liked it. I intend to implement elements of it here in my new role, and will use it to support both teaching and learning, and the way I will monitor curriculum in the Middle Years. Kewel.

Much of what I want to do, however, must wait. The systems that are already in place must be adhered to for the time-being, until I manage to rally the troops and conquer the pedagological universe. I've already had to retrench a couple of times since arriving, having been all gung-ho and damn-the-torpedoes at first. Step back to move forward; that sort of thing.

And so I find myself teaching two ESoL groups. One is a combination of Grade 8s and Grade 6s- seven students in total- six boys and one girl. So far, we are trooping along quite satisfactorily. With the exception of the girl, everyone is at an intermediate level, and the challenge will be to deal with the two separate age groups in appropriate ways in the same lesson. My other class consists of just two students: seventh graders- a boy and a girl- Henry and Jasmine. They are, by any definition, beginners.

Henry is a charmer, full of big noises and big ideas. He is expressive and earnest and funny and witty and tumbles over himself in his efforts to be heard and understood. He has courage and chuztpah, and manages eventually to express himself by finding a range of alternatives and actions for the words he is missing. He also has oddly furry ears.

Jasmine is the weaker of the two. She was born in Canada, but has lived her whole life here. Her mother speaks some English, but Jasmine's is very limited. She travels an hour to school and back on public transport, and has made one friend so far. She is also funny, but more than a little naughty with it. She sometimes pretends not to understand so that she can avoid challenges. Her face is like a cinema screen- everything she thinks and feels is acted out in her expressions, which make her eyebrows contort, her mouth purse, her forehead heave and shift, and her eyes roll. If you didn't know what was happening, yes, it would sound like she was having a seizure of some sort. She is comical and practically wordless in English.

She and Henry bicker like an old married couple, but clearly enjoy their banter. Compared to the careful distance maintained by seventh graders from the opposite sex in my last school, these two are bosom buddies. They shout and laugh and correct each other, rabbitting on in Chinese (with my permission) and laughing some more- probably at me. (I might not be able to speak Chinese, but I am pretty adept at reading body language.) Jamsine tells Henry a story, and he collapses in giggles before trying to help her tell it also to me. I am pretty sure that sometimes they are making mischief, but it all is in good spirits.

In short, this is the smallest class I have ever taught. It is also the noisiest. I emerge from the final block every other day with my ears ringing and head swimming. Lord knows how they are doing.

There's the stage for you. Now let's unfold the play...

In our second lesson together, I decided to do some journal work with them. This is an old trick- get them writing so that I can learn more about them and focus on communiction, without necessarily worrying about their mechanics. They write, I read and comment, and we get a conversation of sorts going. These students having such low English skills, I asked them to write for five minutes in Chinese, and then try to tell the same story in English, allowing them to use their laptops to look up individual words. 

It took them a while to get going- even now I seldom have a good bead on how long certain activities will take. Henry tackled the task with his usual vigour, and helped me communicate to Jasmine what was expected of her. It was definitely more challenging for her.

(An aside here- I have gained a huge appreciation for Asian students and their willingness to learn additional languages. There is no 'when am I ever going to need this??' attitude from them, as I've encountered in the West. They know that their success will be contingent on their ability to communicate clearly, and just get on with it. Considering the fact that they have to learn an entirely new alphabet- a whole new system of scratches on the page from which they need to make meaning, as well as a whole new range of sounds that their ears are not trained to recognise, let alone their mother designed to pronounce- well, all power to them. I have great respect for them, and only wish they'd take it a bit easier on themselves when they don't get it right- and that they'd not neglect learning their own language in order to focus solely (and misguidedly) on English.)

My asides can be pretty long-winded.

Aaaaaanyway...

Jasmine eventually started scribbling furiously, snickering occasionally to herself. When I called on them to try to tell their stories again in English, she was at a TOTAL loss. She didn't have enough language to even begin the task. Grabbing a piece of A2 paper and a marker, I hunkered down next to her and, with Henry's shouted support, started helping her tell the story.

It transpires that our Jasmine is not to be trusted with household pets. Her story was that of the Five Hamsters. Through drawings and scribblings and half-finished words, we established that all five hamsters had died, and that we were about to learn the events that had led to their untimely demises. As we drew I would compose an English sentence to represent each event. Henry would interject, she'd regale him with details, he'd fall out of his chair laughing, and then come back to give me a few more words.
Eventually, the story looked like this:

'I had five hamsters. The first hamster died because he ate too much. He exploded. (there was a lack of clarity on this point) The second hamster escaped from his cage. He fell into the fishtank. There was water in the fishtank, but no fish because they ate each other (?!?!?!?!). The hamster drowned. The third hamster escaped from the cage because I didn't lock it. He starved to death.'

I was feeling pretty good about the story at this stage, despite the amount of time it was taking to get it written. Both children were engaged and speaking as much English as they could, and feeling content that I was able to help them make meaning of the events.

-What about the next hamster? I asked.

There followed a few hand gestures that indicated hamsters four and five had somehow met their respectives ends together, and Jamsine grabbed the marker from my hand to begin illustrating the event herself.

As she drew a series of cartoons with the hamsters in a crazy range of postures and positions, my eyebrows began gradually to raise. It was at this point that the school counsellor strolled into the room and stood behind me, curiously watching Jasmine's furious scribblings and growing increasingly still. I could hear her own brow furrowing.

P- Deb?

SC- (hesitantly) Yeees?

P- Do those hamsters seem to be having sex to you?

SC- Errrrr, they DO look a little... cuddly.

P- Deb, those hamsters look like they're having sex. Can that kill a hamster?

SC- I'm pretty sure it can't.

P- Jasmine? Are the hamsters... making babies? (Lord, I am NOT ready to explain 'having sex' to a twelve year-old English second language student!!)

J- No, no, no!
She turns to Henry and starts rattling away in Chinese. He is incoherent from laughter.

P- Are they figthing?

J- No!
She appeals to Henry for help, and he composes himself enough to start demonstrating what seems to be pinching and pulling the hair on his arms.

P- (baffled) Pinching? Biting?

J- No, no!
(More Chinese to Henry, more helpless laughter)

P- Deb, do you have any idea...?

SC- Not a clue.

P- Henry, are you SURE it's not fighting?

H- Yes!

Jasmine is, in the meantime, drawing more illustrations, yelling at Henry in Chinese to stop laughing (guesswork, there) and gesticulating wildly.

P- And you're SURE they aren't making babies??

H- (Making a circle with his thumb and forefinger) You know the hole- and then when the thing goes....

P- STOP! No! That's enough! It's time to write down the new sentences in your notebooks! We are out of time! The last two hamsters will have to wait for another day! We need to move on!

As soon as the children are gainfully employed writing their English versions of their stories down, Deb and I retreat to check the drawings once more, discussing them in hushed tones:

P- Deb?

SC- I know.

P- Those hamsters. I think they're---

SC- I know.

P- You know, I'd have liked to have lasted a week before getting sacked...

SC- It will be fine.

I'd publish the drawings here for your consideration, but suspect that both my mother and my daughter will read this; I wouldn't want to offend the first or scandalise the second. As it is, I'm not sure that my VPN will be strong enough to even publish today's title. Let's check and see!

Revving the engine back up

Let's start with the title, shall we? 'Mastering the Vice'. This being my first foray back into Blogdom since it was no longer safe to be back in the water, I'm looking for something that captures this new chapter. I considered 'Adventures in Vice Principalling', but think that 'adventure' has been overdone. 'Vice's Virture' was on the brainstorm list, but seemed pretentious and a little too Milton-esque for my tastes. Churchill's "He has all the virtues I dislike and none of the vices I admire' was perfect, apart from its length. I've settled on the title, having read the following:

You must master the vices. You know that if a thing is worth doing it's worth doing well. If, however, a thing is not worth doing then it's worth doing fabulously, amazingly, with grace, style and panache.

I'd argue that none of my vices are especially graceful or stylish, but one should strive, yes? 

I've returned to familiar territory in a very new place. I am seeing things that render me speechless, so I must therefore write. The gain from the last blog was huge- I still read through it occasionally, and marvel. Not at anything silly like surviving- perish the thought- but at just how bizarre and powerful the experience was. And, truth be told, at the story. Pretty well written, if I do say so myself. No Pulitzer or anything, but I must admit that I have found myself nodding appreciatively at the occasional turn of my own phrase.

Never accused of false modesty, me. Or any other kind of modesty.

The rules from the last blog still apply: the only skeletons that will be rattled here are my own. I will be dignified, even in the deepest outrage, and endeavor not to reveal names or events that will embarrass or hurt anyone. Sometimes I don't know why I bother, as some of the people in the last one seemed so determined to embarrass themselves that it was almost rude not to identify them. I am likely to be less kind to some of those people now, however, as distance and time have removed my need to feign politeness. And honestly, some of them no longer matter enough for me to protect them from exposure. That feels like a healthy place to be. 

So to sum up the last two years and get on with the new stories, let me be brief.

I lived.
So far.

I finished five years in Korea (and will touch on parts of that in future posts, so there's no fear of missing anything interesting) and FINALLY - 49 or 50 applications later, in total- got a Vice Principal position. Note that the plethora of applications was over the course of a couple of years. Having said that, I was actually approaching despair; the kind of despair that made me think about going back to teaching English. Shudder. 

Don't get me wrong- I LOVE teaching English. LOOOOOOVE it. Like I love pork chops and hot stone bowl bibimbap and whiskey sours. But I am so far past all the marking of assignments that to consider a return to it would be like putting the stilletos back on the morning after the senior prom and wearing them to work. It wasn't the reason why I got into admin in the first place, but it was a great, hulking, seething incentive. 

So the week of interviews with the school in China, and the overwhelming sense of positivity and good humour that accompanied them, and then the RELIEF- the oxygen-coming-back-into-the-room relief at being offered the contract: that was pretty good. Yes, indeed.

I won't bore you with all the details of the months that followed. I shall bore you with SOME of the details, eventually, of course. Suffice to say that one calendar month ago, four enormous suitcases and I joined the fifteen boxes already waiting for me and containing all my wordly goods in Hangzhou. (It turns out that all my worldy goods were rather a LOT of goods. I haven't reached hoarder status yet, but I fear that may only be because I have to pack the ruddy stuff up so often)
There followed a full four weeks and odd days of jet lag, unpacking, cleaning, bemoaning the state of my wardrobe, WILTING in the heat, buying a bike, meeting new colleagues, buying an ebike, more unpacking, shopping, joining a gym, grinning at the neighbours, eliciting sighs of frustration from shop keepers, eating dicey-looking street food, having my bag inspected at subway stations, hair-raising rides through packed streets, starting school, learning curriculum, wrangling with washing machines, debating with parents, playing Good Samaritan, meeting students, WILTING some more... Lord, so much. There are stories hidden there in the list, of course, and I'll come back to them. For now, I'm committing to keeping a record of it. Feel free to plug in the turntable and listen along.