Today, I taught first and second grade students at Namchang Elementary School. Usually, I teach fifth and sixth graders. Until approximately 10 minutes before class, I assumed that I would be teaching fifth and sixth graders. As per co-teacher requests, I had prepared activities for fifth and sixth graders. When I entered the teachers' room, the secretary and an unfamilar teacher, neither of whom spoke much English, informed me of the change in schedule. Oh, and today would be the first and second grade students' very first English lesson. No pressure.
Suppressing the urge to shout at someone, I checked my USB drive (memory stick) for Emergency Classroom Activities. There were several. Whenever I find something that works, whether in the regular classroom or at English camp, I keep the relevant files on the USB that travels with me at all times. This prepares me somewhat for surprise schedule changes like today's.
I chose three things: the self-introductory "Who is the Foreign Teacher?" powerpoint; the Hokey Pokey (first showing a video on youtube); and some classroom English (open the book, close the book, wait, I can't see, etc.). The students had a good time. We all laughed a lot. I heard one of the KTs telling the assistant principal (in Korean) about the foreign teacher's fun English lesson. Students were especially impressed by the photo of Chingu the cat and delighted to learn the words "backside" and "shake."
On the one hand, I am glad that classes went so well. I was able, at a moment's notice, to come up with age-appropriate activities and lead two new classes. I spoke enough Korean to explain things when the KT could not. I probably handled the situation better than a less-experienced foreign teacher would have done, simply because I had accumulated enough back-up activities. Had I walked in with only one lesson plan and nothing else, I would have panicked and floundered.
On the other hand, I cannot help but wonder if handling the switcheroo so calmly will hinder my efforts to get the coteachers at this school to TELL me in advance when they know the schedule will change. I understand that emergencies happen. By definition, emergencies are unpredictable. Today was not an emergency.
The upper grade students and teachers were off at a special training in another city. They do this training every year. All the teachers knew it was coming. They could have told me.
Yesterday at Gohyeon, upon my request, my CT went through the entire year's calendar with me, pointing out every exam, special day and holiday. Next time I teach at Namchang, I'll ask the main CT to do the same.
No matter what I do, I cannot always anticipate changes in my teaching schedule. I am a foreigner. Korean teachers and administrators seldom remember to tell the foreigner what is going to happen until the very moment before it happens. They assume that the foreigner knows what everyone else knows. Or they are uncomfortable speaking English to the foreigner.
I frequently remind myself that there are also cultural differences at work here. At the schools where I've worked in Korea, bosses and teachers seem to prefer winging it rather than planning ahead (not always, but more so than most Americans with whom I've worked). As a westerner, I try to anticipate and control everything, even the future. My Korean coworkers try to go with the flow.
After working in Korea for a little over two years, I have become more flexible, but will probably always think like a westerner at the deepest levels. Meanwhile, I'll keep collecting classroom activities that are appropriate for a variety of grade levels, no matter what I am officially scheduled to teach. That small USB is my sanity-saver.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Hello-Chorus Frogs and Preposition Charades
Imagine walking through a school building and hearing "hellohellohellohello" every few seconds and from every direction. After a while, it sounds like a pondful of frogs. Good thing I like frogs.
Today, I taught 5th grade students with Ms. K. She'd asked me to prepare a game that would help students review the contents of Chapter 3: "It's Under the Table." I decided to focus on prepositions, specifically: under, on, in, next to, near, between and behind. I brainstormed til I had a short list of activity ideas, having learned that a teacher always needs a back-up.
First period, after a quick review of the preposition powerpoint presentation (ppp), we played Simon Says, focusing on commands that contained prepositions, such as "put your hands ON your head." After I acted as Simon for a few turns, I asked students to be Simon. There were three problems with this: students could not think of their own command sentences; students had trouble remembering the sentences I whispered to them; students spoke so quietly that few if any could hear them. After class, the Ms. K., when asked her opinion about the activity, said that the students had played Simon Says many times, so it was no longer fresh for them. I decided to try Charades next time.
Second period, we reviewed the ppp, then played Charades. Ms. K and I demonstrated how to act out a preposition. Then we chose pairs of students to act out prepositions while the rest of the class tried to guess which word was being shown. When this proved too easy, Ms. K told the students to make sentences about what the actors were doing. She said "one, two, THREE" and told students to stand if they wished to make a sentence. We listened to all sentences. Then, I stated some examples of correct sentences about the situation ("The book is behind the girls.") Each student who had spoken a good-enough sentence recieved a no-homework pass from Ms. K. [She hands these out very liberally. I wonder whether any of her students end up having to do homework. Maybe only the ones who never participate have to do it.]
Between second and third period, I wrote the prepositions on bits of paper, folded the bits and put them in a box. Now the actors would have to choose random prepositions to act out for the class. Ms. K. coached the actors (in whispered Korean) and handed them props such as books, pencils or boxes.
I noticed that she usually told both students to do the same thing, such as stand with books on their heads, rather than work together to show a spatial relationship. At lunch, I mentioned this, and said that I wanted the students to do the latter.
During the next class period, we tried it. The results were hilarious. Students giggled when a girl put her hand on a boy's head or two students held a stuffed rabbit between them.
I also noticed that students had some trouble correctly using the preposition "in." In Korean, one uses post-positions. In Korean the sentence "The cat is in the bag." is "고양이가 가방 안에 있서요." (The cat bag in is). Due to this difference in syntax, Korean students are especially prone to saying things like "bag cat in" or "bag in cat" when they mean "cat in bag."
To address this confusion, I drew two pictures on the board. Picture A showed a stickman inside the belly of a large fish. Picture B showed a stickman eating a fish. (I later changed Picture B to a small fish inside a stickman's belly.) Again, we asked students to make sentences about the situations.
The activity improved throughout the day. To be honest, I had not been expecting to have to play a game for most of the class period. I thought that Ms. K. would, as she had done many times before, give a quiz first or something like that. I was not clear on how long the game was supposed to last. Next time, I'll ask.
Today, I taught 5th grade students with Ms. K. She'd asked me to prepare a game that would help students review the contents of Chapter 3: "It's Under the Table." I decided to focus on prepositions, specifically: under, on, in, next to, near, between and behind. I brainstormed til I had a short list of activity ideas, having learned that a teacher always needs a back-up.
First period, after a quick review of the preposition powerpoint presentation (ppp), we played Simon Says, focusing on commands that contained prepositions, such as "put your hands ON your head." After I acted as Simon for a few turns, I asked students to be Simon. There were three problems with this: students could not think of their own command sentences; students had trouble remembering the sentences I whispered to them; students spoke so quietly that few if any could hear them. After class, the Ms. K., when asked her opinion about the activity, said that the students had played Simon Says many times, so it was no longer fresh for them. I decided to try Charades next time.
Second period, we reviewed the ppp, then played Charades. Ms. K and I demonstrated how to act out a preposition. Then we chose pairs of students to act out prepositions while the rest of the class tried to guess which word was being shown. When this proved too easy, Ms. K told the students to make sentences about what the actors were doing. She said "one, two, THREE" and told students to stand if they wished to make a sentence. We listened to all sentences. Then, I stated some examples of correct sentences about the situation ("The book is behind the girls.") Each student who had spoken a good-enough sentence recieved a no-homework pass from Ms. K. [She hands these out very liberally. I wonder whether any of her students end up having to do homework. Maybe only the ones who never participate have to do it.]
Between second and third period, I wrote the prepositions on bits of paper, folded the bits and put them in a box. Now the actors would have to choose random prepositions to act out for the class. Ms. K. coached the actors (in whispered Korean) and handed them props such as books, pencils or boxes.
I noticed that she usually told both students to do the same thing, such as stand with books on their heads, rather than work together to show a spatial relationship. At lunch, I mentioned this, and said that I wanted the students to do the latter.
During the next class period, we tried it. The results were hilarious. Students giggled when a girl put her hand on a boy's head or two students held a stuffed rabbit between them.
I also noticed that students had some trouble correctly using the preposition "in." In Korean, one uses post-positions. In Korean the sentence "The cat is in the bag." is "고양이가 가방 안에 있서요." (The cat bag in is). Due to this difference in syntax, Korean students are especially prone to saying things like "bag cat in" or "bag in cat" when they mean "cat in bag."
To address this confusion, I drew two pictures on the board. Picture A showed a stickman inside the belly of a large fish. Picture B showed a stickman eating a fish. (I later changed Picture B to a small fish inside a stickman's belly.) Again, we asked students to make sentences about the situations.
The activity improved throughout the day. To be honest, I had not been expecting to have to play a game for most of the class period. I thought that Ms. K. would, as she had done many times before, give a quiz first or something like that. I was not clear on how long the game was supposed to last. Next time, I'll ask.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Teaching While Disabled
I am an American who has been teaching English in Korea for more than two years now, first in Daegu and now in Iksan. I have taught preschool, kindergarten, elementary and middle school students. Thus far, the experience has been more positive than negative. I hope to continue working here at least a few more years.
I also have osteoarthritis, secondary to a congenitally dislocated hip. One leg is noticably shorter than the other. (The leg-length discrepancy has slowly increased over many years.) Recently, I have started using a cane to walk. Now I am visibly disabled. I'm still getting used to the cane. I drop it a lot, accidentally hit things with it, and never know where to put it while I'm sitting. Sometimes I worry that I look like I'm faking it. (A real cripple would know how to handle a cane properly.)
Here in Korea, people with disabilities are not often seen out in public. Where are they? At home? In institutions? Schools and businesses are rarely disability-accessible. How do people who use wheelchairs or service dogs survive? Relatively, my disability is minor. I can’t walk quickly or for long periods of time. Sitting on the floor is very difficult. I can’t tie my left shoe if it’s still on my foot. I can climb stairs, albeit slowly and painfully.
Korean co-teachers have pointed out two or three students who are (in their words) “physically challenged.” They sit in the back of the classroom and doodle. They do not speak or write English at all. I asked if these students were receiving any special help. They are, but not in English classes.
Occasionally, an injured student uses crutches. There are no elevators. There are no mobility-impaired students at either of the schools where I currently work, nor were there any at last year’s school. I have not noticed any visually-impaired or hearing-impaired students either. If there are students with ADHD and learning disabilities, no one mentions the fact. For the most part, people with disabilities are invisible in Korea. I wonder if I am the first visibly disabled teacher my students have seen. Strangely enough, very few students have (yet) asked questions about the way I walk. They ask lots of other questions, mostly about gender, nationality, age, marital status, knowledge of Korean language and culture, and favorite foods. Perhaps they ask the Korean teachers when I am not present.
At least they are not afraid of the cane, which I sometimes use as a pointer. Corporal punishment is legal in Korean schools. The teachers at last year's middle school hit students with sticks. At my current elementary schools, I have not seen any teacher hitting a student.
At work, I try to perform the role of Good Cripple, for fear that I will lose my job if I ask for any accommodations. I don’t know if Korea has any law similar to the Americans with Disabilities Act. Even if there is such a law on the books, that does not necessarily mean that businesses and government organizations follow it. In the U.S., a person or organization wants to discriminate against someone, they find a way. The person or corporation (which might have legal personhood anyway, but that’s another topic), can always write something else down on a form or say something weaselly about safety concerns or “not a good fit.” They can even deny the discrimination altogether.
I started bringing the cane to work after my supervising co-teacher (alien-wrangler), noticing me using an umbrella like a cane, told me matter-of-factly that if I needed a stick to walk, I should bring one. So I did. I can walk without a cane, but I lurch like a zombie (Braaaaaaaaiiiiiins!) and my arthritic and dislocated hip hurts badly after even a few minutes of standing or walking without support.
Now that I am out as a cripple, people fetch things for me and offer me a choice of seats. They remember more often to ask if I need to take the elevator. They ask if I’m ok walking x meters from point A to point B instead of saying “it’s just a few more blocks” for the tenth time. I’m simultaneously grateful and uncomfortable when people fuss over me like that. Are they treating me like a cripple? A lady? An old person? An old crippled lady? Maybe. Probably. (Also, in Korea, I’m Visibly Foreign and therefore freakish, ignorant, sometimes cute and not quite human.) Inside my mind, I like to think I am a competent, low-maintenance, mostly drama-free person, somewhere on the masculine side of androgynous. I handle spiders and open jars for people. I am not fragile.
I have gone several times to an orthopedic clinic here in Iksan. The doctors rotate, so I never know which one I will see. They took x-rays, confirming the hip dysplasia. They prescribed NSAIDs and a narcotic-like painkiller. They gave me NSAID shots in the ass. They referred me to the physical therapy clinic upstairs for electrostimulation, ultrasound and heating pads.
None of this makes much difference, so I have not gone back to the clinic for a few weeks. I can get the same amount of pain blunting from over-the-counter naproxen sodium (Alleve). The butt shots caused bruising, pain and numbness. The numbness has persisted for several weeks after the last shot.
Through drawings, the phone dictionary and a mixture of English and Korean, I can (sort of) communicate with the doctors at the clinic. Their English levels vary. I tried to ask about getting a lift for my left shoe to compensate for the shorter left leg, but failed to get the message across. I tried to ask about discrimination laws and whether my disability might make me ineligible to teach in Korea. The doctor asked me to bring a Korean friend next time. I have yet to do so. Part of this is sheer embarrassment. I do not want to ask Julie (or anyone else) to come translate for me. I do not want the friend and the doctor to talk about me as if I were a child or not there.
Eventually, I will have to ask a Korean friend to come with me to the clinic. The pain and loss of mobility will override the embarrassment. Maybe there is a professional interpreter I could call. I could also go to the special foreigners’ office at Wonkwang University Hospital.
I do not like to ask for help. The word itself feels shameful. It reminds me of accepting money from family in the past when I could not pay my own bills. It also reminds me of a miserably stressful year and a half teaching stint at IS 666 in Brooklyn. When the AP and principal offered to “help”, I knew that they had begun the paperwork that would end in my being fired (or asked to resign). I was advised by veteran teachers (at other schools) to “fly under the radar”- just close my door and don’t complain or ask for help or even acknowledge any difficulties. In that situation, they were right. When I did complain of sexual and other forms of harassment, threats, menacing, destruction of property and other hostile behavior from students, the principal blamed me for not being sufficiently assertive. She also pointed out that I was “unusual-looking.” She meant that I was fat and female-bodied, and sporting very short hair and masculine clothing.
What does a negative teaching experience in Brooklyn have to do with a (thus far) good one in Iksan, South Korea? The key word here is “help.” In the first situation, an offer of help was more about bureaucratic ass-covering than any real desire to assist. In Brooklyn, I was told, tacitly and explicitly never to show weakness, since students can smell blood. At that time, I was limping, but not using a cane. I was in the process of coming out as lesbian and genderqueer. That job ended with a breakdown and a resignation for mental health reasons. To be blunt, I told the union representative that I was having suicidal thoughts and needed to leave right away. For several months, I felt helpless, worthless and defective.
I have tried to put that experience behind me, but painful memories remain, which can be triggered by certain words, phrases and situations. One such situation is being offered help, whether in or out of the classroom. In Korea, teaching is far more collaborative than in the U.S. Teachers share lesson ideas and talk about what works and what does not. As a Guest English Teacher, I usually work with a Korean teacher in the classroom. Sometimes, we alternate leading activities. Sometimes, the KT sits in the back and offers an occasional translation when necessary. Sometimes, I plan the whole lesson. Sometimes, I plan a part. With every co-teacher, the relationship is different.
I am still working out how to co-teach with my main co-teacher. We have gone back and forth about who does what, with many miscommunications but basically a positive working relationship. I have to stifle anxiety verging on panic, though, when she tells me that a particular activity doesn’t work or that I need to prepare more X or Y next time. I keep worrying that this is a warning sign of imminent dismissal. Never mind that Korea has a shortage of English teachers (especially ones with TESOL certificates and teaching experience). I still combine “Koreans are non-confrontational” with “I’ve lost jobs in the past without warning” and “Offer-of-help from boss equals “firing paper trail has already begun” and start panicking.
Where does disability tie into all this? Teaching involves moving around the classroom. The written guidelines for GETs in Korea says "teachers should stand while teaching." Teachers who sit down too much are perceived as not working enough or not working effectively with students. I do not complain about the stairs at work. I have not said anything about how it is difficult to get around the classroom when the tables are very close together. I do not want to give my co-teacher (or principal) any excuse to complain to the Education Office. I think today my CT finally got that I take a taxi to and from work not because I am rich and lazy (though I am in fact lazy) but because I would be in serious pain from the 30-minute (each way) walk.
Later this week, I plan on checking the hours for the swimming pool at the YMCA. I need to find some non weight-bearing exercise that I can do before or after work. I need to preserve enough mobility to work. The next post will most likely concern swimsuit anxiety and a rant about shaving.
I also have osteoarthritis, secondary to a congenitally dislocated hip. One leg is noticably shorter than the other. (The leg-length discrepancy has slowly increased over many years.) Recently, I have started using a cane to walk. Now I am visibly disabled. I'm still getting used to the cane. I drop it a lot, accidentally hit things with it, and never know where to put it while I'm sitting. Sometimes I worry that I look like I'm faking it. (A real cripple would know how to handle a cane properly.)
Here in Korea, people with disabilities are not often seen out in public. Where are they? At home? In institutions? Schools and businesses are rarely disability-accessible. How do people who use wheelchairs or service dogs survive? Relatively, my disability is minor. I can’t walk quickly or for long periods of time. Sitting on the floor is very difficult. I can’t tie my left shoe if it’s still on my foot. I can climb stairs, albeit slowly and painfully.
Korean co-teachers have pointed out two or three students who are (in their words) “physically challenged.” They sit in the back of the classroom and doodle. They do not speak or write English at all. I asked if these students were receiving any special help. They are, but not in English classes.
Occasionally, an injured student uses crutches. There are no elevators. There are no mobility-impaired students at either of the schools where I currently work, nor were there any at last year’s school. I have not noticed any visually-impaired or hearing-impaired students either. If there are students with ADHD and learning disabilities, no one mentions the fact. For the most part, people with disabilities are invisible in Korea. I wonder if I am the first visibly disabled teacher my students have seen. Strangely enough, very few students have (yet) asked questions about the way I walk. They ask lots of other questions, mostly about gender, nationality, age, marital status, knowledge of Korean language and culture, and favorite foods. Perhaps they ask the Korean teachers when I am not present.
At least they are not afraid of the cane, which I sometimes use as a pointer. Corporal punishment is legal in Korean schools. The teachers at last year's middle school hit students with sticks. At my current elementary schools, I have not seen any teacher hitting a student.
At work, I try to perform the role of Good Cripple, for fear that I will lose my job if I ask for any accommodations. I don’t know if Korea has any law similar to the Americans with Disabilities Act. Even if there is such a law on the books, that does not necessarily mean that businesses and government organizations follow it. In the U.S., a person or organization wants to discriminate against someone, they find a way. The person or corporation (which might have legal personhood anyway, but that’s another topic), can always write something else down on a form or say something weaselly about safety concerns or “not a good fit.” They can even deny the discrimination altogether.
I started bringing the cane to work after my supervising co-teacher (alien-wrangler), noticing me using an umbrella like a cane, told me matter-of-factly that if I needed a stick to walk, I should bring one. So I did. I can walk without a cane, but I lurch like a zombie (Braaaaaaaaiiiiiins!) and my arthritic and dislocated hip hurts badly after even a few minutes of standing or walking without support.
Now that I am out as a cripple, people fetch things for me and offer me a choice of seats. They remember more often to ask if I need to take the elevator. They ask if I’m ok walking x meters from point A to point B instead of saying “it’s just a few more blocks” for the tenth time. I’m simultaneously grateful and uncomfortable when people fuss over me like that. Are they treating me like a cripple? A lady? An old person? An old crippled lady? Maybe. Probably. (Also, in Korea, I’m Visibly Foreign and therefore freakish, ignorant, sometimes cute and not quite human.) Inside my mind, I like to think I am a competent, low-maintenance, mostly drama-free person, somewhere on the masculine side of androgynous. I handle spiders and open jars for people. I am not fragile.
I have gone several times to an orthopedic clinic here in Iksan. The doctors rotate, so I never know which one I will see. They took x-rays, confirming the hip dysplasia. They prescribed NSAIDs and a narcotic-like painkiller. They gave me NSAID shots in the ass. They referred me to the physical therapy clinic upstairs for electrostimulation, ultrasound and heating pads.
None of this makes much difference, so I have not gone back to the clinic for a few weeks. I can get the same amount of pain blunting from over-the-counter naproxen sodium (Alleve). The butt shots caused bruising, pain and numbness. The numbness has persisted for several weeks after the last shot.
Through drawings, the phone dictionary and a mixture of English and Korean, I can (sort of) communicate with the doctors at the clinic. Their English levels vary. I tried to ask about getting a lift for my left shoe to compensate for the shorter left leg, but failed to get the message across. I tried to ask about discrimination laws and whether my disability might make me ineligible to teach in Korea. The doctor asked me to bring a Korean friend next time. I have yet to do so. Part of this is sheer embarrassment. I do not want to ask Julie (or anyone else) to come translate for me. I do not want the friend and the doctor to talk about me as if I were a child or not there.
Eventually, I will have to ask a Korean friend to come with me to the clinic. The pain and loss of mobility will override the embarrassment. Maybe there is a professional interpreter I could call. I could also go to the special foreigners’ office at Wonkwang University Hospital.
I do not like to ask for help. The word itself feels shameful. It reminds me of accepting money from family in the past when I could not pay my own bills. It also reminds me of a miserably stressful year and a half teaching stint at IS 666 in Brooklyn. When the AP and principal offered to “help”, I knew that they had begun the paperwork that would end in my being fired (or asked to resign). I was advised by veteran teachers (at other schools) to “fly under the radar”- just close my door and don’t complain or ask for help or even acknowledge any difficulties. In that situation, they were right. When I did complain of sexual and other forms of harassment, threats, menacing, destruction of property and other hostile behavior from students, the principal blamed me for not being sufficiently assertive. She also pointed out that I was “unusual-looking.” She meant that I was fat and female-bodied, and sporting very short hair and masculine clothing.
What does a negative teaching experience in Brooklyn have to do with a (thus far) good one in Iksan, South Korea? The key word here is “help.” In the first situation, an offer of help was more about bureaucratic ass-covering than any real desire to assist. In Brooklyn, I was told, tacitly and explicitly never to show weakness, since students can smell blood. At that time, I was limping, but not using a cane. I was in the process of coming out as lesbian and genderqueer. That job ended with a breakdown and a resignation for mental health reasons. To be blunt, I told the union representative that I was having suicidal thoughts and needed to leave right away. For several months, I felt helpless, worthless and defective.
I have tried to put that experience behind me, but painful memories remain, which can be triggered by certain words, phrases and situations. One such situation is being offered help, whether in or out of the classroom. In Korea, teaching is far more collaborative than in the U.S. Teachers share lesson ideas and talk about what works and what does not. As a Guest English Teacher, I usually work with a Korean teacher in the classroom. Sometimes, we alternate leading activities. Sometimes, the KT sits in the back and offers an occasional translation when necessary. Sometimes, I plan the whole lesson. Sometimes, I plan a part. With every co-teacher, the relationship is different.
I am still working out how to co-teach with my main co-teacher. We have gone back and forth about who does what, with many miscommunications but basically a positive working relationship. I have to stifle anxiety verging on panic, though, when she tells me that a particular activity doesn’t work or that I need to prepare more X or Y next time. I keep worrying that this is a warning sign of imminent dismissal. Never mind that Korea has a shortage of English teachers (especially ones with TESOL certificates and teaching experience). I still combine “Koreans are non-confrontational” with “I’ve lost jobs in the past without warning” and “Offer-of-help from boss equals “firing paper trail has already begun” and start panicking.
Where does disability tie into all this? Teaching involves moving around the classroom. The written guidelines for GETs in Korea says "teachers should stand while teaching." Teachers who sit down too much are perceived as not working enough or not working effectively with students. I do not complain about the stairs at work. I have not said anything about how it is difficult to get around the classroom when the tables are very close together. I do not want to give my co-teacher (or principal) any excuse to complain to the Education Office. I think today my CT finally got that I take a taxi to and from work not because I am rich and lazy (though I am in fact lazy) but because I would be in serious pain from the 30-minute (each way) walk.
Later this week, I plan on checking the hours for the swimming pool at the YMCA. I need to find some non weight-bearing exercise that I can do before or after work. I need to preserve enough mobility to work. The next post will most likely concern swimsuit anxiety and a rant about shaving.
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