by Jake Hollingsworth // Seoul, South Korea // www.JakeHollingsworth.net
My first teaching assignment was just a bit off the grid…
Buseok, a tiny farming community on the outskirts of Yeongju, goes mostly unnoticed. Ask any Korean to point out the obscure little town on a map, and you’ll get a variety of blank stares, nervous grins, and apologies.“I’m sorry, I don’t speak English.” (In perfect English, mind you.)According to the last census taken by the government, Buseok claims just over 100 residents, 25% of which are cows, chickens, apple trees, and a mean looking pack of dogs that no one but the local restaurateur seems to be able to do anything about. Needless to say, the little hamlet where I taught English to elementary students does not exist to most Koreans. If someone, by chance, has ever heard of Buseok, that knowledge is generally filed away in some peripheral part of the brain, alongside other useless tidbits of information like the politics of Al Sharpton, who the latest castoff of The Bachelor was, and the plotline of Grey’s Anatomy. Except for the small number of school age children, the residents of Buseok are either old, or older. There is one very small elementary school and one middle school of similar proportions. Older students attend high school in Yeongju, the county seat. Dorms are provided, which most teenagers are thrilled about, as they do not have to go home every day to the little clearing at the foot of Sobaek Mountain where they grew up.
from 453 DAYS IN KOREA
by Jake Hollingsworth
Buseok was in the middle of nowhere. At least it felt that way. You would be hard pressed to find anyone, Koreans included, who have even heard of the town. This of course only contributed to the fact that I was a very popular oddball. Waltzing through the sleepy streets from the one bus stop to my school, I was a celebrity. A super-star. The locals, especially the children, had never seen anything like me before. And to be quite honest, I enjoyed the attention.
I enjoyed being different. I enjoyed being envied. I enjoyed being the cool American. And more than anything else, I enjoyed being the certified English Genius. There were no other native speakers at my school. I was it, the go-to guy for all your English needs.
But then a funny thing happened. It was called a toilet. A squat toilet to be exact. No seat. No comfort. Nothing but a porcelain hole in the floor. The first time I felt a bit rumbly, and entered the restroom to discover the cold nothingness of a Korean stall, I was confused to say the least.
‘‘What the…?’’
But nature was calling, and it wasn’t taking ‘no’ for an answer. As a public school teacher I was dressed professionally. I was 40 minutes by bus from my apartment and the only pants in the entire country that would fit me. There was no room for error. In a moment of panic, I decided the best course of action was to remove my pants and hang them over the door. I slowly lowered myself, awkwardly squatting and praying that I had all the important parts lined up. After half a minute, I was bent at such an angle that my legs drifted off to sleep. With one hand against the wall and the other gripping the flush handle, I balanced myself and imagined everything that could possibly go wrong. Surely in 20 minutes someone would miss me, and an enthusiastic search party of little Korean boys and girls would storm the restroom to find me contorted in the floor, naked from the waist down, and a numb foot in the toilet.
What does this have to do with teaching in an ESL classroom? Good question. The answer is that although the cultural makeup of our classrooms will always be diverse, we should remember that we are all the same in the most basic, human ways. If the tables were turned, we would be just as confused and uncomfortable as our students.
As a teacher, my classroom is my space. My territory. My kingdom. I’m the boss. And that’s a good thing. But, the necessity of leadership in the classroom can sometimes lead to an atmosphere of lopsidedness. It’s easy to feel confident and at ease when the subject matter is something we have known for our entire lives. But our students, forced out of the familiarity of their comfort zones and routines, are not at ease. They are not confident.
If you’re like me, you often enjoy being the most knowledgeable person in your classroom. It’s fun. Students need us. They must ask us questions. They are dependent on us. I often think back to that first awkward encounter with the Korean restroom. At least 4 people came in and out of the other stalls before I ever managed to get into position. And the whole time I thought to myself, “This can’t be that hard. Everyone else is doing it. And I’m sure they don’t have to take their pants off.”
The best teaching methods are those we bring to class in our heads and hearts. The attitudes of humility and understanding. To understand what it is like to be our students shapes the way we present lessons. It influences the way we relate to them, and informs us how hard to push and when to back off.
What about you? What attitudes are you bringing to class with you? Is it easy or difficult to understand your student’s fears and frustrations?
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Lessons From A Few Years Spent in the World (4 of 5)
