AliThinks

Wind, Sails, etc.

After the response to my last blog entry about that grammar thing, I was pretty excited to write other similar public service announcements.

And now, I'm just not.

Either this is a measure of how fragile I am, or...whatever. Sheesh.

So here's what happened: last week, I was contacted by a company I've worked with once before; they wanted me to tutor a foreign national here in Lexington. They'd "lost" my resume, so I had to send it again.

My resume hasn't changed much since my last stint with this company. But they needed it, in order to show it to the prospective student and his boss.

Yesterday I got an e-mail from the tutoring company, with the student's contact information. I was asked to notify the company as soon as I'd worked out a schedule with the student. A couple of hours later, I called the student.

He was surprised to hear from me, because his boss had not "approved" me to be his tutor. There was some question of my credentials. Also, he wanted to see a curriculum before he started lessons. (The very concept of tutoring molds to the student's needs on an ongoing basis, so it is virtually impossible to create a curriculum beforehand.)

Mmm, yeah, I only have ten years of teaching experience in France, including five at a business school and four at a university.

I e-mailed my contact at the tutoring company, who then called me to reassure me that the student's boss had "approved" me that morning, and that everything was okay. My contact was sorry for the miscommunication, and I told him I was pretty put off.

I'm still put off; I'm insulted, to be honest. And I am going to refuse this tutoring job. This student has a preconceived notion of me, that I do not have enough experience to teach him, and that is enough to make it difficult. He also wants something very structured from the get-go, and that goes against the idea that I have of tutoring. And this may make me sound spoiled, but this job is not worth the trouble.

Anyway, the whole thing has me and my knickers in a twist, so I'm just not in the mood to blog about more important matters, like grammar, or my toenails, or whatever.

Thinking

When my students asked if they were the reason I was quitting teaching, I should have answered "Yes."

And Four To Go

Four more teaching hours.  On Thursday. 

I can't wait until it's over. 

Still don't have a job, but I haven't stopped looking, either.  But I've got to step up the pace.  With all the end-of-year crap at school, I'd put the job hunt on the back burner. 

Today is La Fête de la Musique in France.  I'll blog about that later, maybe. 

9th Grade Wisdom

Today was sort of the last day of class for the 9th graders.  Tonight we held conseils de classe, which is an end-of-quarter event.  This time we discussed the kids' orientations:  who'll go on to high school, who'll go to vo-tech school, etc. 

I say it was "sort of" the last day of class, because once the conseil is done, lots of students don't bother coming.  Today the kids were all rowdy.  I started the lesson with the correction of homework, and let a girl who was hoping to pass into high school sucking up write the answers on the board.  I was circulating around the room and  stopped near Tristan's desk. 

He said "Madame, I have a question."

"What is it, Tristan?"

Some More Gems

Today since I had no students to teach, I corrected some tests.  I sat in the library with Alain, a math teacher, and we corrected away.  Every once in a while I'd burst out laughing, and he told me "There's nothing funny about correcting math tests."  Alain's English is pretty good, so I shared my "gems" with him and got him to laugh. 

Here, in hopes I'll get you to laugh as well, are some of the things my students wrote:

Crise d'Angoisse

I had one, a panic attack, that is, just before starting class.  I didn't start teaching on time, but rather 15 or 20 minutes late.  Thank goodness for Lexomil.

Now I'm home, because I had a 4-hour "break."  I don't know what to say.  It's happening all over again. 

I don't owe these people anything.  I could just quit.  I'm sure that any sub will be able to do as good a job as I. 

But then I think I can't quit.  I'm too tired to go into it.  Perhaps I ought to lie down and rest.  Maybe later on I'll be able to write more clearly.

EDIT:  I took a two-hour nap, and went back to teach an 8th grade class.  Vacation did nothing to curb their shittiness.  At the end of class I just said "Look, this is the way you behave, then you say you don't understand anything.  Cut it out."  Well, I said it a bit differently.  I think some of them got the message.  But I still felt that old paralysis come on when they started to get out of hand.   Anyway, thanks for the well-wishes here, there, and everywhere. 

Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is?

Last week I gave my 6th graders a make-up test on telling time.  They'd flubbed up the test on it the week before, and a re-test was in order.  I was hoping it wasn't my teaching.  When the majority of the class doesn't do well, you can question your teaching.

During a review session, I started to wonder if these kids actually knew how to tell time.  Like, on a clock or watch with hands. 

Ali-SON

Let me bring you up to speed without a lot of bla-bla: during class with the 6th graders, we were working on how to ask and tell someone's age.  "How old are you?"  "How old is your mother?"  "How old is your father?" 

Well, Marina answered "My mother is thirty-two."  Marie said "My father is thirty-four." 
Maxime: "My father is thirty-five."   Alexia:  "My father is forty-seven."  Louise: "My mother is forty-two." 

Thursday, 9:15 a.m.

My 8th graders.  The ones I'm in charge of, the ones I'll be taking to England in May. 

They're nice kids.  They get good grades.  They're interested and interesting.  But this morning I broke out in tears, because they were jabbering to each other, and I couldn't stop them. 

Roque-n-Role

Just some smidgens this evening.

Laughing:  At Alexandre, a 6th-grader I called up to the board.  He actually sniffed the whiteboard marker I gave him, as if to test to see if it had a buzz-giving odor. 

Wondering:   If English textbooks will ever stop using the word "pussycat."  Do English people really say that?  This morning I almost said "J'ai une chatte" with my 8th graders.  Chatte is a slang term for -- yep -- p/ussy.   They snickered.  It was kind of hard not to laugh.  But then if you can't laugh at yourself, who can you laugh at?  Aside from marker-sniffing 11-year olds, of course.

Thinking:  Teaching six hours in one day is tiring. 

Proud:  Of my own children.  My daughter is in the middle of evaluations, and she got some grades today.  The French grade out of 20, and in math she has 20, 19, and 15.  (Average is 10, of course).  In history she got 20/20. 

I just had to save the best for last. 

Ahhh...Youth

For homework, one of my 8th grade classes had to think of five jobs a teenager can do to earn pocket money. 

Me:  Tell me what you found. 

Girl:  Euuuuh, bébéseeter? 

Me:  Yes.  Can you make a complete sentence? 

Girl:  Euuh, teenager can do ze bébéseeting? 

Me:  Almost.  Can anyone help Girl?  (I didn't say "Bueller?"  but damn, I wanted to).

[No answer from the class.  I wrote on the whiteboard:  Teenagers can babysit.]

Me:  Okay, did you find another job that teenagers can do? 

Boy:  Drug dealer?

Bad Chemistry (aka The Marble Story)

By popular demand, here is the marble story.  I hope I can do it justice. 

Yesterday, le mardi maudit, I taught six 55-minute classes.  My last class, from 4:00 to 5:00, is never an easy one.  The students are tired and so am I. 

In my school, the kids line up outside the classroom door and wait for permission to enter.  They take their places, and remain standing until the teacher tells them to sit down.  The first time I saw students do this (years ago in a different school), I was shocked, but as time wore on I realized that such discipline contributes to order in the classroom.  Usually.

Maudit Mardi

The day started off pretty well.  I had to laugh this morning.  Just as we were about to leave for day care, I heard my son singing Abba. 

It's a little disconcerting to hear your first-grader chant "Gimme gimme gimme a man after midnight."    But then, this is the kid who wanted me to paint his toenails.  Things went downhill from there. 

The Hazards Of Teaching

Over here in France the kids learn British English, mostly.  This is not a bad thing; it's geographically logical.  When I was learning Spanish in Pennsylvania, it was Latin American Spanish rather than Spanish Spanish.  And that's why I can't get my head around that Castillian lithp.  But I digress.

Sometimes I stop my lesson and say "Open parentheses."  Then I explain whatever quirk has come to mind.  Mostly my parentheses have cultural overtones, but sometimes they are lingustic.  When I revise the alphabet with the 6th graders, I tell them that I learned to say the last letter differently than they did.  And so they shouldn't be surprised if it pops out of my mouth that way.  It's a reflex.  (But let's be honest.  Does "ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXY and Zed" sound good to you?) 

This afternoon with my "second language" 7th graders (they started learning German last year; it is their "first language") I worked on naming classroom objects.  I peeked into one kid's pencil case, asked if I could take something out, and pulled out an eraser. "What's this?" I asked.   Lloyd, whose real name is really Lloyd, blurted out "Der  Gummi!" (or die or das, I don't know).  I smiled.  Lloyd is what the French call un branleur, and I was surprised (yet pleased) by his participation.  The French word for eraser is une gomme, which resembles the German Gummi, of course, and tell me you're NOT thinking of fruity little bears right now. 

I shook my head at Lloyd, all the while marvelling at linguistic interconnectedness.  Another pupil pulled out her eraser, which happened to have the word "eraser" printed on it in many languages.  She figured out which one was the American word for it, and I nodded.  In the meantime, another pupil had racked his brain and had found the word he'd learned in elementary school. 

"It's a rubber," he said. 

I'm so juvenile.

I managed to keep from chortling.

"Yes," I said, and  explained that the Americans and the British used a different word for der Gummi. 

Close parentheses. 

Thank You

To everyone who's supported me these past months.  For you blog readers, my announcement about three weeks ago was a real shocker, but a few people out there (including my family, who don't read this blog because they don't know about it) were aware of what was going on and offered me their moral support. 

I don't know what to say.  Some of you reading this are my friends from way back, when I still lived in the States.  Some of you are friends I met online.  Some of you are fellow bloggers, and maybe we are on the way to becoming friends.  You've all reached out to me in one way or another, and I thank you.

There's one person out there who has done so much for me.  A special thanks goes out to you, sweetness, for being a true friend during these tough times.  You'll always be in my heart, no matter what. 

Now I'm done being sentimental.  Prepare thee, for I am going into rant mode. 

[on]

I'm fucking exhausted.  I've never been so tired, not even after giving birth, I don't think. Of course, women tend to forget everything about birth.  Nature's way of assuring that we will continue to accept getting pregnant, you know. 

So here I am, ass dragon, and all I can say is "When will it stop?" 

[/off]

That was quite a mild rant.  I'll have to do better next time.

This week was pretty interesting.  I can't believe I'm going to say this, but I enjoyed teaching.  I have six different classes, from 6th to 9th grade, although the 7th grade class is just starting English.  They're using the 6th grade book, so it's as if I have two classes each of 6th, 8th, and 9th grades. 

You have to forge a reputation during the first days of class, and if it's not a good one, you're done for.  Last spring I realized that I didn't care if the kids liked me, so that has helped.  I've also gained a lot of confidence.  That helps, too. 

But the best part is putting the kids back in their place.  Some funny things have happened this week, and during class I'd think "I have to blog that. Oh!  I definitely have to blog that!" 

One technique I use to learn names is to give each kid a note card that they have to fold in half lengthwise and write their name on, so that they can place the card in front of themselves and I can read their names.  There are different games you can do with these cards, so they make good icebreakers at the beginning of class.  A few 9th grade smart asses decided it would be funny to write different names on the back of their cards, and turned the cards around to show the new names.  One kid wrote "Dieu," which of course means "God."  Heh heh.  I forget what I told him, but in essence I put him in his place.  That doesn't mean he has stopped testing me, of course.
Another smartass wrote "Britney Spears" on his card.  He was talking, making comments that first day, and I looked at him and said "Watch it, or I'm going to call you 'Britney' all year."  His neighbors laughed.  I think I've called him Britney about 10 times since then. 

God and Britney Spears both had to do extra homework for talking too much in class, and neither did it.  For the next class, they have to do the original work, plus another assignment.  After that, if they bug me, I'm going to whip out the detention slips so fast. 

Another thing that made me laugh happened in three different classes.  French kids invariably get confused about the use of "his" and "her".  So I would use classmates to illustrate the point.  Depending on if I was indicating a boy or a girl, I'd say "His hair is brown," or "Her hair is red."  Etcetera.  Without fail, at least one boy, while I was pointing to another boy, would say "Her" -- in essence, calling his male classmate a girl.  Each time I'd make a comment about how funny the student was.  That made the others laugh, and sort of embarrassed the kids who tried to make the joke.

I don't believe in ridiculing or humiliating students.  But there are ways to deflect their attempts to draw attention to themselves.  If you can do it with humor, all the better.

The other thing I wanted to blog about was the 6th and 7th grade classes.  They're in their first year of English, and we start the first lessons with simple things like greetings and the alphabet.  We also worked on English words that are used in French, to show them how much they already know.  The kids came up with the usual: sandwich, hamburger, t-shirt, etc.  One 7th grader (OMG, he's a boy and his name is Joy.  No shit) raised his hand and said (brightly, I might add), "String!" 

Some of you might know what "string" is in French.  Before the rest of you go scrambling for your online translators, let me tell you:  it means "thong."  (By the way, it's un string, for those of you interested in gender). 

I looked at the kid over the top of my glasses.  For a few seconds I didn't say a word.  Then I said, "Uh, no.  And I'm not going to tell you the English for un string . 

I almost choked when one of the 6th graders came up with the same word.  Those sweet little faces hide a lot of worldly knowledge. 

Of course, when I thought about mentioning these things here on my blog, I planned to write about them in a much wittier way.  At least they're "down on paper". 

That's the best I can do right now. 

 

Yesterday's Day

I have absolutely nothing to say.  Except that yesterday was the last day of my teacher training course, and it was probably the most informative of the entire year.  Our professors asked teachers who'd been through the program two or three years ago to come back and tell us about their first experiences as full-fledged teachers with an 18-hour/week workload. 

As I listened, I wondered why these teachers hadn't come to see us at the beginning of the school year.  Their advice was so practical -- no didactic bla-bla -- and THAT'S what I've needed to learn.

But whatever.  In a year or two I'll be asked to go back and recount my experiences.  I hope I can sound as confident as those young teachers (all of them were younger than I am). 

In the meantime, I'm waiting to hear where I'll be teaching next year.  I do hope it's not too far away.  A lot is hanging in the balance. 

I Would Laugh If This Weren't So Depressing

Here's an article I read in The Onion last night. 

Just another addition to my jar of reasons why I refuse to be a teacher for the rest of my life.  (Any of yas out there hiring?  I'm smart and catch on real quick). 

Actually, thinking about that Onion article and teaching reminded me of my 12th grade English teacher, Mr. Segedy. The first day of class, he recited The Lord's Prayer in Old English.  I'll never forget that: "Faeder Ure..."

He was a cool teacher. I remember he made really good sound effects.  And when we were studying Shakespeare's Sonnet # 18, he asked the class "What could we say if we were comparing someone to a summer's day?  What could we say about Alison?"

The guy sitting next to me (omigosh I had a huge crush on him) piped up with "She's hot?"

I did get hot that day. Hot and red in the face, but I was secretly delighted. See, I was such a geek in high school, and never got asked out, never got invited to parties (Hey DMU, remember OHAB? LOL), and I may not even have had my driver's license at that point.

But let's not forget what happened to the ugly duckling.

Anyhoo, three out of four of my high school English teachers were excellent.  I hope that during my years of teaching, I affect some of my students in a positive way.

 

And not because I'm hot, either.

                               ****

Here are the links I wanted to add to this entry, but which kept turning my entire text into one big link full of HTML gibberish, so I took them out:

The Lord's Prayer in Old English

Sonnet # 18

I don't know why they're working here but not up there.  I'm not going to try again.  I've already spent way too much time fiddling with the damn things.  It's time for me to get ready for work. 

They Sparkle And Shine

This morning I gave my 9th graders a test.   In correcting them later on, I found a few gems, and I wanted to share them.

In response to questions like "What have you been doing all day?" and "What have you done to prepare for this test?" and "Why is John so ill?" :

- For this test, I have done learn my English's book. 

- I have been doing in the park with my friends.

- John has been illing because he has been eating a bad horse.

Exercise using if and would to talk about hypothetical situations: 

- If I went to a desert island, I would take my girlfriends.

- If I went to a desert island, I would take a bottle of water.

- If I went to a desert island, I would buy a new house. 

(at least they got the grammar right on those ones).

And talking about what people wish: 

- I wish went in the cold country.  (Response to "It's so hot!"

- Does you wish to could to eat an French hot dog.  (Ditto to "Oh, no!  We're out of mustard!")

I really really hope it's them and not me.  As in, I really hope it's not my fault. 

I don't think so.  My friend Laetitia teaches as well, and one of her students wrote on a test that the Australians celebrate Christmas in the summertime because Christmas there falls on July 26th. 

Thoughts For The End Of The Week

I swear it's a concidence.  Air emanates from my speakers every time I decide to write a blog entry.  This time it's ephemeral -- I'm listening to the radio.  So now Seal is on.  I just thought it was pretty weird; this is the third or so time that I've been listening to Air while blogging. 

Speaking of coincidences, in this morning's mail I received two small packages of CDs.  I'd been expecting the one -- a friend had copied a couple of David Sedaris CDs for me.  The other package was a total surprise: it was a compilation from the very friend who introduced me to Sedaris's work.  Three years ago for my birthday he sent me a copy of  Me Talk Pretty One Day.  That was a surprise gift too.  I have cool friends, don't I? 

This afternoon I had a parent-teacher meeting at the parent's request.  I was a bit nervous because I'd heard that this particular father was very strict, and I thought he was going to get all on my case for not being a strict enough teacher. Au contraire, he was a lovely, cordial man who just wanted to let me know that he agreed with the type of punishment I'd given, and that the message had been received loud and clear.  Another nice surprise.

On the way home from work I started listening to David Sedaris "Live at Carnegie Hall" and almost had an accident because I was laughing so hard.  Well, not really, but I decided I'd better be careful.  I decided to go directly to school to get the kids instead of going home first, so I got there with a half an hour to spare.  I parked the car and continued listening to Sedaris.  Passersby must have thought I was nuts.  I laughed so hard I cried.  It was great. 

The French have started teaching English in the elementary schools, and this year the program was extended into the 3rd grade.  C. gets to go listen to a French woman teaching English.  It bores her to tears.  She came home once and told me that the teacher said "toh-MAH-toe".  I explained that that was okay.  Then I saw her notebook.  The teacher had given a handout with pictures of different foods, with their names in English.  So far so good, la trace écrite est primordiale.  Except the teacher took the P from raspberry and added it to grape, so the kids are learning rasberry and grappe. AND she used the French word for pineapple:  ananas.   

The French wonder why they're so bad at foreign languages.  There are lots of reasons, but starting 8-year olds off learning errors won't help matters. 

Last night I awoke to the deep rumbling of thunder.  I lay there and listened, wondering where the lightning was striking, and if it was striking the ocean waters.  There is a passage in Life of Pi that describes lightning at sea.  I hoped my kids wouldn't be scared and want to come into bed with me.  Selfish thought, but it was hot enough with two bodies in the bed.  This morning C. told me she had heard the thunder and was a bit scared because it was "louder than the cinema."  T slept through it all. 

As I lay there listening, I ran through a list of things I wanted to blog about, and of course I can't remember a single item now.  I'll have to keep a stack of Post-Its on my nightstand or something for that kind of late-night rumination. 

Thinking:  It's Miller Time.  I mean Pelforth time.

Say-La-Vee

Q: Why do blondes wear big hoop earrings?

 

A: So that they have somewhere to put their legs. 

 

This joke, which I first heard in French a couple of months ago, is NOT the reason that I don't wear my big hoop earrings anymore.  I laughed one of those head-thrown-back laughs when I heard it, so no.  It's not the joke. 

 

It's all the teenaged girls walking around with these big honking hoops, so big that the earrings turn sideways in order to accommodate the shoulder. 

 

OK.  I might be exaggerating.  But not by much. 

 

What a way to introduce my 8th graders!  A couple of them wear those huge hoops: my worst students, and troublemakers, to boot.   Pauline reminds me of a cow with her big, stupid eyes and her stature.  Chloé is more like a ferret, thin-lipped and sneaky.  Marianne sometimes doesn't wear hoops, but she acts and dresses like the man candy that she is at the ripe age of 14. 

 

Never mind what they do; they're part of the class dynamic.  Today I noticed a few things while teaching, and I thought "Blog material," but now that I actually am in front of the computer I can't remember any of it, except the hoop earring part. 

 

Oh yeah.  I remember now.  But this is 9th grade.  This afternoon this kid (also a troublemaker) asked me what "W-E-E-D" meant.  I replied that it meant "bad grass," as the French call weeds.  I said it could also mean "grass" and another troublemaker said "As in gazon?"  Gazon is lawn, but it's also slang for a woman's pubic hair. 

 

It took a lot of willpower not to laugh.  I looked at Alexis as sternly as I could, and said "No."  Then they explained that the Dutch exchange students who'd been there this past week had asked them "You want some weed?"  They looked at each other, ready to laugh.   

 

I just said "Oh, that's nice" and continued my lesson.  I should have said, "I'll be telling the principal."   However, it takes all of my self-control to keep a straight face at times like that.  The authoritative retorts don't come to my head until later.  And it's not as if my telling the principal will change anything.  You can't punish someone on hearsay, and she knows as well as I do that these kids smoke pot. 

 

I do hope that I'll get better at retorting as time goes on, though. 

 

In the meantime, it's going to take a lot of strength to get through these next 5 weeks of class.  It's spring, the kids are rowdy, and they know a whole lot more than I did when I was their age. 

 

I'll try to file away more anecdotes.  I'm sure class time will be rife with potential stories. 

 

Feeling:  Pretty damn good.

 

Loving:  The selection of CDs a friend sent me.

 

Hating:  My seeming inability to control my students and my lack of authority over them.  Must. Get. A better grip on things next year. 

 

How to Annoy Me:  Ask me if I have "some music" to listen to while I'm enjoying the soundtrack to Lost In Translation.