Drawing Conclusions

The most important week of the year has finally drawn upon our grade eleven students and teachers. Nerves are shot. Eyes are wide and slightly panicked. The halls are quiet and everyone is looking for some love. I knew this week would come, but I never imagined it would be this strange. My grade elevens are being tested on their reading, writing, listening and speaking skills so as to pass the infamous ESLA exam for their Canadian high school diploma. Without this pass, they can’t even apply to a university outside of China—and that application is the light at the end of the tunnel for most of them.

I know many Canadians struggle to get into university, but I didn’t. My friends didn’t either (not like this). I now see that it is a huge gift that we take for granted because we can speak English and we just don’t understand what that means to millions of non-English speaking people in the world who are struggling because of it. I’m not kidding—these kids fight every day to keep their hopes high, their grades up, and their ESL vocabulary memorable. I mean sure, to be fair, I do teach many students who are what we tag, “yes, no, toaster,” meaning-well-exactly. That is the extent of their English ability-and they could reach further and achieve more-but, to be just-a fair number of them also have undiagnosed learning disabilities that the Chinese education and medical system turns a blind eye to. The rest of them are just regular kids who want to play world of war craft and b-ball instead of studying something incredibly unnatural and difficult.

But I digress…the kids who are wide eyed and needy this week are the ones who cram 100+ new English vocabulary words into their brains each week, use their pocket translators more than their toothbrushes, and strive to have a conversation with me everyday-just to practice. They have big dreams of going to U of T, UBC, U of O, and York—all their family wants for them is to study in Canada and make something of themselves. Imagine having those shoes on your feet, except you are learning French or Spanish and have to leave a well overpopulated Canada in search for an overpriced education and underpaid job so that your parents can eat when they are old.

So when my students come to me before the speaking test this week, just looking for a smile, some words of confidence, or a huge hug—you bet I get emotional. Every so often I peak over the library walls and watch them being interviewed by a foreigner from Canada, my hands get kind of sweaty and I feel uncomfortable and excited. And then afterwards, they find me at my desk and they looked flushed and relieved, telling me the questions they were asked and how they responded—I just wanna whoop and holler like some ballistic mother at a soccer game.

At times I feel completely inadequate for this job-constantly second-guessing what I’m teaching and how I teach it. I wonder if I prepared them for this exam, and am I getting them appropriately prepped for university. I question whether I should be teaching from worksheets, and rule based grammar lessons more and lessening the ‘fun’ aspect of my classroom. In the coffee room today, I was commenting on this with one of my fellow teachers, she is from Newfoundland, retired, international teacher-older than the hills and wiser than we give her credit for. She pointed at the papers I had on the table and she says, “My dear, do you think they’ll remember any of this stuff you taught? Do you remember much of what you were taught in school?”
“No, not really. I could have worked harder I think, then maybe I would.”
“No…no…your wrong there (I love her style). They won’t remember a damn thing you taught them this year—but they will remember how you made ‘em feel. I had a student once write to me after he graduated, and he said, ‘Mrs. _____________, you were the only teacher that ever smiled at me.’ And I tell ya, that really kicked a hole in my bucket.”
No word of a lie—this really happened—and the woman gave me goose bumps and a massive lump in my throat. She went on to tell me that I have the makings of a great teacher, and the way I rail against the unfairness of the Chinese school system reminds her of herself at my age, but she had to learn to choose her battles, and one day I will too. I think she’s right. But earlier this week I discovered one of my students has severe dyslexia, and that’s why her marks have suffered so much this year. It’s June, people. I JUST discovered this. That was a low, loooooow point in my week. It ‘kicked a hole in my bucket.’

Anyway, to conclude, it’s a big week for everyone, and being reminded of how invested I am in my student’s aspirations and day to day choices is the most rewarding feeling I have had a in a long time. I really was meant for this job and I’m grateful to realize that.

PS. One of my students did a PPT about Vancouver for a project we’re doing, and misspelled Stanley Park and wrote Stanky Park instead. Another group of students did a PPT about Montreal attractions and one of them was “Homosexuality Paradise” with an arrow pointing at a subway sign. Gold!

xox