The School Skinny

It occurs to me that I kind of take my teaching scenario for granted, even though most of what they told us about it was news to me at orientation. So this post may be a little dry, but I'll explain the way things work.

The kids have a regular Korean-person English teacher who goes through the textbook and does all the meat & potatoes stuff with them. Then, once a week, I show up along with their regular teacher, to let them hear what English really sounds like. Now that I'm saying that, I'm really not sure why they're paying so much to have me here, but I'm not complaining. The "native" English teacher is not the one who was born here, but the native English speaker. In elementary schools, the native teacher follows the state-supplied textbook and teaches one of the regular lessons. Upper level schools have more freedom, and, fortunately, mine opted not to have me use the textbook (they have a really scattershot approach and are very hard to organize around). So I have 21 classes/week, each of whom I see once, and I do practical stuff with them--shopping, talking on the phone, asking directions. My job is to model pronunciation and supply practical phrases that people really use (like many language textbooks, this is a major weakness: asking the kids "How are you?" invariably yields a mechanical "I am fine, thank you", and every time I thank one of my co-teachers for anything, he responds, "Don't mention it").

Our middle school has 7th-9th grades, but they are called 1st-3rd--in Korea, moving up means starting over. I teach 9 3rd grades, 9 2nd grades, and 3 1st grades (the most advanced). 1st & 2nd graders are split into classes by ability; the 3rd graders are mixed (no idea why). I have 5 different co-teachers (and when I say "different", I really mean it), 3 men and 2 women. 2 of the guys are really nice and have good control of the class, 1 woman has a personality sort of like mine, really, and has no control of the kids, and the remaining 2 are scary & routinely whack kids with their sticks. I didn't know any of their names until someone redid my schedule & anglicized the names. The scary woman is also the head English teacher, so she can boss me around if she wants to. Of all the co-teachers, we're supposed to have one who is mainly in charge of us and answers all our questions and tells us what to do and is basically your Korean mom. Mine is actually a 6th person, whom I don't have any classes with, but she's really nice and helpful. I call her by her English name, Terrie, but apparently no one else does because when I referred to her this way to another teacher, I got a blank look.

I don't know what the other teachers call each other because I can't understand them, but I refer to the others as Mr. or Ms. whatever, except for the head teacher, whom I call "son sang nim", the Korean term of respect. The kids don't address teachers by name, calling them all "son sang nim" and me just "teacher". Occasionally, they will remember my name, in which case I am "Muh-lee-sah". I don't know any of their names, and I'm not expected to. The first week, I was going to have them introduce themselves until I realized I have 600 students and no hope of remembering anything. From what I can tell, the Korean teachers don't know their names, either...I think they all have a chair number and go by that. When we talked of making small, mixed-ability groups in each class, the teachers were going to have to look at the kids' test scores to see who knows their stuff. I am getting to know the kids in EEP, but cannot remember their names to save my life. Not a problem I'm used to having! And no one ever calls them the "kids", it's always "students".

After doing group work with some of the classes, I really understand why we were warned that it would be difficult. These kids are never asked to do anything in class but sit and pay attention, and they either go nuts or clam up when the paradigm is changed.

Instead of the teachers having a room of their own and the kids moving around, it is the opposite. I have a cubicle in an office with 5 other teachers, 2 of whom teach Social Studies (I don't know why the other English teachers aren't in there...it would be so convenient). I have to carry all my supplies to each class & back, and if I use a PowerPoint or other computer thing, I have to have it on a USB and hope the computer in the classroom works. The classroom computers are kept locked, and turned on & off between every period. One of the kids is the keeper of the key, so I have to locate that kid, and then usually get to spend a few minutes standing in front of the class waiting for the computer to boot up and recognize my USB. Not that starting promptly is a big thing. The first day or two, I conscientiously got to my classes before the bell rang, so everything would be ready to go right on time. But then Mr. Kwon, who's the friendliest and most helpful, told me to relax a bit...you don't actually leave for class until the bell has already rung (or the music has played, rather). And if I have consecutive classes in adjacent rooms...I still go to the office and hang out in between.

For lunch, there's a separate cafeteria for the teachers that serves better food. (I'm told...one of those soggy, square #46 school pizzas sounds pretty appealing right now, with the plastic tray of canned fruit, and a peanut butter & jelly bar...but I digress) Other differences...the library is only open after school (a royal pain); I want to bring in a picture of the cats to put on my desk, but nobody else has anything of the sort; there are always puddles of water on the floor (this probably isn't an all-around Korean thing, but who knows); and the teachers take no responsibility for the kids outside of class--they can throw rocks, run through the halls, shove people, whatever, and it doesn't faze anyone. Several times, I've heard a tremendous commotion and expected everyone to go running, but nobody blinks.

My favorite part, of course, is the full-length mirrors at the front of every classroom, 'cause I LOVE looking at myself and especially watching myself do things.