Wednesday, February 22, 2006
Matronly
“Pia Teacher wants to be a writer. She wants to write books. What do you want to be when you grow up?” I asked a kindergarten class on one of those manic Mondays.
“I want to be a scientist. I want to make money.”
“I want to be a firefighter. I want to fight fires.”
“I want to be a salesperson.” (“Why?”) “I want to own a 7-11 in Canada!” (“Um. Okay.”)
“I want to be a Pia Teacher!” exclaimed Sandy, throwing her arms up in the air.
For every hundred 30-minute classes that make me want to pull out my own hair, there’s five seconds that make my heart pump madly in jubilation.
I have come close to quitting my job three times. I was tired of spending more than half my day in the office while other English teachers clocked in 20 hours a week. The first time I began to pack my bags, my parents talked me out of it. My supervisor cut a few hours off my schedule the second time around.
The third time, I stuck around for the kids.
Now those of you who know me personally are well aware of the fact that I don’t want children—ever. But over the past couple of weeks, my students have really grown on me.
There’s Sandy, my eager-to-please darling. Not only did she memorize her lines for the upcoming school plays in one weekend, but everyone else’s as well.
Then there’s Michael. He compensates for his tiny stature by kicking other students, running into walls and making up these crazy touchdown dances. I used to dread being in the same room as him. But now he’s taking in English like oxygen, and while he still stirs the class into a riot, just watching him respond to my questions in his two-minute periods of solemnity is a reward all in itself. (And I’ve joined in the dancing, much to the kids’ delight.)
But the first kid who ever warmed up to me was Larry. With his pale, perfectly round face, he has one of the most adorable tykes I’ve ever seen. I just want to pinch his cheeks whenever I see him. And his singing voice is shit but he becomes so absorbed during songs and dances that I can’t tell him to stop.
Larry also has the constant need to be cuddled. Whenever I enter his line of vision, he putters into me, jerks down my cheap acrylic sweaters and forces himself into my arms. If I’m reading a passage he’ll sit on my lap, and there’s this nook in between his shoulder and neck that’s perfect for my chin. He smells like milk and rice all the time.
One day I was pouring hot water for my third cup of coffee when I saw him sitting on the stairwell, his forehead on his knees. I set aside my drink and sat next to him, resting my hand on his back. “What’s wrong?” I asked.
And then he lifted his head, stared up at me with those slanted black eyes, and planted his face across my lap. I held him for five minutes, stroking his wet hair, all the while blinking back tears. I knew then that I loved him, that I had stupidly allowed myself to grow emotionally attached. And, to my despair, he loved me.
No matter how much I’ll need to leave, I won’t. At least not until my contract ends.
Last Friday, as I was handing out science kits to the kids, Michael bowed and said, “Thank you. Om-ma.” Mommy.
“Don’t call me that,” I said, lowering my face to conceal my grin.
But they had seen it. They all started chanting Omma, pulling at my arms and wrapping their arms around my legs. I was dragged to the ground, peppered with kisses, my carefully-prepared kits spilling on the floor. I laughed, sat up and held them close. “Don’t be a baby,” I chided, flicking Michael on the forehead.
Of course, I would never want to take any of my students home. Being their teacher is hellish enough.
But being their Pia Teacher—now that’s another story.
Pia at 1:46 AM
3 Comments
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at 4:10 AM
Jeff said... It's good to hear you're sticking out Korea, Pia Teacher
The luxury, and at the same time the biggest downside, of substitute teaching that I've come across is that bonding with the students is really not worth it. You're in for a day, a fill in for the normal teacher, and then you're out. I have a tendency to want to make friends with the kids, but I find myself reverting to "tough asshole" when they try to get too close, or try to take advantage of my niceness. But it really is the five seconds of joy that make the hours of Hell worth it in the end. Keep fighting the good fight, C.-
at 6:11 AM
Kevin Sole said...
Ah, that's a totally adorable story, Pia (C/Muse). :)
I think they're very lucky to have you as their Teacher; to have you as their role model.
Michael sounds like a hoot. Much like I would have wanted to be when I was younger, but that's an entirely different story (as always, with me).-
at 9:15 PM
Pia said...
Thanks for the comments, gents. Being a teacher--and a role model--is extremely difficult. But for the most part I love my job. It's just very stressful and overwhelming. But I am seriously considering going back to grad school to become a teacher.
I won't post too often about work, just in case one of my employers stumbles across the blog.
Just know that there's the good, the ugly, and the kids. I'll have to learn how to live with all three.
