I Would Like to Make a Complaint

For the last few weeks, I've been holding writing labs with my seniors, mainly because so many of them were hounding me during any free period and after school to ask for my help. It also reduces the amount of time spent planning, but mostly it frees up my time to do the rest of my work. And help students, some of whom might not seek me out on their own time.

Slowly, however, the requests have trickled off, so next week we'll be back to our regularly scheduled programming. And today, I found myself wrapping up college-planning questions with my three students who wanted it and nothing left to do. I noticed one of my students with a box of flashcards. Oh, I love flashcards. And there's no better way to ingratiate yourself into an independent study moment than a box of flashcards.

(You should know that this is all happening with the one class that I did not teach last year, so I do not know these students well. More importantly, they don't know me very well.)

I walked up to her, pretty much the same way I did above. "Oh, I love flashcards. Can I help you study? It's about American history? Even better!"

She looked at me with more than a little trepidation and a fair amount of skepticism. I mean, they know I'm American and all, but seriously? I teach English. What the hell do I know? But if I'm anything, I'm a relentless bastard (ask my Canadian — he said as much to TC2), and there was no way I was taking no for an answer. And let's face it, she's Chinese and she's from a good family, so she's predisposed to doing school work and doing what she's told without any lip. So, she wasn't likely to say no anyway. Maaaaybe I took a little advantage of the situation, but mainly I wanted to do something and I do so love history.

So I sat down and took up the pile of flashcards that she said she'd already "memorized" (maybe she said "learned", although "studied" would be my choice if we were getting semantic). I flipped to a card in the middle, and asked her about it.

Most of them I knew, a few of them I'd never heard of, but all of them I could help her locate within a larger context. When she couldn't list the likely candidates in the New England Confederation (she was throwing out states like New York and Virginia  — Virginia!), I drew her a (horrible) map of the Northeast and helped her see how tying her knowledge to geography could help her find an answer to such a question.

When class ended, she had a free period and wanted to remain (after wanting so desperately to escape my clutches). I spent the next period with her, talking history. We talked about William Jennings Bryan and his Cross of Gold and how he supported a populist movement (of the farmers against the Eastern bankers) and tied that idea to Shay's Rebellion a century earlier. We compared the Stono Rebellion (which I never learned about) to Nat Turner's Rebellion. We talked about the surge in violence right before the Civil War (Bloody Kansas!). We discussed the tension between fierce independence and the government's responsibility to help its populace. We saw how the Whigs and the Free Soil Party combined to form the Republican Party, why it was such a phenomenon, and why there are still Southern Democrats.

Fast forward five hours. I was on my way back to my desk after a meeting with the counseling (excuse me, counselling) department to do a bit more marking before heading home when I ran into another one of my students. I'm sure I've told you about her before. She's the really keen one; the one with eyes as big as saucers in each and every class, trying to suck in as much information as possible with her limited, but vastly expanded, understanding of English.

She button-holed me, as they do. She was reading a novel, and wanted my help in keeping her focused on it. Aw, shucks. What English teacher worth her salt wouldn't say yes? What was she reading? None other than Oliver Twist. So, after breaking into a chorus or two of "Oliver" (Oliver, what will he do in this terrible stew? He will rue the day somebody named him O-li-ver), I told her Dickens' secret: he was paid by the word. From there, the conversation ranged from the number of words in the common English lexicon over time (Shakespeare had a way bigger working vocabulary than we do because speaking English was a mark of national pride) to Chinese and English idioms (when you go on too long in Chinese, it's as long as the wrappings used in foot binding, but it ain't over until the fat lady sings). We talked about using big words and how it can make people feel bad and you look snooty, but sometimes, those words are the most perfect words and they should be used.

And then I got pulled away by my Chinese principal to find the best photograph of our ill colleague to use to make a mask — a la Evil Steve for any kickballers reading this — so we can take photos of him around town to send to him.

So, the next time I find something to complain about (and I will, because there are things to complain about) kindly point me back to this post. Because when all is said and done (and this in a 6-day work week following an 8-day work week with a 1-day weekend), this job totally rawks.