I (meaning Mike) teach at Seohae Elementary School, which is just a few blocks from our apartment building, so the walk is pretty short. But the path leads past another school, Yeonsan Elementary, so the sidewalks are pretty full of kids most mornings. And it’s now the rainy season, so the sidewalks are full of umbrellas held at my chest level, which is amusing, as though I’m walking through a field of giant, Oz-bright mushrooms.
So this morning I got to school around 8:30 and barely had time to put my hat and umbrella away before one of my speech students came in looking for practice. There’s a citywide speech competition on July 9, and we’re sending two students. Each of them has chosen a speech to memorize and answer questions about. My student this morning was telling me about Susan Boyle, and how she never gave up on her dream to be a real singer, even though everyone laughed at her. I helped her with her sentence cadences, pronunciation, then asked her a few questions the judges might ask her. We finished up around 8:55, meaning I had to get ready for my nine-o’clock class.
Usually I teach five classes of fifth grade on Friday, but today, two classes have been canceled for memorial services in remembrance of the Korean war. There’s a lot of fluidity to the schedule here – I’ve been teaching about six weeks now, and there hasn’t been a week yet that has stuck to the schedule. There’s always some reason to shift things around, like field trips, or sports day, or the homeroom teacher wants to finish up a lesson. You learn not to mind, and to roll with the flow.
I taught the fifth graders a lesson on how to propose an activity. You know, “Let’s play baseball” or “How about swimming!” Then they learn phrases like “Sorry, I can’t.” Or, oddly enough, “No Problem” or “Why not? I can swim well.” You’d think they’d learn, “Okay, let’s do it.” I could go on and on about the phrases they choose to teach, but won’t. It’s a whole other post.
That’s fifth grade, which I teach pretty much alone. Sometimes the homeroom teacher sticks around, grading papers in the back, but usually they leave the room, and I’m at the mercy of the fifth graders. It’s not like sixth grade, which I teach on Wednesdays and Thursdays. I have a co-teacher who goes in with me then, and we trade parts of the lesson. I try to speak to them as much as I can, and hope they pick up a few things here and there. It’s funny when I think about how little English they hear in their lives – they get three forty minute classes a week, and I’m only there for one of those hours, so they maybe hear a native speaker for twenty minutes a week (unless they go to Hagwon, which most of them do, and that’s another post entirely).
For some reason, I think you’ll find the slipper situation interesting, so here I go.
When we get to work, we all change out of our street shoes and put on ‘slippers.’ I don’t know why I say slippers, they’re more like sandals – hard-soled sandals with a strap over the top. Mine are ten dollars, black, with cheap fake leather. Some of the guy teachers wear what you’d call beach shoes, of even cheaper plastic, like you’d wear in the dorms on the way to the shower. They’re sold on the street for three bucks. Even the principal and all the support staff, every morning they come into the entryway, put their regular shoes into a cubby and take out their sandals for the day. The women wear what wouldn’t even be called sandals – many of them wear 3-inch block soled mules with a strap and little flowers pasted on. Very stylish. I’ve yet to notice anyone having different sandals for different outfits, but it may or may not happen.
The kids all have sandals, too, but they’re more like shoes. They’re white, with pink soles and trim for the girls and blue soles and trim for the boys. Every morning they come in and take their shoes off at the door, then carry the shoes up to homeroom, where they swap them out for their sandals. Elementary kids don’t wear uniforms, but they all wear the same shoes.
Lunch here is pretty fantastic, tell the truth. It’s all made from fresh ingredients in the kitchen on the second floor by a staff of about ten lunch ladies and the head nutritionist. You can look into the kitchen and see huge drums where they mix the food. All the lunch ladies wear white coats with pink collars, pink aprons, pink caps, and pink rubber boots. They also wear masks, but don’t think it’s necessary that the masks cover their noses, which is both amusing and disturbing. Kids help with the food service, too, putting on masks and hats and strawberry-print aprons to hand out fruit, or take your tray at the station in the back.
Wow I didn’t mean to go so long here, and I only got through half the day. So, let me sign off now and continue some other time.