Just as a side note, it has occurred to me since I first heard the real version of this story -- well before seeing Charlie Wilson's War -- that the zen master could be either very zen, or a neurotic who never gives up. Food for (nervous) thought.
There was once a zen master, a young man who knew well how to ride the frequently oscillating currents of life. This zen master also wrote screenplays, kept a blog, and (occasionally) taught adorable little French kids to speak English.
One day, the administration told the zen master he would be teaching all by himself. His neighbor consoled him for the hardship, but the zen master simply said:
"Well, we'll see."
It turned out his life was much simpler without having to coordinate unnecessarily with several teachers. "This is wonderful," his neighbor said. The zen master replied, "Well, we'll see."
Then, one day, the zen master's fellow teachers asked him to give his students evaluations, since no one else could. Everyone consoled the zen master, but again he replied, "Well, we'll see."
After grading tests for several hours, camera close by, the zen master returned them to students. He also posted several dozen photos of their funniest mistakes for friends and family to enjoy. "This is wonderful," the neighbor gushed, "These photos are great!"
"Yeah," the zen master replied, "They're freaking hilarious."
Showing posts with label Teaching. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Teaching. Show all posts
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Thursday, February 2, 2012
A Case of the Randoms
I promise you that, one day, my entries will go back to having some sort of organizing principle.
Today, however, is not that day.
...
Last week, I had my oldest kids playing "Point-To," which is about as simple as it sounds. I put a bunch of flashcards on the board, two kids come up, I say "Point to... 'Raining'!" (or "sunny" or "foggy" or "flunderstorming"). First kid to point to the right answer wins. They love it. Before we started on this particular day, I realized there were exactly 16 kids in the class.
OH SNAP IT'S TOURNAMENT TIME.
'Cause I know y'all just can't wait to see how this ends...
Final round, folks... place your bets.
Ta-da...!
...
A few of my classes had ski lessons scheduled for this week, where they would leave school as a class and go on a bus up to the mountains for their P.E. Those lessons were all cancelled because of unsafe driving conditions on snowy roads.
Ski lessons. Cancelled on account of snow. So French! SO FREAKING FRENCH!
...
This is a brick of peanuts. I bought it. And yes, a brick.
...
A dear friend of mine from back home, one David Adler, is coming to visit from April 21st-29th. It's gonna' be rockin' awesome. If you're reading this and likely to still be in Paris/Riviera during any of that time, let me know.
...
Andy: "What do we say when... *ah-CHOO*?"
Kids: "Bless you!"
Andy: "Good! And what do we say when... *cough*, *cough*?"
Kid: "Not bless you!"
...
G'night, folks.
-Andy
Today, however, is not that day.
...
Last week, I had my oldest kids playing "Point-To," which is about as simple as it sounds. I put a bunch of flashcards on the board, two kids come up, I say "Point to... 'Raining'!" (or "sunny" or "foggy" or "flunderstorming"). First kid to point to the right answer wins. They love it. Before we started on this particular day, I realized there were exactly 16 kids in the class.
OH SNAP IT'S TOURNAMENT TIME.
'Cause I know y'all just can't wait to see how this ends...
Final round, folks... place your bets.
Ta-da...!
...
A few of my classes had ski lessons scheduled for this week, where they would leave school as a class and go on a bus up to the mountains for their P.E. Those lessons were all cancelled because of unsafe driving conditions on snowy roads.
Ski lessons. Cancelled on account of snow. So French! SO FREAKING FRENCH!
...
This is a brick of peanuts. I bought it. And yes, a brick.
...
A dear friend of mine from back home, one David Adler, is coming to visit from April 21st-29th. It's gonna' be rockin' awesome. If you're reading this and likely to still be in Paris/Riviera during any of that time, let me know.
...
Andy: "What do we say when... *ah-CHOO*?"
Kids: "Bless you!"
Andy: "Good! And what do we say when... *cough*, *cough*?"
Kid: "Not bless you!"
...
G'night, folks.
-Andy
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
A Disconnected Mess of an Entry
First and foremost:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=edYHlnhxyOI
Now that your day has been brightened, hopefully you won't be as cross that I've got almost no governing principle behind this entry, other than a desperate desire to catch up with the present. Accept my apologies and (forthcoming) stories about adorable little French kids. Also, if you like, check out my updated photo album.
Since starting up again in January, I've introduced the weather as a unit of study. I had a lot of really good classes on it (although I'm getting the sense I need to either change my methods or move on to new material). I even dabbled in arts and crafts this time around, having them make more attractive versions of this thing:
Okay, so it's been riding around in my backpack a while.
But it's fun. They get to draw, they get to write the names of the weather, they have it as a study guide for the test I'll give in three weeks, and they get to turn it to whatever the weather is.
Speaking of weather... Beautiful for about 3 weeks. Then, today:
I had my first snow day in five years... which was fantastic. I want to take a minute to share my flatmate Erika's particularly French story about hers. She goes in, and half the teachers are on strike, half the students are missing because the buses are on strike, and then at 10:30 they close the school for a snow day even though there's no snow on the ground (yet).
French kids? French kids!
...
One day, one of the boys comes in with "an English song" on his flash drive that he wants to listen to it in class. "Oh, cool!" I think. Maybe this is like the kid in my oldest class who had lyrics and dance moves for 'Hello, Goodbye'. "This kid's really getting into English class, and maybe this is something I can use!" I take this kid's flash drive and look for the song. I find the song.
"Party Rock Anthem" by LMFAO.
...
Andy: "Today, it is chilly!"
Class: "Today, it is chully!"
Andy: "Chilly!"
Class: "Chully!"
...
Andy: "Hot and cold are opposites! Now, how is the weather today?"
Boy: "Today, it is opposite."
...
Andy (to one girl): "Chilly!"
Girl: "Chilly!"
Andy (to the girl): "What is your name?"
Girl: "Chilly! Uh, non..."
...
There's a little kid in the CP (ages 4-6) class who always goes to the bathroom around 9:55. I know because, on his way to and from, he spends a minute or two standing and watching from the hall just outside the space where I teach. Maybe it's me he finds different, but I rather suspect that that's how I looked when I was that age watching the bigger kids do what they do.
...
That's all I got for now.
Also, two good restaurants (mostly for pizza) that I've stumbled across in recent weeks (told you this entry was all over the place). Chez Xavier (in Cannes... more specifically, here) makes really good, reasonably priced wood-fire pizza in a charming setting that's secretly really close to everything. Second is Pizzeria Vesuvio, way over east in Menton (here) and thus close enough to Italy that any Italian dish you order will be good (same goes for the complimentary limoncello they served us after). Friendly service, too.
So, I put in to renew my contract for next year. Same region, unless they honor my request to transfer to Lyon (unlikely), but different town than Grasse, unless I don't have the final say in that matter (certain). I like being in France, working with the kids, having writing time (very productive, even if this blog doesn't show it), and riding out the storm of a tough job market back in the States. To my friends braving said hurricane, I wish you bon courage.
But I'm also doing it because I've learned a good deal of things, mostly from my students. Like this: next time you see lightning and hear rumbling afterward, don't be afraid, even if thunder usually scares you. Because, according to one of my kids, that's not a thunderstorm.
It's a flunderstorm.
-Andy
http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=edYHlnhxyOI
Now that your day has been brightened, hopefully you won't be as cross that I've got almost no governing principle behind this entry, other than a desperate desire to catch up with the present. Accept my apologies and (forthcoming) stories about adorable little French kids. Also, if you like, check out my updated photo album.
Since starting up again in January, I've introduced the weather as a unit of study. I had a lot of really good classes on it (although I'm getting the sense I need to either change my methods or move on to new material). I even dabbled in arts and crafts this time around, having them make more attractive versions of this thing:
Okay, so it's been riding around in my backpack a while.
But it's fun. They get to draw, they get to write the names of the weather, they have it as a study guide for the test I'll give in three weeks, and they get to turn it to whatever the weather is.
Speaking of weather... Beautiful for about 3 weeks. Then, today:
I had my first snow day in five years... which was fantastic. I want to take a minute to share my flatmate Erika's particularly French story about hers. She goes in, and half the teachers are on strike, half the students are missing because the buses are on strike, and then at 10:30 they close the school for a snow day even though there's no snow on the ground (yet).
French kids? French kids!
...
One day, one of the boys comes in with "an English song" on his flash drive that he wants to listen to it in class. "Oh, cool!" I think. Maybe this is like the kid in my oldest class who had lyrics and dance moves for 'Hello, Goodbye'. "This kid's really getting into English class, and maybe this is something I can use!" I take this kid's flash drive and look for the song. I find the song.
"Party Rock Anthem" by LMFAO.
...
Andy: "Today, it is chilly!"
Class: "Today, it is chully!"
Andy: "Chilly!"
Class: "Chully!"
...
Andy: "Hot and cold are opposites! Now, how is the weather today?"
Boy: "Today, it is opposite."
...
Andy (to one girl): "Chilly!"
Girl: "Chilly!"
Andy (to the girl): "What is your name?"
Girl: "Chilly! Uh, non..."
...
There's a little kid in the CP (ages 4-6) class who always goes to the bathroom around 9:55. I know because, on his way to and from, he spends a minute or two standing and watching from the hall just outside the space where I teach. Maybe it's me he finds different, but I rather suspect that that's how I looked when I was that age watching the bigger kids do what they do.
...
That's all I got for now.
Also, two good restaurants (mostly for pizza) that I've stumbled across in recent weeks (told you this entry was all over the place). Chez Xavier (in Cannes... more specifically, here) makes really good, reasonably priced wood-fire pizza in a charming setting that's secretly really close to everything. Second is Pizzeria Vesuvio, way over east in Menton (here) and thus close enough to Italy that any Italian dish you order will be good (same goes for the complimentary limoncello they served us after). Friendly service, too.
So, I put in to renew my contract for next year. Same region, unless they honor my request to transfer to Lyon (unlikely), but different town than Grasse, unless I don't have the final say in that matter (certain). I like being in France, working with the kids, having writing time (very productive, even if this blog doesn't show it), and riding out the storm of a tough job market back in the States. To my friends braving said hurricane, I wish you bon courage.
But I'm also doing it because I've learned a good deal of things, mostly from my students. Like this: next time you see lightning and hear rumbling afterward, don't be afraid, even if thunder usually scares you. Because, according to one of my kids, that's not a thunderstorm.
It's a flunderstorm.
-Andy
Monday, January 2, 2012
Finals
We're all just going to pretend I wrote this two weeks ago. Cool? Cool.
It feels, in some ways, like I'm still in college. I spend a lot of my time hanging out with cool people my age, I spend overall very little time at school, there's some French in there somewhere, and I still have that good (bad) old end-of-semester crunch. The only difference now is that I'm the one making, giving, and grading the tests instead of simply studying for and taking them.
So, yes, I had to take care of everything involved with giving each of my 8 sections a test. There was a lot of overlap in subject matter... most everybody had to label basic parts of the body and a few had to match feelings to drawings (like sleepy or happy, which they often pronounce "appy"). My more advanced classes did days of the week, directions (N, S, E, W, etc.) with U.S. cities, and American money (e.g., "A penny is worth one cent."). There was an oral exam as well... My oldest class had to (one at a time) make small sums with actual American coins. Everyone else had to come out into the hallway (one at a time) and answer the four questions:
1.) Why is this night different from all other nights?
2.) Why do we have to eat matzoh for the next week solid?
3.) What are bitter herbs?
4.) Should we use blue pen, black pen, grey pencil, or colored pencil, and should we write in cursive or print?
Ha. Not really. But they actually ask me permutations of #4 all the time. For more details, go back to this entry.
They actually had to answer:
1.) What is your name?
2.) How old are you?
3.) Where do you live?
4.) How are you?
My oldest class had to use actual American coins to make a few small sums (6 cents, 35 cents, etc.).
...The results were pretty widespread, which made me more than a little nervous about my teaching ability, the merit of my tests, and other such things. But a handful of kids did very well, and one or two teachers told me the results were consistent with their expectations.
I should also note that grades in France don't necessarily follow the same expectations as grades in the States. In the U.S., the goal is generally 100%, because unless your teacher is a jerk (or makes the test unclear/too long), everything on the test has theoretically been covered in class. In France, however, the assumption is less strict. I've heard that, to some teachers in France, kids who get a C (or equivalent) are doing just fine.
Another example: before I started taking French university classes two years ago, I was told that, to get 18, 19, or 20 (out of 20), you basically had to be smarter than the professor, and they had to admit it.
I hope that's the case. My French is good now, but I started at age 5 and I sucked at it for a good ten or twelve years. So, I hope the grades aren't as big a thing, 'cause learning a foreign language takes a long time even with good teachers like mine.
The other heartening part of this whole testing thing was the wonderful new batch of English mistakes. Of these, the greatest hits can be found here.
So, all in all the whole process went well, even if it's the reason I'm so behind on blogging. I think I'll try motivating myself to test them more often this time so I can focus on just one or two subjects per test. I'd also like for their trimester grades to depend on more than just one exam. I'm still learning their 150+ names, though, so we'll see how that goes.
Happy 2012, everyone. With any luck, there shall be many more French adventures ("adFRENCHures?") to come.
-Andy
It feels, in some ways, like I'm still in college. I spend a lot of my time hanging out with cool people my age, I spend overall very little time at school, there's some French in there somewhere, and I still have that good (bad) old end-of-semester crunch. The only difference now is that I'm the one making, giving, and grading the tests instead of simply studying for and taking them.
So, yes, I had to take care of everything involved with giving each of my 8 sections a test. There was a lot of overlap in subject matter... most everybody had to label basic parts of the body and a few had to match feelings to drawings (like sleepy or happy, which they often pronounce "appy"). My more advanced classes did days of the week, directions (N, S, E, W, etc.) with U.S. cities, and American money (e.g., "A penny is worth one cent."). There was an oral exam as well... My oldest class had to (one at a time) make small sums with actual American coins. Everyone else had to come out into the hallway (one at a time) and answer the four questions:
1.) Why is this night different from all other nights?
2.) Why do we have to eat matzoh for the next week solid?
3.) What are bitter herbs?
4.) Should we use blue pen, black pen, grey pencil, or colored pencil, and should we write in cursive or print?
Ha. Not really. But they actually ask me permutations of #4 all the time. For more details, go back to this entry.
They actually had to answer:
1.) What is your name?
2.) How old are you?
3.) Where do you live?
4.) How are you?
My oldest class had to use actual American coins to make a few small sums (6 cents, 35 cents, etc.).
...The results were pretty widespread, which made me more than a little nervous about my teaching ability, the merit of my tests, and other such things. But a handful of kids did very well, and one or two teachers told me the results were consistent with their expectations.
I should also note that grades in France don't necessarily follow the same expectations as grades in the States. In the U.S., the goal is generally 100%, because unless your teacher is a jerk (or makes the test unclear/too long), everything on the test has theoretically been covered in class. In France, however, the assumption is less strict. I've heard that, to some teachers in France, kids who get a C (or equivalent) are doing just fine.
Another example: before I started taking French university classes two years ago, I was told that, to get 18, 19, or 20 (out of 20), you basically had to be smarter than the professor, and they had to admit it.
I hope that's the case. My French is good now, but I started at age 5 and I sucked at it for a good ten or twelve years. So, I hope the grades aren't as big a thing, 'cause learning a foreign language takes a long time even with good teachers like mine.
The other heartening part of this whole testing thing was the wonderful new batch of English mistakes. Of these, the greatest hits can be found here.
So, all in all the whole process went well, even if it's the reason I'm so behind on blogging. I think I'll try motivating myself to test them more often this time so I can focus on just one or two subjects per test. I'd also like for their trimester grades to depend on more than just one exam. I'm still learning their 150+ names, though, so we'll see how that goes.
Happy 2012, everyone. With any luck, there shall be many more French adventures ("adFRENCHures?") to come.
-Andy
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Close Enough For Government Work
Some of the kids call me "Teacher."
I would say that I don't know why, but that would mean I haven't noticed the very structured (this coming from me) and adult-revering educational system in which these children find themselves. Let me say it more sensationally.
I have discovered the source of French bureaucracy.
Until a week or two ago, my classes consisted almost entirely of oral exercises. We'd sing songs, drill words and structures, or play games. The procedure was clear and simple, they followed it, and nothing struck me as out-of-the-ordinary.
Then I added more written work. A sentence or two on the board for them to copy down in their notebooks. A direction to copy today's date and the days of the week on printer paper because that was the paper I found.
"Teacher? Teacher? What color pen should we use?"
"Teacher? Teacher? What page of the notebook do we write it on?"
And one from a kid in the class that got printer paper. This one's my favorite:
"Teacher? There are no lines on this paper."
Starting from a wee little age, French kids are taught to take notes and follow instructions just so. One color of pen(cil) for one sort of exercise/notes, another for the next, and a particular format to follow and style of cursive to be upheld. I can't tell you the number of times my 10-year-olds painstakingly write on the board in perfect cursive (boys included), only to even more painstakingly erase one or two letters to rewrite them the proper way, even though said letters were already perfectly legible (key word being "perfectly"). You should see how eager these kids are to hold up their copying and show me as I'm walking around just to make sure everyone's on task.
Erika corroborated this with her own observations from her high school exchange experience. When these kids grow up, their class notes are works of art. Paragraph form, color-coded by subject matter, impeccably formatted and indented. I take good notes, but even I use a little shorthand, and I know full well that a lone mechanical pencil is unsurpassed in utility: quick, eraseable, and fit for almost any handwritten task. But the trade-off is that my notes don't look professional. They're "close enough for government work," as my folks always say. Just, perhaps not close enough for this government's work.
It is little wonder, then, that an adult paperwork system with so many precise procedures thrives here... in a country where even 8-year-olds take notes just so, constantly checking with the teacher that they've got it exactly right.
...
So, what have I been doing with these kids, anyway? Most of them are still on basic stuff, but I've moved on to feelings ("I am happy," "I am thirsty," "I am angry," etc.) and days of the week. For my oldest class, I made up a worksheet to teach them directions (north, south, etc.), which doubled as a geography lesson about the United States. I've got a sheet about American money all ready to go for next week. That will be somewhat of a review: we've played "store" already with the American cash I had on me when I arrived and the various electronic devices I keep on me every day. Just to give you a better idea of what I'm up to, here's a peek inside my oldest class:
The kids are mostly getting it and they seem pretty enthusiastic still. I have the impression that my novelty is wearing off, as they're getting more comfortable (that's French for "rowdy") around me these days. I'm focusing now on varying the sorts of activities I do, so they don't write off English class as the place where they just do drills all the time. But even my most challenging class had a relatively good day on Tuesday. I'm content.
Let's see... other good moments recently...
Andy (the example question): "How old are you?"
Andy (the example answer): "I am 7 years old."
Student (to herself): "Uh... no."
Andy: "How are you?"
Student 1: "I am happy!"
Andy: "How are you?"
Student 2: "I am sleepy."
Andy: "How are you?"
Student 3: "I am slappy."
Let's end with a game of "Caption This Photo":
I would say that I don't know why, but that would mean I haven't noticed the very structured (this coming from me) and adult-revering educational system in which these children find themselves. Let me say it more sensationally.
I have discovered the source of French bureaucracy.
Until a week or two ago, my classes consisted almost entirely of oral exercises. We'd sing songs, drill words and structures, or play games. The procedure was clear and simple, they followed it, and nothing struck me as out-of-the-ordinary.
Then I added more written work. A sentence or two on the board for them to copy down in their notebooks. A direction to copy today's date and the days of the week on printer paper because that was the paper I found.
"Teacher? Teacher? What color pen should we use?"
"Teacher? Teacher? What page of the notebook do we write it on?"
And one from a kid in the class that got printer paper. This one's my favorite:
"Teacher? There are no lines on this paper."
Starting from a wee little age, French kids are taught to take notes and follow instructions just so. One color of pen(cil) for one sort of exercise/notes, another for the next, and a particular format to follow and style of cursive to be upheld. I can't tell you the number of times my 10-year-olds painstakingly write on the board in perfect cursive (boys included), only to even more painstakingly erase one or two letters to rewrite them the proper way, even though said letters were already perfectly legible (key word being "perfectly"). You should see how eager these kids are to hold up their copying and show me as I'm walking around just to make sure everyone's on task.
Erika corroborated this with her own observations from her high school exchange experience. When these kids grow up, their class notes are works of art. Paragraph form, color-coded by subject matter, impeccably formatted and indented. I take good notes, but even I use a little shorthand, and I know full well that a lone mechanical pencil is unsurpassed in utility: quick, eraseable, and fit for almost any handwritten task. But the trade-off is that my notes don't look professional. They're "close enough for government work," as my folks always say. Just, perhaps not close enough for this government's work.
It is little wonder, then, that an adult paperwork system with so many precise procedures thrives here... in a country where even 8-year-olds take notes just so, constantly checking with the teacher that they've got it exactly right.
...
So, what have I been doing with these kids, anyway? Most of them are still on basic stuff, but I've moved on to feelings ("I am happy," "I am thirsty," "I am angry," etc.) and days of the week. For my oldest class, I made up a worksheet to teach them directions (north, south, etc.), which doubled as a geography lesson about the United States. I've got a sheet about American money all ready to go for next week. That will be somewhat of a review: we've played "store" already with the American cash I had on me when I arrived and the various electronic devices I keep on me every day. Just to give you a better idea of what I'm up to, here's a peek inside my oldest class:
The kids are mostly getting it and they seem pretty enthusiastic still. I have the impression that my novelty is wearing off, as they're getting more comfortable (that's French for "rowdy") around me these days. I'm focusing now on varying the sorts of activities I do, so they don't write off English class as the place where they just do drills all the time. But even my most challenging class had a relatively good day on Tuesday. I'm content.
Let's see... other good moments recently...
Andy (the example question): "How old are you?"
Andy (the example answer): "I am 7 years old."
Student (to herself): "Uh... no."
Andy: "How are you?"
Student 1: "I am happy!"
Andy: "How are you?"
Student 2: "I am sleepy."
Andy: "How are you?"
Student 3: "I am slappy."
Let's end with a game of "Caption This Photo":
Friday, November 4, 2011
All Hallows
Forget Halloween as you experience it. Teenagers "trick-or-treating" without a costume and/or TP'ing your house (if you're Larry David and don't give them candy), adult parties where the costumes are basically polyester pick-up lines, or your and your friends' real costumes, which are variously clever, abstract, elaborate, inside jokes, gory, and/or downright genius. No, no - scratch all that. Think of all the most basic elements and images of Halloween. Ghost costumes, kids carrying cute little bags of candy, going door to door with smiles once a year...
That distilled version of Halloween? The one they (and I) teach in elementary school? That's Halloween in France.
I had asked a teacher (who was instrumental in the construction of my costume) at one of my schools if her kids were going trick-or-treating. Oh yes, she said (in French): a skeleton, a devil, a ghost, and she was going to be a witch. These were pretty much the same costumes I saw on kids who were running around the center of town on the afternoon of the Monday in question. It was pretty adorable. But it struck me that, as far as celebrating is concerned, they really don't spring for the theatrical over here. No Halloween specialty stores (perhaps for the better, but who knows), no fake blood on sale to complete your vampire costume, and unless you already dress like Jack Sparrow, good luck pulling off anything that ambitious. Over here on Halloween, it seems like they're grinning (or shrugging) and bearing it because everybody else in the world seems so into it.
As for Halloween At The Assistants'?
Well...
Creative? Perhaps not. Appropriate? Absolutely.
Ella and Katie joined us for dinner, which was a nice treat. Erika's delicious pumpkin soup and pie went nicely with a bottle of wine and my homemade... candy... I still can't cook.
...
I came back to work Thursday. Same as before, really. The kids all come running up shouting "Hello!" (often several times) and I say "Hello!" back in as many different voices as I can think of. They all pay oddly close attention during my largely repetition-based lessons on "How old are you?", "Where are you from?" - this week we added feelings and "How are you?"... Just like before the break, They seem to love it (and mostly get it), and just like before the break, I feel like things can't keep going this well without Karma getting steamed.
Before break, I mentioned my Halloween lessons, where I mini-mohawk-ed my hair to demonstrate my Tintin costume and gave out little caramel bars at the end of class when the kids would come up and say "Trick or Treat!" and "Happy Halloween!".
What I don't think I mentioned: one of my kids gave me a picture of a jack-o'-lantern he colored in (rather neatly). Just... for me to have. Another student left me with these exact words:
"Andy, you are my favorite teacher in English."
That distilled version of Halloween? The one they (and I) teach in elementary school? That's Halloween in France.
I had asked a teacher (who was instrumental in the construction of my costume) at one of my schools if her kids were going trick-or-treating. Oh yes, she said (in French): a skeleton, a devil, a ghost, and she was going to be a witch. These were pretty much the same costumes I saw on kids who were running around the center of town on the afternoon of the Monday in question. It was pretty adorable. But it struck me that, as far as celebrating is concerned, they really don't spring for the theatrical over here. No Halloween specialty stores (perhaps for the better, but who knows), no fake blood on sale to complete your vampire costume, and unless you already dress like Jack Sparrow, good luck pulling off anything that ambitious. Over here on Halloween, it seems like they're grinning (or shrugging) and bearing it because everybody else in the world seems so into it.
As for Halloween At The Assistants'?
Well...
Creative? Perhaps not. Appropriate? Absolutely.
Ella and Katie joined us for dinner, which was a nice treat. Erika's delicious pumpkin soup and pie went nicely with a bottle of wine and my homemade... candy... I still can't cook.
...
I came back to work Thursday. Same as before, really. The kids all come running up shouting "Hello!" (often several times) and I say "Hello!" back in as many different voices as I can think of. They all pay oddly close attention during my largely repetition-based lessons on "How old are you?", "Where are you from?" - this week we added feelings and "How are you?"... Just like before the break, They seem to love it (and mostly get it), and just like before the break, I feel like things can't keep going this well without Karma getting steamed.
Before break, I mentioned my Halloween lessons, where I mini-mohawk-ed my hair to demonstrate my Tintin costume and gave out little caramel bars at the end of class when the kids would come up and say "Trick or Treat!" and "Happy Halloween!".
What I don't think I mentioned: one of my kids gave me a picture of a jack-o'-lantern he colored in (rather neatly). Just... for me to have. Another student left me with these exact words:
"Andy, you are my favorite teacher in English."
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Teach, Yo!
Observations... observations...
Kids love music.
Example of the day: I was working with my youngest ones (CE1) on Tuesday, trying to teach them the numbers 1-10. I did my standard bit, which seemed to work well enough with the other sections. I put flashcards on the board. I point to each number and have them repeat after me. I point to a few numbers and ask a few kids what each number is. I ask a few kids to come to the board and have them point to the number I say. Finally, I have them all cover their eyes, hide one number behind my back and have the kids tell me what number is missing. Occasionally, between exercises, I'll run through call-and-response again with all the numbers. This was working okay for the youngest ones. So, after 30 seconds of deliberation, I decided to teach them a song. 20 of those seconds were spent making that song up. I just put the numbers 1-10 to a catchy musical interval and had them repeat it bunches and bunches of times.
Andy loves improvising.
Firm hand
French teachers seem to come down a lot harder on kids who misbehave in class. While working with kids in the states, I've noticed that adults consistently try to be more reasonable with kids, avoiding yelling as much as possible. When I sat in on classes during orientation week, a teacher might raise her voice to the kids on the first or second offense. Naturally, the intensity varies by teacher, but in France, if you bother the teacher, the teacher doesn't have to show as much restraint. And I've noticed that, in some cases, use of that sudden sternness is the only time when some of these kids will respond. That's probably not uniquely French.
That's not fair!
There's a notion of "fairness" in the American childhood (as I've encountered it, anyway) that doesn't translate the same way here. It seems to me that, for kids, something is (often) "unfair" if the plaintiff hasn't gotten something they want. To an American kid - and perhaps, less consciously, to the adults who work with them - it means everybody gets treated just as well regardless of extenuating circumstances... so that nobody feels "left out."
On Tuesday, I had a lesson prepared about Halloween (vocab, mostly), since a two-week vacation starts this weekend and I won't see them again until November. My idea to end the class was to have the kids line up in front of me, say "Trick or treat!", I give them each a little piece of candy, and they say "Thank you! Happy Halloween!". My plan was to have that lesson waiting if they were good, otherwise keep working on more integral stuff (personal introduction, numbers, pronouns, etc.). One class didn't earn it, in my estimation, so they didn't do the Halloween activity or get any candy. I felt bad afterward for not at least letting them know in advance that good behavior might have a reward. Then, I had lunch with some of the teachers and expressed this to them. They said that if the kids didn't earn it, they didn't earn it and I shouldn't worry. Not a moment's hesitation.
It's a different definition of "fairness"... and I think I'm okay with it.
Internet
I learned this morning that my proposed internet provider cancelled my long-awaited appointment for Monday to install the phone/internet line. They're going to call me in the next few days to reschedule (I have no idea what that timetable will be). My in-home connection (and Skype capability) remains up-in-the-air for the time being. I am seriously considering changing providers.
The end of this entry
-Andy
Kids love music.
Example of the day: I was working with my youngest ones (CE1) on Tuesday, trying to teach them the numbers 1-10. I did my standard bit, which seemed to work well enough with the other sections. I put flashcards on the board. I point to each number and have them repeat after me. I point to a few numbers and ask a few kids what each number is. I ask a few kids to come to the board and have them point to the number I say. Finally, I have them all cover their eyes, hide one number behind my back and have the kids tell me what number is missing. Occasionally, between exercises, I'll run through call-and-response again with all the numbers. This was working okay for the youngest ones. So, after 30 seconds of deliberation, I decided to teach them a song. 20 of those seconds were spent making that song up. I just put the numbers 1-10 to a catchy musical interval and had them repeat it bunches and bunches of times.
Andy loves improvising.
Firm hand
French teachers seem to come down a lot harder on kids who misbehave in class. While working with kids in the states, I've noticed that adults consistently try to be more reasonable with kids, avoiding yelling as much as possible. When I sat in on classes during orientation week, a teacher might raise her voice to the kids on the first or second offense. Naturally, the intensity varies by teacher, but in France, if you bother the teacher, the teacher doesn't have to show as much restraint. And I've noticed that, in some cases, use of that sudden sternness is the only time when some of these kids will respond. That's probably not uniquely French.
That's not fair!
There's a notion of "fairness" in the American childhood (as I've encountered it, anyway) that doesn't translate the same way here. It seems to me that, for kids, something is (often) "unfair" if the plaintiff hasn't gotten something they want. To an American kid - and perhaps, less consciously, to the adults who work with them - it means everybody gets treated just as well regardless of extenuating circumstances... so that nobody feels "left out."
On Tuesday, I had a lesson prepared about Halloween (vocab, mostly), since a two-week vacation starts this weekend and I won't see them again until November. My idea to end the class was to have the kids line up in front of me, say "Trick or treat!", I give them each a little piece of candy, and they say "Thank you! Happy Halloween!". My plan was to have that lesson waiting if they were good, otherwise keep working on more integral stuff (personal introduction, numbers, pronouns, etc.). One class didn't earn it, in my estimation, so they didn't do the Halloween activity or get any candy. I felt bad afterward for not at least letting them know in advance that good behavior might have a reward. Then, I had lunch with some of the teachers and expressed this to them. They said that if the kids didn't earn it, they didn't earn it and I shouldn't worry. Not a moment's hesitation.
It's a different definition of "fairness"... and I think I'm okay with it.
Internet
I learned this morning that my proposed internet provider cancelled my long-awaited appointment for Monday to install the phone/internet line. They're going to call me in the next few days to reschedule (I have no idea what that timetable will be). My in-home connection (and Skype capability) remains up-in-the-air for the time being. I am seriously considering changing providers.
The end of this entry
-Andy
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
A Day in the Life
Since I'm finding my routine, it's getting a lot harder to tell what's worth blogging about and what isn't. So, I figured I'd play the odds and, well... blog about the routine. Here's a pretty typical Monday/Tuesday, my two busiest days of the week. Note: this is all in military time because that's the way it goes over here.
06h00: Wake up, shower, dress, pack backpack, leave the apartment.
06h30: Walk to bus station, stop for croissant and pain au chocolat along the way.
07h00: Wakin’ up in the mornin’, gotta’ be fresh gotta’ go downstairs. Gotta’ have my bowl, gotta’ have my cereal –
STOP THAT. 07h00: Meet one of the teachers, who drives me to St-Vallier as the sun rises. Have discussions of cultural differences, politics, and other enlightening conversations.
07h30: Arrive at Collet de Gasq elementary school, check email, and finalize lesson plans.
08h30: First class, with 8-9-year-olds... Tell them to be quiet upwards of 20 times, and consistently break my rule of 100% English because they only seem to shut up when I ask them to in French.
09h15: Second class, with 9-10-year-olds. Actually teach them "What is your name?", "Where are you from?", numbers, pronouns, etc.
10h00: Break. Further lesson prep if necessary, conversations with passing teachers.
10h30: Third class, with 10-11-year-olds whose English will one day be better than mine.
11h15: Kill fifteen minutes.
11h30: Lunch in cafeteria. The principal, who eats there every day, thinks the food is “insipid,” but I’m less picky, especially given how little I’m paying for a decent warm meal.
12h15ish: Walk to Emile Felix elementary school, admiring the clear mountain air and scenery.
13h30: Fourth class, with adorable 6-7-year-olds.
14h15: Fifth class, with 8-9-year-olds.
15h00: Walk around St-Vallier’s one non-residential street, sit on the green at the center of town enjoying the weather and free time, and/or go grocery shopping for the week (if it’s Tuesday).
16h30: Bus back to Grasse. Admire the view.
16h45: Walk home.
17h10: Stop at the government-sponsored internet café/space for adult classes. Check email.
17h25: I read the news today – oh, boy.
18h00: Get home, ask Martina and Erika about their days, laugh at French TV commercials, and wonder why all this particular channel shows is The Simpsons, dubbed in French.
19h00: Throw together dinner. Eat on the balcony if so inclined. More of what happened at 18h00.
20h00: Decide I should probably do my lesson planning for the next day.
20h05: Start my lesson planning for the next day.
20h15: Finish my lesson planning for the next week.
20h16: It varies.
21h45: Go to bed. Remember there are 7 more days until in-home wifi.
-Andy
06h00: Wake up, shower, dress, pack backpack, leave the apartment.
06h30: Walk to bus station, stop for croissant and pain au chocolat along the way.
07h00: Wakin’ up in the mornin’, gotta’ be fresh gotta’ go downstairs. Gotta’ have my bowl, gotta’ have my cereal –
STOP THAT. 07h00: Meet one of the teachers, who drives me to St-Vallier as the sun rises. Have discussions of cultural differences, politics, and other enlightening conversations.
07h30: Arrive at Collet de Gasq elementary school, check email, and finalize lesson plans.
08h30: First class, with 8-9-year-olds... Tell them to be quiet upwards of 20 times, and consistently break my rule of 100% English because they only seem to shut up when I ask them to in French.
09h15: Second class, with 9-10-year-olds. Actually teach them "What is your name?", "Where are you from?", numbers, pronouns, etc.
10h00: Break. Further lesson prep if necessary, conversations with passing teachers.
10h30: Third class, with 10-11-year-olds whose English will one day be better than mine.
11h15: Kill fifteen minutes.
11h30: Lunch in cafeteria. The principal, who eats there every day, thinks the food is “insipid,” but I’m less picky, especially given how little I’m paying for a decent warm meal.
12h15ish: Walk to Emile Felix elementary school, admiring the clear mountain air and scenery.
13h30: Fourth class, with adorable 6-7-year-olds.
14h15: Fifth class, with 8-9-year-olds.
15h00: Walk around St-Vallier’s one non-residential street, sit on the green at the center of town enjoying the weather and free time, and/or go grocery shopping for the week (if it’s Tuesday).
16h30: Bus back to Grasse. Admire the view.
16h45: Walk home.
17h10: Stop at the government-sponsored internet café/space for adult classes. Check email.
17h25: I read the news today – oh, boy.
18h00: Get home, ask Martina and Erika about their days, laugh at French TV commercials, and wonder why all this particular channel shows is The Simpsons, dubbed in French.
19h00: Throw together dinner. Eat on the balcony if so inclined. More of what happened at 18h00.
20h00: Decide I should probably do my lesson planning for the next day.
20h05: Start my lesson planning for the next day.
20h15: Finish my lesson planning for the next week.
20h16: It varies.
21h45: Go to bed. Remember there are 7 more days until in-home wifi.
-Andy
Monday, October 10, 2011
Day One
Okay, this is it - this is the day I actually write about the teaching I came to this country to do. I have to say that, as the person living it, I found today surprisingly uneventful (not that that stopped me from writing a bloody novel). Of course, considering the alternative, perhaps that's a good thing. Since I cover fairly basic stuff ("What is your name?", "Where are you from?", etc.), most of my commentary will be fairly general, and possibly a bit dry for it. If you find it that way, I do apologize.
In a bizarre miracle, I made it to school on time. I woke up at 6, which is altogether too early for France. I got ready, left a note for Martina and Erika wishing them good luck on our first day teaching, and walked to the boulangerie (bakery) to grab a croissant and pain au chocolat for breakfast. 1 euro 55 cents. First victory of the day. I made it to the bus station by 7:10 to catch my 7:30 bus.
So, now that I've truly earned the title of "my father's son," what do I do for 20 minutes?
Oh. That works.
This bus... full of surprises: 20 minutes late, broke down halfway to St-Vallier, and then - for no good reason - unexpectedly dropped me right in front of the school (instead of a sizable walk away) 5 minutes early. Also, sorry to keep pickin' on my father, but I've found the last untapped way to make him hate his commute more, which is by comparing it to mine:
So, for fear that I actually get to the point and talk about working with little French kids, I'm going to take a paragraph or three to explain how a French elementary school is set up. My students run the gamut from 6 to 11 years old (but damned if I'll be teaching them the word "gamut"). They're divided roughly as follows:
CE1: 6-8 years old
CE2: 8-9
CM1: 9-10
CM2: 10-11
Whereas grades in the U.S. are dictated mostly by age, these divisions are a bit more sensitive to skill level. Naturally, they're not going to put a 7-year-old in CM2, even if he is bloody brilliant, but you can think of these levels as school grades with a dash of meritocracy à la those reading groups you had in third grade.
Also, despite my title of "assistant," I run the show. Resources and staff are supposedly tighter in elementary schools than other levels... I can't vouch for other towns in the region, but it's definitely true up in Grasse and St-Vallier de Thiey. I was alone in the classroom for one or two of my groups today. The homeroom teachers split their classes, gave me half for my 45-minute class, and worked with the other half on something else in the meantime (which is actually how we did it in my elementary school). But I also worked with a few entire classes, meaning the teachers were in the classroom to help. In these cases, they did some crowd control and/or used their English to help me demonstrate question-and-answer routines.
"Which question and answer routines?" I hear you ask. Well, not really, because this is a one-sided conversation typed on the internet, but indulge my unwieldy attempt at a transition.
First up today: about 16 CE2 kids (8-9 years old) a bit on the talkative side. I opened with a very simple song whose title is "Hello, my friends, hello." It's an apt title for this song, because those are the only words in it. But it's a song, it's easy to pick up, and it's in English, so the kids loved it. The rest of the lesson was - and they're all going to be this way - pretty straightforward: I taught them to ask and answer two questions: "What is your name?" and "Where are you from?".
I stuck to oral activities: having them repeat the words after me and building up to the full expression, then me asking them their name, then them asking me my name, then them asking a partner, and finally a unified chain where one says "My name is Jean-Claude" and asks somebody else in the room "What is your name?" Then they answer and ask somebody else until we make it most (or all) of the way around. Same with "Where are you from?" During orientation, they discouraged us from doing too much written work, especially not with the younger ones, and I felt most confident relying on myself as an activity for the first day, rather than printing out tons of color-in worksheets (but those will have their day...s).
For sake of simplicity, I planned to teach pretty much the same thing to all five of my classes today. Of course, my second class (CM1, 9-10 years old) was a bit more advanced and required some improvisation. So, I did, taking the opportunity to explore what they knew and what they didn't. CM1 had the same drill, but when they mastered "What is your name?" and "Where are you from?" fairly quickly, I decided to move on to something a little more subtle.
Big difference between English and French: gendered nouns. In French, the "chair" you're sitting in is female. A "name" is male. Fellow English-speakers, I have to say, I don't think you're missing much. But the point is, French students using possessive pronouns ("his", "her", "its") are used to choosing "son" or "sa" based on the gender of the thing possessed, rather than its possessor. So, can I get a whole lesson - and ten minutes of review tomorrow - out of "What is his name" and "What is her name"?
You better believe it. And you better believe the kids did a rockin' awesome job with it.
After those back-to-back classes, it's now 10:00 AM, and I have a half-hour break. I chat with my very nice colleagues, get a request to tutor that I'll likely take, arrange a carpool, and explain for the fifth or sixth time in the last week that, thank you very much, but I don't drink coffee.
10:30 - time for CM2.
These kids blew me away. They knew "What is your name?" and everything in a 10-kilometer radius. I exhausted "do you prefer _____ or _____?", "What is your favorite color?", colors, "Where are you from," and "How old are you?" This was mostly me reviewing and getting a sense of what they've covered. If I had these kids stand in front of the class and do a fairly complicated introduction dialogue tomorrow morning, I have little dobut they'd all do fine. The best part was that they were still into it and understood basically all of my directions, which means I've got license to do something more complicated and fun with them tomorrow. I had dispensed with "Hello, my friends, hello" because I thought it would be too simple for them and that they might be too cool for singing, but a girl came up to me at the end and asked if we would sing a song tomorrow.
And then it hit me. Ladies and gentlemen, The Fabulous Beatles.
I had visited the school briefly last Tuesday as part of orientation week, and I had arranged to get school lunches for the duration of my contract. For a euro fifty, I got couscous with vegetables, tender turkey cutlets in good sauce, delicious oranges, and bread with brie. Victory count: 6.
That was all at Collet de Gasq, an intimate school whose building I rather like, architecturally speaking. My schedule was a bit tight today, so I didn't have time to get pictures. Those will come soon. (I'm also nearly ready to launch my photo album.) I walked over to Emile Felix for a CE1 class (the littlest ones in my domain), which was the bare basics of "What is your name?" Same drill as earlier, but these kids were so small and had glasses almost as big as their heads and they freaking loved it. It was adorable.
Also, I'm taking wifi off the street and one of the kids I taught today just walked by and said "bonjour". Umpteenth victory of the day.
Last class of the day was another CM1 (9-10)... this one was a little dicey, but mostly went well. "What's your name?" and "Where are you from?", pretty basic. The kids were slightly talkative, and though the teacher was there and helped quiet them down a bit, it didn't always help. I did score a few laughs by demonstrating a question/answer with the head from their model skeleton, Pascal.
One day, when these kids have grown up a bit, one of them is gonna' watch Hamlet, and during the Yorick scene, stand up and shout "That's my English teacher!"
That's pretty much it... Oh, parting thought: I'm in a pretty sweet position, teaching-wise, because I have two things going for me: I smile, and I'm American. Apparently, in the mind of the average French child, this is enough to make just about anything I do interesting. And if my lesson's kinda' lame? It doesn't matter to them, 'cause I'm interesting, and I don't sweat it because my speaking English to them is the most important part, anyway.
I'm fairly sure almost all of these kids learned today's material last year. But they're kids - they forget it from year to year. Which is fine, really - my French is good, and I may have started in kindergarten, but I didn't actually learn any of it until 7th grade. What's really key to teaching youngsters a foreign language - and what I can actually do - is presenting them with a native speaker's accent at a young age and (hopefully) making the language classes enough fun that they'll actually want to keep learning it in the coming years.
Of course, it's also a lot about making sure they want to keep learning it in the coming days. And an enthusiastic chorus of "Goodbye!" when I pass them on my way out the school's gate is victory enough for day one.
-Andy
-------------------------------
The link in the first paragraph is a clip from a classic French film, 'Zero de Conduite', which means "Zero for Conduct" (as in an elementary/middle school grade). We watched it in New Wave Cinema a few years back. I still have no idea why.
In a bizarre miracle, I made it to school on time. I woke up at 6, which is altogether too early for France. I got ready, left a note for Martina and Erika wishing them good luck on our first day teaching, and walked to the boulangerie (bakery) to grab a croissant and pain au chocolat for breakfast. 1 euro 55 cents. First victory of the day. I made it to the bus station by 7:10 to catch my 7:30 bus.
So, now that I've truly earned the title of "my father's son," what do I do for 20 minutes?
Oh. That works.
This bus... full of surprises: 20 minutes late, broke down halfway to St-Vallier, and then - for no good reason - unexpectedly dropped me right in front of the school (instead of a sizable walk away) 5 minutes early. Also, sorry to keep pickin' on my father, but I've found the last untapped way to make him hate his commute more, which is by comparing it to mine:
So, for fear that I actually get to the point and talk about working with little French kids, I'm going to take a paragraph or three to explain how a French elementary school is set up. My students run the gamut from 6 to 11 years old (but damned if I'll be teaching them the word "gamut"). They're divided roughly as follows:
CE1: 6-8 years old
CE2: 8-9
CM1: 9-10
CM2: 10-11
Whereas grades in the U.S. are dictated mostly by age, these divisions are a bit more sensitive to skill level. Naturally, they're not going to put a 7-year-old in CM2, even if he is bloody brilliant, but you can think of these levels as school grades with a dash of meritocracy à la those reading groups you had in third grade.
Also, despite my title of "assistant," I run the show. Resources and staff are supposedly tighter in elementary schools than other levels... I can't vouch for other towns in the region, but it's definitely true up in Grasse and St-Vallier de Thiey. I was alone in the classroom for one or two of my groups today. The homeroom teachers split their classes, gave me half for my 45-minute class, and worked with the other half on something else in the meantime (which is actually how we did it in my elementary school). But I also worked with a few entire classes, meaning the teachers were in the classroom to help. In these cases, they did some crowd control and/or used their English to help me demonstrate question-and-answer routines.
"Which question and answer routines?" I hear you ask. Well, not really, because this is a one-sided conversation typed on the internet, but indulge my unwieldy attempt at a transition.
First up today: about 16 CE2 kids (8-9 years old) a bit on the talkative side. I opened with a very simple song whose title is "Hello, my friends, hello." It's an apt title for this song, because those are the only words in it. But it's a song, it's easy to pick up, and it's in English, so the kids loved it. The rest of the lesson was - and they're all going to be this way - pretty straightforward: I taught them to ask and answer two questions: "What is your name?" and "Where are you from?".
I stuck to oral activities: having them repeat the words after me and building up to the full expression, then me asking them their name, then them asking me my name, then them asking a partner, and finally a unified chain where one says "My name is Jean-Claude" and asks somebody else in the room "What is your name?" Then they answer and ask somebody else until we make it most (or all) of the way around. Same with "Where are you from?" During orientation, they discouraged us from doing too much written work, especially not with the younger ones, and I felt most confident relying on myself as an activity for the first day, rather than printing out tons of color-in worksheets (but those will have their day...s).
For sake of simplicity, I planned to teach pretty much the same thing to all five of my classes today. Of course, my second class (CM1, 9-10 years old) was a bit more advanced and required some improvisation. So, I did, taking the opportunity to explore what they knew and what they didn't. CM1 had the same drill, but when they mastered "What is your name?" and "Where are you from?" fairly quickly, I decided to move on to something a little more subtle.
Big difference between English and French: gendered nouns. In French, the "chair" you're sitting in is female. A "name" is male. Fellow English-speakers, I have to say, I don't think you're missing much. But the point is, French students using possessive pronouns ("his", "her", "its") are used to choosing "son" or "sa" based on the gender of the thing possessed, rather than its possessor. So, can I get a whole lesson - and ten minutes of review tomorrow - out of "What is his name" and "What is her name"?
You better believe it. And you better believe the kids did a rockin' awesome job with it.
After those back-to-back classes, it's now 10:00 AM, and I have a half-hour break. I chat with my very nice colleagues, get a request to tutor that I'll likely take, arrange a carpool, and explain for the fifth or sixth time in the last week that, thank you very much, but I don't drink coffee.
10:30 - time for CM2.
These kids blew me away. They knew "What is your name?" and everything in a 10-kilometer radius. I exhausted "do you prefer _____ or _____?", "What is your favorite color?", colors, "Where are you from," and "How old are you?" This was mostly me reviewing and getting a sense of what they've covered. If I had these kids stand in front of the class and do a fairly complicated introduction dialogue tomorrow morning, I have little dobut they'd all do fine. The best part was that they were still into it and understood basically all of my directions, which means I've got license to do something more complicated and fun with them tomorrow. I had dispensed with "Hello, my friends, hello" because I thought it would be too simple for them and that they might be too cool for singing, but a girl came up to me at the end and asked if we would sing a song tomorrow.
And then it hit me. Ladies and gentlemen, The Fabulous Beatles.
I had visited the school briefly last Tuesday as part of orientation week, and I had arranged to get school lunches for the duration of my contract. For a euro fifty, I got couscous with vegetables, tender turkey cutlets in good sauce, delicious oranges, and bread with brie. Victory count: 6.
That was all at Collet de Gasq, an intimate school whose building I rather like, architecturally speaking. My schedule was a bit tight today, so I didn't have time to get pictures. Those will come soon. (I'm also nearly ready to launch my photo album.) I walked over to Emile Felix for a CE1 class (the littlest ones in my domain), which was the bare basics of "What is your name?" Same drill as earlier, but these kids were so small and had glasses almost as big as their heads and they freaking loved it. It was adorable.
Also, I'm taking wifi off the street and one of the kids I taught today just walked by and said "bonjour". Umpteenth victory of the day.
Last class of the day was another CM1 (9-10)... this one was a little dicey, but mostly went well. "What's your name?" and "Where are you from?", pretty basic. The kids were slightly talkative, and though the teacher was there and helped quiet them down a bit, it didn't always help. I did score a few laughs by demonstrating a question/answer with the head from their model skeleton, Pascal.
One day, when these kids have grown up a bit, one of them is gonna' watch Hamlet, and during the Yorick scene, stand up and shout "That's my English teacher!"
That's pretty much it... Oh, parting thought: I'm in a pretty sweet position, teaching-wise, because I have two things going for me: I smile, and I'm American. Apparently, in the mind of the average French child, this is enough to make just about anything I do interesting. And if my lesson's kinda' lame? It doesn't matter to them, 'cause I'm interesting, and I don't sweat it because my speaking English to them is the most important part, anyway.
I'm fairly sure almost all of these kids learned today's material last year. But they're kids - they forget it from year to year. Which is fine, really - my French is good, and I may have started in kindergarten, but I didn't actually learn any of it until 7th grade. What's really key to teaching youngsters a foreign language - and what I can actually do - is presenting them with a native speaker's accent at a young age and (hopefully) making the language classes enough fun that they'll actually want to keep learning it in the coming years.
Of course, it's also a lot about making sure they want to keep learning it in the coming days. And an enthusiastic chorus of "Goodbye!" when I pass them on my way out the school's gate is victory enough for day one.
-Andy
-------------------------------
The link in the first paragraph is a clip from a classic French film, 'Zero de Conduite', which means "Zero for Conduct" (as in an elementary/middle school grade). We watched it in New Wave Cinema a few years back. I still have no idea why.
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