Yuta: Superhero teacher in tights

“Hi, my name is Yuta and I will be your teacher.” As the word “teacher” escaped my lips I quickly closed my mouth realizing that if the word made itself audible there would be no turning back from this terrifying obligation. As I closed my eyes for a minute, I had to remember that I was not at an AA meeting introducing myself, but, rather, I was in front of a row of teenagers who were eager to learn about American essay structures. It was bad enough that I was teaching a topic that I really had no expertise or real knowledge on, but the fact that I was actually teaching made it even worse. Before I realized it, though, 15 eager faces were staring at me and waiting for me to do something, say something, anything. “Well, sucks for you that you’re stuck with me!” I wanted to say in desperation, but with Chris by my side to help me teach I was confident that if I slipped she would be there to help me out. Almost on cue, Chris started to speak and conduct the lesson with experienced finesse that I lacked.

With certain talents I think that no matter how hard you try you either have them or you don't, and teaching is a talent I definitely do not possess. To me, teaching is like trying to be a circus contortionist or using a squat toilet—I just can’t do it. It requires this intrinsic kindness and a desire to nurture others that I completely lack, and no matter how hard I try I can’t seem to find these traits. Offering a compliment to someone is oftentimes difficult if not impossible for me, and because being an optimist and positive person is part of being an effective teacher, I know that I am not made for this kind of thing.

The main difference between Chris and I can be seen by the way we grade papers. We split up the essays that we collect every week and fix the grammar and essay structure of each individual essay, and then we write comments at the end of how they can improve their writing. While Chris always starts her critiques with, “That was a really interesting and great essay!” I usually start mine with, “This essay was interesting, but I think that you could have written it a lot better had you answered the actual essay question.” My method is subconsciously centered around “tough love,” while Chris’s method has a more paternal and encouraging feel to it—seemingly kumbaya. I am the yin and Chris is the yang. If you were to compare our teaching styles to talk shows, I am the direct and pitiful Dr. Phil while Chris was loveable and intellectual Oprah.

Teaching also requires that a person be incredibly patient, and being the youngest of four siblings I feel that I was the one who was always waited on—not the other way around. I admit that living in ROG has taught me the importance of being patient (sitting for hours on train rides or idly twiddling my thumbs for hours while waiting for meetings to start), and having endured nine months of it I don't know how people do it on a daily basis. It would be easy to blame my impatience on American culture—information at my fingertips, service that is extremely expedient—but that might be a lazy explanation. If it is to be blamed on western culture, then I suppose Glenda will be my proof to support my claim. I remember very vividly what it was like when Glenda shopped online. Once the purchased product had been shipped from the warehouse, Glenda—like the diligently obsessive person he is—would check the UPS/FedEx online monitoring system almost hourly. It was like the ultimate litmus test for a store’s supply chain management when Glenda shopped online there. Departure scan in Cleveland 11:15AM, arrival scan at sorting facility in Memphis 8:13PM, departure scan in Memphis 1:14PM, arrival scan in Atlanta 5:32AM, departure scan in Atlanta 8:14AM, arrival scan in Athens 11:15AM. “OMG it’s in Athens,” he’d say impatiently after checking it for 24-hours, “where the hell is the delivery guy!?” Yea, the more I think about it, it might be easier to blame my impatience on living with Glenda instead—just kidding.

To say that I had absolutely no teaching experience would be a lie. In December I taught an adult writing class, but that was a completely different experience. With adults you can hold them accountable, and discussions and essay topics are more interesting and controversial. With kids, I feel that there are limits to their attention span, and that most topics of interest are completely off-limits. Limits. That is the word that would best describe teaching children. I feel like teachers that teach from elementary through high school must possess two personalities: one for school and one for outside of school. Eve once told me she has a “teacher voice” (she refuses to demonstrate it to me to this day) when she speaks to children at school, and I imagine that it is a necessary skill that all educators possess. A “teacher voice,” I think, is when a person sounds powerful and controlling without sounding condescending—not an easy task. Speaking to these kids in my class, I can only sound condescending and disrespectful and I lack the ability to switch over to a “teacher voice.” Chris—just as I expected—had firm control of the class by demonstrating that she also had a split personality as well. During class discussions she would calmly talk and facilitate—prodding and encouraging the kids with a smile—but the minute the discussion went off topic she immediately switched to her “teacher voice.” “HEEEEEEEEEEY!” She’d yell out unexpectedly, and the entire class would instantly fall silent—jaws agape and eyes bulging—out of shock. The façade of the innocent, nice, and sincere Ms. Chris was gone, and a monster had suddenly emerged—albeit just for a second. It was like seeing a female Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde in person, and I have to admit that I was also momentarily scared sh*tless. In my imagination I had violent images of Chris suddenly turning to me and ripping my head off, and when she turned around, smiled, and told me to go on with the lecture it took me a minute to remember where I had left off. Whether or not this is something that is taught during PST is unknown to me, but I can see how it could also be a Darwinian personality adaptation that all teachers eventually develop as a defense mechanism.

One of the hardest things about teaching non-English speakers, though, is simplifying—or “dumbing down”—your language and vocabulary. Colloquial phrases are absolutely out of the question, as well as most metaphors and analogies. Asked a simple question during class, I responded once by saying, “Well, that kind of rationalization would be contingent on a lot of factors—perhaps based on the synopsis of your outline—that a person may or may not have exposure to.” After a minute of silence and blank stares Chris cut in and said, “It just really depends,” she paused, “gaachnia (Georgian for it depends).” The frustrating part is that most people will not actually say that they don't understand something when I use difficult language or speak too fast. Maybe they are all embarrassed to tell me that I am a bad teacher, like the story about the King and his invisible clothes, no one wants to break the bad news first.

Regardless of all the challenges, I feel that Chris, myself, and the class had a lot of fun. We have had lively debates and discussions, and during the latter part of the writing class we even had some fun essay topics. One was based on early marriage, and it was an argumentative essay where the students utilized their knowledge on essay structure and logical arguments. One of our favorite essays from the class stated, “I think that people only get married early because of the sex,” and in the middle of the essay this daring writer even declared, “life is not only about love and the sex, and it is important to remember the institute of virginity.” Chris and I never found out where this “institute of virginity” was (though we are sure he meant institution of virginity), and instead we imagined that it was an abstract place like Heaven or Hell and was an interesting concept that we enjoyed both reading and thinking about.

By the end of the class, I felt that all the students somewhat improved. Whether it was through the discussion, handouts, lectures, examples, or something else I don’t know, but on our feedback and evaluation forms we got great reviews. I’m sure they were more impressed by Chris’s ability than mine, but it was nice to read glowing and positive reviews having struggled somewhat during the course of the class. To celebrate, Chris and I held a mini snack supra at the end to thank them, and during that time we were able to casually discuss things that were not brought up in class (hobbies, their families, etc.). If I learned anything at all, it was not so much from teaching as it was from the student who boldly claimed, “life is not just about love and the sex.” He is so right.

-Picture of Chris, myself, and the writing class: