School Lite

A few significant events have happened at my school recently. Each event presented its own unique, laughable discomforts.

Prior to last Monday, Charlie had "asked" me (read: "implored" me) to write a short speech for the "International Flag Raising Ceremony" that would take place on said Monday. Five minutes after Charlie had left the room, he returned and asked: "Elie, have you finished your speech yet?"

So, I whipped out a two-to-three-minute speech that addressed my gratefulness to my headmaster for accepting me in the community, that promoted the necessity of international comaraderie, that expounded upon the importance of cross-cultural exchange, and that encouraged China and the U.S. to responsibly regard their roles as global leaders. Of course, I dumbed the speech down just a bit so that my audience (1st through 6th grade Chinese students with little-to-no ability to comprehend English) would understand the gravity of my motivational words.

Me and Charlie

I arrived to school last Monday just in time to have two sesame balls stuffed with red bean and a bowl of congee before dropping my bag in my office to the loudspeakers blaring the school's anthem. Charlie anxiously put his arm around me, "Elie, International Flag Ceremony is now. Where is your speech?" He picked up the speech print-out from my desk, handed it to me, and offered his translation services.

After five minutes of unfiltered sunshine, a realization about the "International Flag Ceremony" washed over me--the wash being coordinated with the sweat my body was purging in response to the sweltering temperatures. "International Flag Ceremony" was "oooeeeooiii-National Flag Ceremony." Charlie struggled with saying the word "national" without a prefix.




So, the cute Chinese children marched in place while positioned in perfect lines. Occassionally, they stopped to give a Maoist wave-salute; they always retained one arm's length distance on all sides--each and every one of the 1000+ students marching in place on the school's basketball courts. Charlie translated my speech for me. We both smiled while I spoke about the suddenly tangential issues of international exchange at the "National Flag Ceremony." And, we both ignored the fact that my paper-thin and light-khaki pants were becoming increasingly see-through with each passing sweat-filled moment--N.B. My off-white shirt was already revealing more than was comfortable or appropriate for me considering I stood in front of my students. My headmaster shook my hand and congratulated me on a well-delivered speech; I caught his glimpse at my suddenly apparent abdominal areas.

All in all, "oooeeeooiii-National Flag Ceremony" is a good story to share should I ever need to divulge a "Most Embarassing Moment."

Not one week later, Teacher's Day brought more blissful yet awkward moments as cadres of students unloaded bouquets (real, styrofoam, and clay flowers), candies, and cards on their educators. Naturally, more popular teachers received more gifts. June's desk overflowed with roses and cakes. She informed me that teachers with students of wealthier families in the downtown districts (Luohu and Futian) receive expensive gifts.

"Like what?"

"Like cars."

Stunned silence and raised eyebrows were the only ways I could respond.

It was not until third period that I began receiving flowers and cards from adorable (and some mischievous) third graders. I have yet to start teaching 4th and 5th grade (400 additional students to the 200 I already teach), so none of my admirers had hit an awkward stage of development yet. All very cute.

Imagine the left half of this face times two.

My last class of the Teacher's Day was the class that caused me my most anxiety, the class with the waijiao-taste-testers. Since I had last taught the class, I had discovered how marvelously a PowerPoint presentation and a ball can induce attention and exude discipline; much to my horror and dismay, the classroom computer and projector were locked in a cabinet to which I did not have the key. As I mentally prepared myself ("Alright vocal chords..."), three students (at least two of which had licked me a week earlier) started sitting on and punching a kid lying on the ground. I removed them, gave them my "I will eat your @$#%ing face" look, and proudly watched as the guilt and shame besmirched their cute faces. Still, the other 47 children continued to noisily taunt me with their lack of understanding and my lack of experience.

Five minutes into class, another teacher walked in: "Mista Ahlee, you no haff-eh clahss now-ah. Cheeldlen-eh watch T.V. Go home." Indescribably frustrated from not knowing I could have completely avoided these painful five minutes and moderately annoyed from having experienced these five painful minutes, I was relieved to have escaped 40 more painful minutes. I gathered my belongings and left school for the day.

This is not entirely true. I returned to school a few hours later for a teacher's-only banquet to celebrate Teacher's Day. Just like my welcoming banquet, there was too much food and adequate Kingway beer (Kingway being the rice beer made in Shenzhen). I doubt that it was a coincidence that I won the lottery: I biked away from the night with 10 more kilos of rice and 1 more gallon of oil. Charlie invited me to dance, but he cancelled because a rainstorm threatened. A retired teacher offered me several cigarettes as gifts, and I gave him a tea tree oil dental pick in exchange for each--after all, one must be respectful and respond appropriately to kind gestures, you see.

My bike is functioning. My school has officially inducted me onto its soccer team by giving me the #6 jersey. And I am currently planning a three-day weekend in Singapore and a week-long vacation to emei shan, one of the five holy Tibetan mountains.

Movies, Music, Books, T.V.: Y La Bamba's "Juniper," Ra Ra Riot's "Boy," Temper Trap's "Fader," Oracle Bones by Peter Hessler (really enjoying this; thanks Jack!), Entourage, Weeds, Mad Men (season 1).