The Zen Pedagogy [Dammit!]

I have found that being a foreign language instructor who does not speak the native language of his pupils has reduced me to two forms: reflecting shifter and aggravated grump. When I am the former, I picture myself like this; when I am the latter, I picture myself like this. Sometimes I transition between the two within one class period.

The zen side emerges when I encounter some success in teaching my students through a series of steps:
1) Awareness that I must reduce my speech to a basic level;
2) Passively slipping into a comfortable, concise, but very simple form of speech;
3) Seeing a glint in their eyes as they seem to have received a subconscious transmission from my brain to theirs--a transmission that imparts meaning where once there was none for the word "tired."

And it is in these moments of cosmic brilliance that I am optimistic for my current occupation. I become all the more reflective on the process by which I have created meaning in someone else's head. But, this, I believe, is where I fall out of the zen-like line of pedagogical communication.

I become too conscious about the process instead of letting it wash over me; maybe I am too resistant to remaining in an extended negation of my own education just so I can communicate with my students. To appropriately communicate with them (as they are just starting to learn a new language), I must respect them as adults, treat them as children, and teach them words as if they were babies. To do this appropriately, I need to think of what language is useful to a baby (or young child) just learning to speak. To do this appropriately, I need to, sort of, think what is useful to a baby (or young child) linguistically and pedagogically speaking.

Sometimes when I am lesson planning or [trying] to speak with students, I become all-too-aware of how simplified the language I am using is; then, I fear I am belittling the student. But, I see his or her lack of comprehension. So, I smile and continue repeating a phrase or word--all the while trying to encourage them to not worry about the 49 peers staring at him or her and, often, laughing at him or her. As I repeat the phrase or word, I see a look of pained fear and angered irritation cross their eyes (it washes over them just as easily as that aforementioned look of comprehension). Then, I become aware of how terribly annoying and cruel I must sound: I am verbally hammering a word into their face ("Mad. Mad. Mmmmmm-aaaaa-d. Mad. Mad. Mad. MAD. MAAAAAD.") while increasing my volume to compensate for the increasing volume of the classroom behind me. This poor kid must feel like I am yelling at him or her while his or her classmates are pointing and laughing. I sense someone behind me is goofing-off. I have so many reasons I want to escape this spiraling situation; I can only imagine how this kid feels. I start sweating. Or, at least, I become conscious of how much I am sweating. I smile and accept the kid's shaky-voiced attempt: "Blad."

"Blad."

On days when this sort of interaction occurs too many times in a row, the class behind me tends to get rowdier with each progressive failure (failure on my part as a teacher to pinpoint the students' levels and to elicit proper responses because of improperly planned activities). As this happens, my anxiety slowly escalates and my sweat quickly gathers on the back of my shirt and at the ankles of my pants. I suddenly feel a headache. I have to discipline a kid throwing paper balls across the room. I have to discipline a kid mocking me behind my back. I have to raise my voice. I am turning in every direction to keep the activity going while keeping the class under relative control. Turning turning turning: "blahp-ma-bule-lahp-ma!!!" (That is my interpretation of what a Taz quote would look like.)

Suddenly, one child gets it. Inexplicably. Then, another. Slowly, the class seems to communally come to the same realization of the meaning and pronunciation of "mad." They all say it, they all act it out in charades, they use full sentences to express faux-"mad." I have not shifted my hammering technique, which, I now wonder, might just be the necessary labor of creating meaning where once there was none. I also wonder about whether this is some sort of demonstration of cosmic connection between the children's minds or whether this is some sort of demonstration of how "group-think" these Maoist children are.

Again, I amazedly and humbly reflect on the simplicity of what teaching takes. Siddhartha Gautama's teachings are simple, right? He would argue for the simplicity of teaching...if he argued? Right? Suddenly I have delusions of how zen-like teaching actually is (emphasize "delusions"): The children respond most to simple structure of class procedure as well as the spherical wonders of a ball. In this delusion, I speculate as to whether the roundness or circle-ness of the ball relates to the zen-like line of teaching.

Anyways, teaching is hard but rewarding. What's new?

Speaking of Buddha, here are a few conversations I have had with my headmaster--who is a smiley, short, and stout man:

"E-ree, do. you. haff. relijzh?"
"Pardon me? What? shenma ("what")?"
He performs a cross like a Catholic, "Do you haff Jeezuss?"
"Oh," I smile, "No. I do not."
He looks impressed, "Me needer. Here is a gift." He hands me a bracelet made of beads with Buddhas on them. "Relijzh is superstijzh."

My headmaster and me

"E-ree, how are you?"
"I am good. How are you?"
"I am member of communist party."

In other news, I have moved back into my apartment. It looks great: new furniture, repainted walls, retiled floor, etc. It does look a little more crowded, however, since the sneaky Bureau of Education decided to fit four teachers into the apartment instead of the original two. There is room, and the other teachers are also Americans from my program. They are nice guys who like to play Xiangqi (Chinese Chess) and eat Magnum bars with me. Also, we will be going here for the National Day Holiday.

Music, Movies, Books, T.V.: "Animus Vox" by The Glitch Mob, "Hearts on Fire (Aeroplane Remix)" by Cut Copy, "Black and Blue" by Miike Snow, Oracle Bones by Peter Hessler, Entourage, Weeds, Season 1 of Mad Men.




Lastly, here is an interesting high school graduation speech.