jueves, 7 de febrero de 2008

Has it been a year?

How can a year go by so quickly? So much has happened - and I've been keeping a diary (altho' I have no idea if anyone is reading this. Never mind, I always chunter away to myself anyway so this is just one more way of doing it.) Here's the next episode. Hope I enjoy it :-)

My first month of working as an English teacher has certainly been an education. First of all I’ve learned that a group of seven-year-old cariños can magically metamorphosise into the Bash St Kids when their regular teacher is away. My friend Tony runs a language academy on the outskirts of Madrid and had asked me to stand in while he took a week’s paternity leave. I’d observed him in a lesson with the kids, he’d left me all the work they had to do, and I’d just qualified as a TEFL teacher - what could go wrong . . . ?

I suppose it was when Mary, who’s been teaching since Noah was taking shipbuilding lessons, walked into the classroom and told everyone off that I realised I wasn’t as good on the discipline front as I thought. It was Blanca’s fault. She had the face of a Renaissance angel and the soul of Minnie the Minx. Sussing out in – ooooh, two seconds that I couldn’t always tell a preposition from a proposition, she started every sentence with “Tony usually . . . “ and me, taken in by the blonde curls and cherubic smile, fell for it. The turning point came when Mary marched her in from the toilets where she’d been having water fights with one of the boys. As Mary read the riot act, I hung my head and looked as ashamed as my young students.

So my next lesson I was determined to be tough. We were doing is, isn’t, are and aren’t and it was going great. They were getting it, we were laughing, I had become a great teacher. Until I asked them to use the words in sentences. While they could use them while talking, every one looked blank when we began writing it down. The more examples I gave, the blanker they looked. Then I asked Alejandro, one of the brightest, for an example. And Alejandro looked back at me with tears in his eyes. Oh God, I’d done the worst thing possible. I’d never be asked back. I wouldn’t be able to face Tony again. I’d have to declare it on every job application in future – warning: can make students cry. Alejandro blinked, and a tear threatened to roll out of his eye. Disney couldn’t have done it better. Sudden action was needed. “Is it or isn’t it time to watch The Simpsons?” I desperately asked. They looked blank, then Blanca said, hesitatingly, “It is?” I nodded and they cheered and settled around the TV, Alejandro rubbing his eyes as I buried my head in my hands.

With a heavy heart I headed off to my next class. Manolo, 41, who’s number three in a leading software company in Madrid. We’d already had one lesson which had gone well, but he’d had trouble on the present perfect and some of his pronunciation so I’d arranged a lesson on those, starting off with what we’d done that day: I’ve eaten breakfast, I’ve travelled on the Metro, I’ve made a student cry . . .

But Manolo wasn’t having it. “That is impossible,” he exclaimed. “Impossible to say that.” Hmmm, a ‘P’, an ‘S’ and a ‘B’ – all the pronunciation sounds I’d wanted to work on. That was a start, I suppose. “I have brushed my teeth! Why would I want to say ‘I have brushed my teeth’? I brush my teeth, I brushed my teeth. That is how you say it. You are making it artificial,” he fumed.

“Well,” I began, thrown by the outburst. “Perhaps you’re worried about whether your breath smells and you think, ‘Hmmm, have I brushed my teeth?’ and then you (I mimed cupping a hand to my mouth and smelling my breath) think, ‘Phew, I have brushed my teeth’.” Pleased with my example I looked up at him. Then wished I hadn’t. Clearly Manolo had been born with Colgate’s Ring of Confidence around him.

“I brushed my teeth this morning,” he said, emphasising each word. “I have brushed my teeth every morning since I was a child.”

“You’ve brushed your teeth every morning?” I repeated.

“Yes, I . . . “ he stopped, and then, realising what he’d said, added less bombastically: “I brushed my teeth.” I nodded and moved the subject on to something less contentious: bearbaiting or bullfighting or something of that ilk. Manolo was as quiet as a mouse.

And that was how I learned lesson number two: never discuss halitosis with top executives.

Now, if only I can get my students to learn as much as I have . . .

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