These anxieties will likely stick around forever, in one form or another. I doubt the value of school very much in most respects besides 1) opportunities for kids to socialize and 2) a daycare system for parents. It's other supposed uses-- transmission of content, teaching "how to think," cultural reproduction / criticism, extracurricular exposure-- are all accomplished better through more immediate exposure to the world and an environment where the ultimate ends are not subservient to college admission boards. But such a world will likely never exist, so I do my best to save the system from itself and, to the best extent possible, give kids "education": the capacity to hold problems before the mind and not run away scared, and the (cultivated) intrinsic motivation to learn.
But there must be content, and hence anxiety. It's immensely reassuring how, working in Korea, my process and delivery are educational on their own. They are rarely asked to think for themselves, to articulate opinions beyond "What's the main idea of the text?", to work together to solve problems of their own creation. They have not heard fluent English beyond mass media (it is wonderful to know that, just be conversing with them, they are practicing a vital skill). These qualities of mine, and many habits / idiosyncrasies of which I'm doubtless unaware, they find highly amusing. Being their first white or American teacher, I'm a viewed as an exotic privilege. And they are a privilege for me: they are diligent to a fault, and so conscientious that whenever I lapse in management or explication of rules, they anticipate what I need and gently advise me or self-adjust. Every day, four or five students will rush up to me, nervously say "Hello Teacher," and after my reply run away, giggling and proud. Did I mention these were 16 year olds? It's never been easier to make teenagers happy.
(Notice how, even with students who know my name, I will always be "Teacher;" this standard subtly reinforces the hierarchical, social compartmentalization (Confucianism) on which Korea is built, albeit slightly less with every passing, globalizing day).
(Notice how, even with students who know my name, I will always be "Teacher;" this standard subtly reinforces the hierarchical, social compartmentalization (Confucianism) on which Korea is built, albeit slightly less with every passing, globalizing day).
Student's English skill set is as follows (best to worst):
Reading -- beyond average American highschooler in some respects (academic language)
Writing -- conceptually outstanding, grammatically at a 6th grade level
Listening -- OK if you speak slow, stay in present tense, and avoid idioms, etc.
Speaking -- shy and unpracticed. Korean speaking inflection is opposite ours, so their English speech comes off as weak, tentative; English speakers, hearing this, respond accordingly (becoming more assertive or patronizingly speaking to them like fluffy lambs). Seeing as they ARE tentative to be speaking in the first place, this reinforces their fears, and the feedback loop quickly discourages them from practicing at all... among other problems.
Every ounce of teacher training I've received (and my collegiate experience / personal inclination) has put supreme value on dialogue: knowledge is acquired individually, but for it to stick and grow, it must be socialized, examined; the clay of opinion must go through the fires of diverse group judgement before becoming a refined instrument... or something like that. (Of course, like most passionate assertions, this is my own experience projected into a general rule). But dialogue is the hardest challenge for my students. There are 4 main ways around this:
- I do most of the talking
- The students converse through writing
- The students do individual work (which tends to resemble HW, only done in class)
- The students work while conversing in Korean, which I cannot understand.
I could ramble about the history, morals, and values these students come from (and in future posts I will, tangentially at least), but these can be found in one short, comprehensive, and delightful book: "Confucius Meets Piaget" by Jonathan Borden. It's the best description of Korean culture I've found (and not just the education aspect). There are some copies on Amazon, though due to ceased publication they're expensive ($20.00) *Supplies are limited! Order NOW!*
In trying to understand my students' reaction to my class, I imagine being thrown into their school system as a 16 year old. Distressing, for sure, but temperamentally I would have benefitted from the organizational demands, the rigor, the discipline, the listening skills (from teacher lectures, that is). But of course that's what I needed: my school had a converse philosophy. So it hits me: just like 99% of parents, no school can be ideal, because they necessarily have some strengths and not others and hence neglect certain lessons (and really, do any set of lessons, even subtle, cultural, unspoken lessons, require 7 years to inculcate? And, lest we take the value of diverse, complimentary exposure for granted, can we deny that a harsh Catholic school would have certain benefits even if, with long term exposure, they wouldn't be worth the costs?) Teachers may differ within a school, but the school philosophy does the hiring, and with time influences and trumps all but the iconoclasts. Hence I believe students can't receive a "well rounded education" within any one modestly-sized institution, necessarily. But institutions cannot, and should not, transform themselves on a regular basis, and practically speaking, what family (or student with a social network) wants to change institutions? The best option, it seems, is recruiting teachers who, being fresh off the boat (or airplane), have a truly different set of lessons, who are largely free of a school's constraints, ideology and history.
And that feels pretty good.
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