Category: Uncategorized

In my Elementary class (8 year olds) we were discussing a reading on the environment and pollution. I was practicing my Pictionary skills, trying to explain the concept of “leak,” as in, when a ship leaks oil into the ocean and pollutes the water. I had the ship, the oil coming out, the fish dying. We talked for a few more moments, then we were on to factories and how they pollute the environment. I returned to the whiteboard, drawing the factory with smoke billowing from the smokestacks. Hyung Joon (aka Harry), as smooth as can be, says, “Nice, teacher. Very nice. You just put the factory underwater. No wonder the ocean is polluted.” Yet another instance in which I was rendered speechless because of uncontrollable laughter.

Who’s On First?

The first conflict at work. Chanta and I were approached about teaching “weekend” classes for the high school students. We would have two days off during the week instead. No problem. For two weeks we’ve been told the first day of the next session would be Feb. 4 (Monday). The last day of winter session is this Thursday, Jan. 31. Friday is a day off for all teachers. We have been so excited about the long weekend. I made plans to go snowboarding. Yeah!

On Monday after one of our classes, Ted, the head teacher, took Chanta and me aside and said, “I just want to warn you – they expect you to start teaching on Saturday.” ???? But the first day of the session is Monday. “Well, you might want to let Mr. Pyong know you already have plans for the weekend.” I waited until our dinner break then approached Mr. Pyong. I explained I had just heard they wanted us to teach on Saturday. Yes. Of course. “But, in all the negotiations for Chanta and me to teach on the weekends, you have said the first day of the session is Feb. 4.” Yes. “So how can we be expected to teach before the first day of the session?” Because. The first day of the session is Monday. Your first teaching day is Saturday. Your first day starts on Feb. 1 because you are teaching weekends. “But that doesn’t make sense. How can we have a first day before the first day of the session?” Because you teach high schoolers. You should know the first day for you is Feb. 1 because the high schoolers have exams in April and we have to teach 4 weekends in February. That’s common sense.

Can you say communication breakdown? This went back and forth for about 20 minutes. I told him I had plans to be out of town, based on the information we had been given last week. “Yes.” So how can I be out of town and teach on Saturday? “Yes.” This is not the first time that misinformation has been given. It makes it very hard to know what is really happening. “Yes.” My voice was slowly becoming louder and louder. At one point I had to laugh at myself and remind myself that he wasn’t deaf, we just weren’t understanding each other.

After about half an hour and no sign of resolution, I had to leave. Immediately. I got up, got my gym bag, and, well, basically, stormed out of the office. Went to the gym and ran 7 miles. Hard and fast. And felt better afterwards.

When I arrived to teach for evening classes, there was a huge box of Dunkin’ Donuts on my desk. No explanation. For everyone. Dig in. Enjoy. I commented to Chanta, “Have you noticed that whenever there is any sort of conflict, we get food? Are they trying to fatten us up for the kill?”

On Tuesday when I came to the office, Little Kim approached me and asked, “How are you feeling today?” I didn’t quite understand. Chanta asked, “Were you feeling ill?” No. Little Kim said, “Yesterday. I was very afraid when you left the office. I have never seen you without a smile on your face. It was not good.” Oh. Yeah. Yes, I’m feeling better, thank you.

Then there was the meeting with Chanta, me, Mr. Chairman Kim, and Mr. Pyong. As wonderful as Mr. Pyong is, I get the feeling he’s not the best translator. These are the key points from the (20 minute) meeting: Mr. Chairman Kim is the decision maker. You are the face of Kate School, so smile. High schoolers come on the weekend. The first day for high schoolers is always the first day. The first day of the session is Monday. You will get a schedule. Parents will come Saturday, students will come Sunday.

Resolution: our first day teaching the high school session will be Sunday. But the first day of the session is on Monday. So, I can still go snowboarding; I’ll just return a day earlier.

And then they insisted on taking us to lunch. I swear we’re going to walk in one day and there’s going to be a spit over a fire . . .

Dinner with the Nams

Sure enough, Mr. Nam called me on Sunday morning. “Miss Lori? This is Mr. Nam. You will still come to dinner at my house tonight? I think you do not know where I live. I will pick you up at DongA department store at 5:00 pm. My daughter is so excited to meet you.” Okay.

Whevever I go to someone’s house for dinner in the States, I try to take something. A bottle of wine. Flowers. Something. As appreciation for the invitation. But what is proper in Korean culture? I have no idea. Alcohol is tricky. What if they don’t drink? I haven’t seen any florists since I’ve been here. Food? I remembered a small section on the lower floors of DongA that sold plants. A houseplant is fairly neutral. I think. And if not, well, hopefully they would overlook my faux pas and attribute it to foreign ignorance. I bought a lucious green houseplant, some bright blue and yellow ribbon, and a Hello Kitty pencil (for the daughter). I arrived in front of DongA about 5 minutes early. I watched the people stream past. What if I didn’t remember what he looked like? What if he didn’t show? At that moment, he walked up. “Miss Lori? Hi, how are you?” We walked to his car and he again told me how excited his daughter was to meet me. He showed me where his Math Academy was. I showed him where Kate School was. We drove the short distance to his apartment building. Hwa Sung Mansion. Yes, “mansion” spelled out in Korean. He parked the car, then we took the elevator up to the seventh floor. He rang the bell, I heard a scurry of feet. “Uh-poppa!” The door opened. His wife greeted me. A little girl ran into the room, stared at me, then hid behind her mother’s skirt.

He introduced his wife as just that. My wife. I still don’t know her name. The little girl was Yo Hyung. I gave her the pencil. She squealed, then danced around the room. I handed the plant to the wife and thanked them for the invitation. She seemed very surprised, but in a good way. They led me to the couch to sit down. The wife disappeared into the kitchen. The little girl would appear, then disappear. Mr. Nam and I talked. The doorbell rang. The wife answered. “Annong Hayseyo.” A young man entered. He was introduced as the brother of the wife. Mr. Nam said, “I thought you would like to meet my brother-in-law. I will let you two talk.” Oh, why do I feel like this was a set up? We chatted about mountain climbing, about our hobbies, where we’ve traveled. He asked if I had been to Seoul. I told him yes, but mostly just at the airports. He said he had been twice. I asked what for. Once was for a MegaDeath concert. Oh, so you’re into heavy metal music? “Yes, I also play the electric guitar.” Okay. What do you do? “I’m a student at university. This is my junior year? My fourth year?” Oh – your senior year. I counted off the years on my fingers. Freshman, Sophomore, Junior, Senior. What are you studying? “Mechanical Engineering. Did you come here alone?” Why is this the question of the weekend? To Korea? Or to your sister’s house? “No. To Korea. You came alone?” Yes. “Wow. You are not married?” No. “But you are so beautiful. Why not?” I’m just not. Are you? He then almost choked on his drink. “No. In Korea men don’t get married until they are 30 years old.” Oh, and how old are you? “26.” Note – Korean age. “And you, may I ask how old you are?” 33. Again, he almost choked on his drink. “You do not look that old. I thought you were much younger.” Thank you. I think. He then started to say something, faltered over his word choice several times, then started pounding his chest with his fists. I must have looked surprised (I must admit, I’ve never invoked this reaction while having a conversation with someone. . . ) and he explained, “I am so angry. I want to talk and do not know the English words.” Sweetie, I feel your pain.

Then Yo Hyung started bringing out the dishes. Many, many dishes. Kim chi. Salads. Soup. Green tea. Rice. Bulgogi (marinated beef strips). Talki (more beef – the kind with the bone that I normally splatter on my face). Spinach. Fried pumpkin. The table was filled with small dishes. Yo Hyung sat down, pointed at me with her chopsticks, and said, “Eat!” Okay! I began with the soup and the rice – two things which I know how to eat. Evidently they were waiting for me to try the other things before they would eat them. So I dug in. And did fairly well. Dropped a few things on the table, but all in all, a success. Except I couldn’t bring myself to try the talki. The wife asked me to try it. I smiled and said yes, but continued to eat rice. She disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a knife and fork. Do I use the knife and fork? Or try my luck with the chopsticks? I opted for the less messy knife and fork option. I cut the meat off the bone, then brought it to my mouth with the chopsticks. As with all the dishes, it was delicious.

After dinner, we sat around the table (on the floor) and talked. The wife brought out ginsing tea with honey. Truly a nectar. We continued talking, about Korea, about the United States, about our work, our studies. The wife brought out a platter of fruit – persimmons, apples, tangerines. We continued to eat. The brother in law asked me if I thought Koreans looked angry. Excuse me? They explained that Koreans do not show their expressions very often, so foreigners often think they are angry. But they’re not. Okay. Then he asked if it was hard to live here. Well, sometimes. It’s hard to go to the store and try to find something and not know the name of something. Or to try to talk to someone in Korean and have them stare blankly at you. “But do you ever not understand what is happening? Are there differences between Korean culture and American culture?” Yes, definitely. “When?” I couldn’t think of an example right then, so I told them that. They continued to stare at me. The brother-in-law then said, “Like now?” then started laughing hysterically. Yeah, I guess so.

They wanted to know in detail what I ate for each meal. Where I grocery shopped. What I did after classes. If I had any friends. If I drank alcohol. Was I Catholic. Mr. Nam brought out a bottle of wine, a bordeaux. He said he had bought it thinking it would be very sweet, but it wasn’t. Would I try some? So the brother-in-law and I had some. It wasn’t bad. For a chilled bordeaux.

The entire time, Yo Hyang continued to eat. The child did not put her chopsticks down the entire time I was there. How can a 6 year old eat so much? After the fruit platter was cleared she started working on a bowl of potato chips. She must have learned a new phrase recently, “Are you hungry?” Because she repeated it, over and over. And over. That, and “Oh, my god!” She ran around the apartment. Playing the piano, singing, turning the CD player on and off, painting, completely enjoying herself. Mr. Nam turned to me, “She is the queen of the house.”

We continued to talk. They asked me how many mountains I had climbed. I told them Young-Gi was my first in Korea, but in the United States I had hiked several mountains. They asked if I wanted to go to other mountains in Korea. Oh, yes. There are so many surrounding Daegu, as well as mountains maybe 2 to 3 hours away. Mr. Nam turned to me, “We will climb mountains together. Sunday? Yes?” Well, I may be in Seoul on Sunday, but another day, yes. The brother-in-law explained he had to leave, that he had to get up at 5:30 to go to his English lessons. Whoa. On his winter break from university. There are some seriously driven people here.

The wife was in the kitchen; Yo Hyang came and joined us. She would run in and out of the room, each time she entered the room she would jump into her father’s lap. Until once she came into the room and jumped on mine. Full force. And threw her arms around my neck. “Lori Teacher!” Mr. Nam said, “I think she likes you. We only have one children and she gets lonely. She likes visitors.” Yo Hyang readjusted so she was laying on my lap. I started to sing her a lullaby, rubbing her eyebrows. “Okay, little sleepy-head.” She bolted awake. “Sleepy-head? Sleepy-head?” Oh, a new word. She was up, running around, pointing at Mr. Nam, the wife, and me, “Sleepy-head!” Hee hee hee hee hee.

The wife then took Yo Hyang into her bedroom and tried to get her to bed. Story after story was read. Mr. Nam and I sat in the living room, watching tv. He turned it to the Armed Forces Channel so it would be in English. We watched the news and commented on some of the stories of the day. I was beginning to get very tired. I glanced at the clock. 11:00 pm? How could it be 11:00? He offered to drive me home. The wife and Yo Hyang came out and said goodbye. The wife sent a large container of very spicy kimchi home with me. Mmmmm. . . . breakfast. “Please come back to visit us again.” I would love to. I’ve had a wonderful evening. Thank you so much for dinner. Everything was delicious. Thank you, thank you.

Back in the Pink Palace, I marveled at how things happen. I think I may have met a friend . . .

Winter Wonderland

This morning I awoke to snow. Falling steadily from the sky. Not just flakes, clumps of snow. Covering everything in white. The rooftops, the sidewalks, the trees. I squealed as I jumped out of bed. Snow always invokes feelings of playfulness. What could I do? At that moment Chanta called. “Let’s go grab something to eat then walk in the snow.” Yeah!

By the time I got downstairs (layers – very key – long underwear, wool sweater, ski jacket, jeans, scarf, gloves) Chanta was tired of waiting, so she had made pancakes. Ummmmmmm. . . . pancakes with syrup. Tasting amazingly like pancakes from home. Only difference, eaten with chopsticks.

We met Tom and started walking. Everyone else who is out is bundled up, shielding themselves with umbrellas from the manna from heaven. Not us. We skipped arm and arm, relishing the playfulness, our heads back, tongues out, trying to capture some of the magic. We wound through the narrow streets. Over the playground. Across the major street. Up the hill. To the park. Then we started the ascent. Of Young-Gi mountain. The path was covered with snow, but we could see the footprints of the few who had gone before us. The first part of the trail was just that, a trail, a path. Not too steep. We quickly entered the forest, though. Hundreds and hundreds of trees. Bare branches looking like gnarled witches’ fingers rising out of the ground. With several inches of soft snow weighing them down.

We stopped several times to take pictures. At one point Chanta turned to me and said, “You look just like a modern day Snow White.” I must have given her a quizzical look because she continued, “Your skin is as white as the snow, your hair as dark as night, your lips as red as blood, and your cheeks as rosy as can be.” Add the North Face ski jacket and Banana Republic jeans – where’s my prince charming?

After about half an hour, as the path grew steeper and rockier, Chanta (in her platform boots) and Tom were ready to return back to town. I bade them farewell; I was determined to reach the top of the mountain. After each sharp ascent, there was a plateau. At one there was an abandoned badminton court, at another benches, at another a playground. I could just imagine the activity and sounds of laughter that must fill the park during warm weather.

I met very few people on the path. I was alone in my thoughts, the silence of the falling snow surrounding me. The path grew steeper and steeper. A couple of times my footing slipped, but I always managed to catch myself before busting full out. At one point I was on a flat ridge area. I imagined that under normal situations I would be able to see the entire city, but looking around today all I could see was whiteness. Clouds enveloped everything. I suddenly heard a noise behind me. I spun around. There was another hiker approaching. I smiled, then turned around and continued. As he passed, he said, “Pleased to meet you.” Then continued on at a much quicker pace.

A few moments I rounded a curve in the path. The hiker who had passed me was sitting on a rock adjusting his ice clamps on his shoes. He asked, “Have you climbed the mountain before?” No. “This is your first time?” Yes. “Are you alone?” Hmmmmm . . . Yes. Brief thoughts of Chanta’s warning before we separated passed through my mind, “Be careful, Lori. The path isn’t that well marked. Be sure you come back down well before it gets dark.” The man continued to talk. “You don’t have ice clamps?” No. “Be very careful.” Okay. “Are you American?” Yes. “Alone?” Yes. “The high point is very near to here.” Oh, good. Then I continued on my way. He passed me shortly thereafter. And we really were almost at the summit. As I was climbing to the summit, I slipped a couple of times. He waited for me, offering to help. No, thanks, I’m okay. We reached the top. What a feeling of success. Someone had built a couple of snowmen holding arms. I walked around, breathing in the icy air. The stranger came over to me, continuing to make small talk. “On a clear day, over there, is such and such mountain. And there, that is the city. And there . . .” All of this was mute today, because all we could see was whiteness. We started down the path. I was going extra slow. Slip, slip, slip. Oh, this was going to be a challenge. He turned around and said, “Here. I only need one of my ice clamps. You take one. It will be better.” No, really, I’m okay. “No, you will need this to get down safely. Really, it’s okay. Here. I will put it on for you.” He put the ice clamp on my hiking boot. What a difference. But this meant I had to keep up with his pace the whole way down.

We chatted. His name was Nam, Sang-Gun. Mr. Nam. He owns a Math Academy. The Math equivalent of the type of English school I’m teaching at. He has a wife and a 8/6 (Korean age/American age) old daughter. His family takes English lessons together. Where was I from? How long had I been in Korea? Where did I work? Did I like to hike? Oh, here, let’s take a short cut. We cut straight into the woods. If there was a path there, it was invisible to me. I quickly assessed the situation. In the woods, no one around, getting dark quickly. But, he had given me his ice clamps, so if he had wanted to harm me, wouldn’t he have just pushed me off the side of one of the slippery ridges? And I was a good 30 pounds heavier than him. So I continued to follow. And after about 20 minutes, we reached the edge of the woods. There was a sign there. He asked if I could read it. I sounded out the words in broken Korean. Sssss . . . aa. . . n. San. Pppppp . . . u. . .l. San Pul. Ch. . . ch . . . oooo. . . .ssssss. . .im. San pul choshim. He looked amazed. “You can read Korean!” Well, sort of, but I don’t know what I just said. “San – Mountain. Pul – Fire. Choshim – Be careful.” Be careful about starting forest fires on the mountain.

We walked to his car. He offered to give me a ride back downtown. Okay. As we got into his car, he asked me if we could exchange phone numbers. Sure. We drove the few minutes to downtown. As he prepared to drop me off, he asked me if I had any appointments for tomorrow. No. “Please have dinner with my family.” Okay. “I will call you tomorrow. Yes?” Sure. Sounds good. As I got out of the car, I marveled at how things happen. I had contined on the walk solo so that I could seek solace in the beauty of the snow, and ended up gaining an invitation to dinner for the next evening.

Interesting . . .

On Friday the teachers had a field trips of sorts. We had to get our Korean id cards at the Immigration office. We went in shifts. I was in the afternoon shift, along with Ted, Glen, and Rob and Brian, Tom, and Pete from the Chil-Guk campus. Government buildings all over the world have the same feeling. Sparse, no nonsense, linoleum floors, void of color. We entered and were taken to the “Visitors Lounge.” In addition to providing the standard fare (name, address, passport number, height, etc.) we also had our fingerprints taken. Tom had gone to the restroom to wash the fingerprint ink off his fingers. When he came back, he motioned for me to follow him. We went outside. He pointed to the sign designating the building. I started to read the Korean. “No – read the English.” Office of Immigration. Office of Probation. Niiiiiiccccce. Let’s put all the foreigners and criminals together.

When Ignorance Is Bliss . . .

I am very scared. Bryan not only created this blog for me as a going away present, but he also attached a funny looking symbol at the bottom of the page so I could track visitors. Statistics interest me. It’s fun to look at numbers. So today I clicked on the funny symbol. So many options. So many ways to analyze data.

I decided to see where readers were coming from. Search engine search results were listed. My blog showed up in all of these searches, usually in the top 5.

Google: elvis daegu

Google: daegu nightclub

Google: way to kill teachers and destroy school buldings and the world

Google: booking korea nightclub

Yahoo: first web sites of girl photos wearing short mini skirts and black nylons

Yahoo: thai girls in go-go boots

Google: PYUNG CHANG SOFT TOFU HOUSE

Yahoo: chil porn

Google: beer hot sauce Scrabble Rob

Yahoo: caucasian hairstyle twist lock

Spa Lori-Ga

Today in my advanced writing class we began the chapter “Determinism Vs. Free Will.” Each chapter has a theme, I teach a relevant grammatical concept, we study sample essays, then the students write their own essays. Sometimes it works, other times, well, not so much. I’m trying to explain the difference between these two theories of thought to four amazingly silent high school girls. They’re not getting it. I draw pictures, we read examples, still – no light bulbs going off. “Okay. It’s like this. You all get an allowance, right?” Yes. “Do you decide how much allowance you get?” No. Our parents decide and give it to us. “Okay. That’s determinism. You have no control over how much allowance you get. It’s just given to you.” Okay. “What do you spend your allowance on?” Movies, snacks, hair ribbons. “Okay. That’s free will. You make the decision how to spend your money.” Ahhhhhhh – we seeeeeeeeee. Probably not the most technical analogy, but, it seemed to work.

Today was a difficult day. In all of my classes the students were particuarly tense and uptight. Tomorrow is the big “end of session, 4 hour, show us everything you’ve learned” test. All of the students were antsy. “Lori Teacher, what will be on the test? Will we have to write? We have to know *everything* we’ve studied?” They’re tired. I’m tired. We’re entering the fifth week of 12-hour school days.

I’m fed up with not being able to talk to people. Every night I come home and study. I can sound out signs, but have no idea what they mean. I’m learning the Korean equivalent of “See Spot run. Run, Spot, run.” Will I ever be able to hold an intelligent conversation? I’m tired of staring at people blankly, at the grocery store, at the bank, in the gym, having no idea what they’re saying to me.

On the walk home after school, I was feeling down. And what is one of my favorite things to do when I’m feeling blue? Take a bubble bath. And I can’t even do that. By the time I reached my apartment, I was in pretty sad state. I can’t talk to anyone, I can’t take a bubble bath, I can’t eat without splashing food all over my face, poor Lori-Ga. . . Then I thought back to the writing lesson this morning. Okay. This is what I’ve been dealt. But I’m going to make the best of it.

So what is my second favorite thing to do when I’m feeling blue? Go to the spa. Well, I can almost guarantee there’s no Claremont Resort & Spa here in Daegu (just a guess). As I entered my apartment, I realized what I must do. “Welcome, ma’am, to Spa Lori-Ga! What would you like to drink while waiting for your spa treatments? Ginger tea? What a coincidence, we have that right here. Just a moment and I’ll get it for you.” I sipped my tea as I waited for the shower water to warm. I may not be able to take a bath, but thanks to the wisdom of Chanta, I know how to turn my small bathroom into a steam room. It just takes a while.

“Ma’am, please change into this luxurious white terry cloth bathrobe and pink slippers. Someone will be right with you shortly to guide you to the treatment rooms.” Sade played on the periwinkle CD player. Listening to soothing music, sipping hot tea. I’m starting to relax already. “And what treatments will you be having today?” Let’s see, I think I would like a steam shower, a face mask, a deep hair conditioning, and a pedicure. “Wonderful. Right this way please.” An hour later I emerge from the steam room, scrubbed clean, hair shining and with purple toes glittering. I cuddle in my thick, terry cloth robe. As I sip my lemon ice water, I curl up with a mindless magazine. Life isn’t so bad after all.

So Easily Amused. . .

I guess I’ve never realized how much I laugh. At everything. And how little it takes to make me laugh. Sparkly lip gloss. No, sparkly anything. Picking up all of my dumplings from the pot with chopsticks and not bisecting any of them in the process. Eating with chopsticks. Reading a sign in Korean. Korean television commercials. Saying, “Ole!” Pink lingerie. Bad English translations (You Ill Pharmacy). Sneezing. Snack food packaging (my favorite so far is strawberry frosted mushroom crackers).

Miracles in the Modern World . . .

At the beginning of the term I was assigned 10 classes. 4 in the morning, 3 in the afternoon, 3 at night. I felt I was so lucky. I loved all of the children. Except for those in one of the morning classes. Four pre-adolescent students. Three girls, one boy. And they would just sit there and stare at me. Or mumble something in Korean then snicker. The first week I spent almost all of the class time trying to figure out if they couldn’t understand me or were just being sullen. It was the latter. I felt like I was the new kid in junior high school that no one liked. I dreaded going into that class. Everyday I would give myself a little pep talk then burst into the room with a huge smile and “Hi, class! How are you today?” And basically amuse myself while teaching the lesson. Whenever they would complain about the homework, I would smile and tell them, “Oh, but this is very special homework. Only you are getting it, because you are very, very smart.” Over the past 5 weeks, the students have begun to participate more in class (though that’s not saying much), even speaking to me in the hallways. Today, as I entered the lobby, the three girls were chatting animatedly with Eun-Joo, the receptionist. As I walked over to them, they started clapping, giggling, and saying “congratulations-a, teacher!” I asked, “Why?” They giggled hysterically. And spoke rapidly in Korean. Do I really want to know? Eun-Joo smiled. I asked her to please translate. She said they told her they had voted me the best teacher because I always smile and laugh in class and that they are very sad classes end next week. I guess miracles do happen . . .

Tales From Kate School . . .

In between classes Chanta and I were hanging out with several students in the lobby of the school. They were teaching us hand games, the chanting, sing-song, clapping games popular amongst little girls in every culture. They taught us the Korean version of slap-slap “Jingle Bells,” we taught them “Say, Say, My Playmate.” One of the Mr. Kims (we call him Little Kim, because he’s the youngest) walked into the lobby. Yun Soo, a student of both of ours (whose favorite answer to any question in class is, “I’m sleepy”) giggled hysterically. She kept saying, “orun tung” and laughing. After a moment, Chanta and I realized she was saying, “orangatang” and pointing to Little Kim. Chanta and I both put on our teacher faces. Chanta said, “Yun Soo, that’s very disrespectful. You must not call adults rude names like that.” At which point Yun Soo lowered her eyes, said, “Yes, teacher. I meant, Good Orangatang.” At which point Chanta and I both had to excuse ourselves to keep from bursting out laughing. It would have ruined the teachable moment. . . .

And from the Elementary class . . .

We were reading a selection about filling out forms. Ben, the character in our book, was applying to a sports club. Our class was discussing the various entries on the form. Name, address, birthdate, sex, marital status. I wrote the words “marital, marriage, marry” on the board to explain the meanings and to show the common roots. Ben’s marital status was “single.” I asked the class, “What is Ben’s marital status?” Ki Woon (a Korean 10/American 8 year old) who had been fidgeting all throughout class, perks up, smiles, and says, “Player. He’s a player. A multi-player.” Who put him in the elementary class. . . .

When Yes Really Does Mean No . . .

In a Korean conversation, after every statement, the listener says, “yes” to indicate he or she understands, not necessarily that he or she agrees with the speaker. This can cause great confusion in English. Witness:

Teacher: Please take out your homework. (comes to student who doesn’t have any papers out) You don’t have your homework?

Student: Yes.

Teacher: Okay, where is it?

Student: No.

Teacher: You didn’t do your homework?

Student: Yes.

Teacher: You did do your homework or you didn’t do your homework?

Student: Yes. I didn’t do my homework.

And Finally, From the Teachers’ Room . . .

Chanta received an email highlighting a word contest by the Post, whereby contestants chose any word, changed it by one or two letters, and gave it a new meaning. One she especially liked was “reintarnation” – the reincarnation in the form of a hillbilly. After she read it out loud another teacher replied, “I’ve got a better one. Koreincarnation – punishment for deeds done in a previous life whereby one returns to earth as an English teacher in Korea . . .”

Weather Folklore

Why is this a subject in ESL (English as a Second Language) texts? It makes no sense. This is the exercise. “Read the following statements about the weather. Decide whether they are true or false. Discuss your answers.” Number 1. Bees stay close to their hives when it’s going to rain. Seems simple enough. Key words to explain. Bees. Hives. Near. Rain. All very easy to draw on the white board. No one had better try to take me on at Pictionary after this year. I have drawn so many pictures; my talent even astounds me at times.

Next one. More difficult. You can count the chirps on a cricket to tell the temperature. Have you ever tried to draw a cricket? They’ve not heard of Pinnochio, so the Jimminy Cricket reference is null and void. And have you ever seen a cricket up close? And how do you explain “chirp?”

Okay, let’s try the Groundhog Day phenomenon. Explaining everyone watches as a groundhog comes out of his hole and whether or not he sees his shadow will determine whether or not we have 6 more weeks of winter. Sounds pretty silly when you take a step back. And looks even sillier when an amateur artist tries to capture it in pictures (and charades). All I can say is by the end of the class, we were all laughing hysterically.