Model school and then some

Today was the first day of model school - meaning we get a three week boot camp to teaching oral English with a small class that volunteer to be there to learn from a native English speaker. We team teach with another PC13. My dude is Nate, a Virginia native who is tall, redhaired and just as goofy as I am. We are teaching 18 middle school students.


We went a little crazy with our lesson plans. PC tells us to use this time to experiment with teaching techniques and to fail and make as many mistakes as possible so that when we get to site, we'll be rock stars. Some PCers are bouncing around with lessons, but not us. We have all three weeks planned: The first week is all about getting to know each other as a class; second week is all about getting to know American culture (weddings, sports, slang, holidays, family, etc); the third week is a larger picture of the world and learning to be global citizens. This class is a bit different than what we'll see at our site - there is an equal balance between male and female students. Most times at site, the class will be heavily tilted to the female side.

The students are great and are all over the place in terms of speaking ability. It should prove to be a great experience. I am excited to work with Nate. He's a neophyte who is eager for me to kick his butt. He's also willing and strong enough to kick my own heiny when needed.

I'm looking out my bedroom window at the moon, which has been obscured since we got here. As I was taking my after dinner walk, I got to see stars and families walking backwards, fanning their children, dodging students on mopeds (aka silent assassins - you never hear them come).

The weather has been quite lovely these past few days. Low humidity, light drops of rain, hint of a breeze. Nothing compared to the flooding in some parts of this province and farther southeast.

Language is amazing. Only three weeks and I feel flabbergasted that I can communicate as much as I can. We're only learning the pinyin, not hanzi (Chinese characters). You feel that you can communicate somewhat but you're illiterate. You can't read a menu, a store sign, a receipt, but you can memorize what is milk versus what is yogurt; usually in the same packaging. You can ask for your favorite dishes at a restaurant. You can figure out what is a tailor or a shoe store or an internet cafe. A month ago I only knew "ni hao".

As I'm writing this, my home stay sister and my mom come in and give me a wooden beaded bracelet and a monkeys sculpted out of bone climbing up a silk red rope to represent that they hope I go "up, up". When you live in the moment, things like this hit you in the heart like a medicine ball. You reel in the moment slow-mo and enjoy the discombobulation.

It makes you cry.

It makes you remember the other moments when you thought that you were a 'tard and were not learning enough, fast enough, integrating enough, thinking that you would have to go home in shame, thinking that you failed. Or the other moment that you thought you were the best person in the world, picking up Chinese so quickly, thinking that you were special, extraordinary (forgive me, I just watched the entire first season of "Heroes" and it's clouding my worldview).


Assimilating into the Chinese culture is like being a triangular block fitting into the circular hole - you fit somewhat, but you miss the intimacy, the feeling of being completely surrounded by the known. As long as you know that and not try to inflate your sides to be something you're not, you'll be fine.
-- Be good, Katie