Teaching Files: Houston, we have a problem

One of the worst, but also paradoxically best, parts of my job is marking student essays.

Why worst? Because classes range from 70-90 students. This times however many classes you have. This semester I have only one class of this type. Last spring I had six. Tears of agony. It’s also a challenge because the students often make so many mistakes that catching their meaning is like peering through a glass darkly. Maybe a glass with bullet holes.

And then there’s the plagiarizing. Marking my recent batch of essays I was amazed to find students using the SAME Internet essay as last spring. And also amazed that I could recognize it within a sentence.

HOWEVER! Marking essays in the company of other teachers can be a delight and a pleasure. A trouble shared is a trouble halved, yes? Hunched over our piles of essays there will be intermittent snorts and giggles as we encounter little unintentional gems from our students. Turns of phrase bungled. Accidental play on words. Charming misspellings. We read them out as we find them to the amusement and mirth of all.

My two favorite misspellings from the most recent batch of essays both derive from the word “problem.” Yes, my students were having problems with “problem.” Are you ready? Drumroll, please.

The runner up for the most charming accidental mashup ever!
Give it up for—promble!

And in first place!
For the most charming accidental mashup ever!
I give you—troblem!

(Crowd goes wild!)

Sort of makes you want to be a teacher for a minute there, yeah?

End of Semester Madness

Immediately following my birthday was the last week of the semester. Everyone is frantically marking papers, final exams, and tabulating grades while still giving classes.

Fortunately it’s a universally understood thing that there won’t be much in the way of teaching in the final week. Movies or conversation are the norm. That’s if the students show up at all as final exams might be scheduled during class time.

I had thought that I was on top of everything and would finish in good time, but as the week went along I realized I was hopelessly behind and would really have to scramble. This culminated in an almost all-nighter on Thursday night. I went to bed around 4 AM, not having had to stay up that late for work since I was in graduate school. Friday was a mad dash and I just barely finished. It wouldn’t have been possible without that late night.

That night we went out to hot pot to celebrate, and then came back and slept the sleep of the well deserved.

The Chinese Student: Final Behaviors of Note

Okay, let’s wrap this up. The final three behaviors of note:

#9 – Not taking notes

It’s very strange as a teacher to be explaining important vocabulary, cultural information, and grammar points for up to 90 minutes and not have a single student taking any of it down. My words just disappear into a void. Most discouraging. Especially if I teach the same class multiple times in week.

I should just record myself and play it back to the class while I put my feet up.

#1O – Cheating

Chinese students are seemingly inveterate cheaters. I prowl the classroom constantly during any quiz and I am forever spotting those little finger movements that indicate looking something up or the head-on-chest syndrome for furtive under the desk cell phone usage. And there is always a slight background buzz of whispered conversations and consultations no matter how much I demand silence. And when I declare the quiz over and papers to be handed in the real cheating begins as students frantically copy from each other. All their efforts to deceive me and get a better grade makes me wonder why they don’t just pay attention and do a little studying. Gee.

Sleep without detection!

#11 – Sleeping

Probably the first Chinese behavior that struck a nerve was the sleeping in class. This drove me nuts last year, but I’ve become more desensitized to it. Such that I almost forgot to mention it. Yes. Chinese students will sleep in class. Full on head-down-sound-asleep in class. Local Chinese teachers have told me that they don’t care if students sleep in class. I sputtered incredulously when I heard this. What? Impossible! A little nodding off is one thing, but full on sleeping is another. In the words of my students, “I cannot accept it.” Yes, I will wake them up with a knock or two on the desk and a cheerful “good morning.” If I have to be there teaching them, they have to at least pretend to be “learning.”

The Chinese Student: Behavior #2

We return to the Chinese student in his/her natural environment. The student habitually chooses a seat as far away from the board as humanly possible. (Generally, there is an inverse relationship between row number and class mark.)

Mid-way through the lesson the teacher might get irritated at the student’s obvious lack of attention and call on them to answer a question. Invariably the student will have a quizzical who?-me? expression or might only respond to a kindly meant elbow from their classmate. The teacher will patiently repeat the question.

The student will squint at the board and then nonchalantly reach for their glasses. Teacher goggles and mind implodes with this revelation. Student has been sitting in class the entire time unable to see the board and not caring in the least. But the surprise isn’t over yet!

The student then holds up their glasses to their eyes, but DOES NOT UNFOLD THEM NOR PUT THEM ON. He/she holds them up like a magnifying glass or a monocle, despite the fact that the arms are obstructing their view. Do you understand what I’m describing? Does it not absolutely boggle your mind?

Consider the staggering implications: not only has the student not been able to see the board for the entire lesson, but he/she doesn’t have any intention of following the lesson past finishing this obligatory activity. So it would simply be wasted effort to actually put the glasses on. I mean, why would you want to see the board?

When the student finishes answering the question or giving a perfunctory “I don’t know,” the glasses are lowered and placed back on the desk. The student resumes state of suspended animation.

One down. Seventeen to go.

The first week of the semester went down relatively smoothly. It felt long and tiring, but I took comfort in the knowledge that it would eventually finish. After my summer sloth, it’s quite a transition.

First classes always seem to get taken up with lots of bureaucratic details: textbooks, grading, class expectations, etc., etc., etc. Blah, blah, blah. Or that’s my interpretation of the looks on the students’ faces. I try to remember that even the classes I came to love last semester looked much like this on the first day.

Some classes are almost all students from last semester. Some of them I feel moderately optimistic about; others I had to restrain a sarcastic “together again.” It’s a mixed bag for sure.

I am teaching my Tourism English class again, three sections of it. I have some required English courses for second year students: reading & writing, listening, oral English. I have some oral classes for English majors. I am also teaching a short course for MA TESOL students on teaching pronunciation. Surprised? Me too. I figured it would be a good challenge and a nice something to add to the ‘ol resume. Yes, yes, but it’s also been taking me like ten hours to plan a 1 ½ hour lesson. And, no, I do not get paid for teaching hours. The students are lovely though and at least all the planning keeps me out of trouble.

The added challenge of the first week was moving apartments. The university renovated a block of apartments for the foreign teachers and we were told to move in the day before the semester started. Nice. However, the building was not really complete and issues immediately presented themselves: Internet, electricity, incomplete furniture, etc., etc. We had a week to complete the move, so on Sunday I just stuffed as much as I could into my suitcases, packed up my books and papers and sent it all off with the ridiculously tiny, but ridiculously strong Chinese moving guys. For the first few days I stayed in the old building with just the essentials.

On Thursday when I had most of the day teaching-free I completed my move only to find out the Internet still wasn’t working. I’d waited until Thursday thinking that all the kinks would be worked out. Surely! But, no, kinks galore. I was having last year déjà vu: workmen tromping in and out to install things, inspect things, missing items, and lots of noise. I tried to not let my irritation get away from me. For a country that has students who major in logistics, I see very little evidence of their application in university matters. I said, nicely, to several people, “Wouldn’t it make more sense to just finish everything and make sure it’s all working before having everyone move in?”

To their credit, the Internet problem was resolved within 24 hours. I get seriously panicky without Internet and begin to experience withdrawal-like symptoms, so I was relieved. And very grateful.

It’s a beautiful apartment. A proper one-bedroom place, not a studio. Though there were some rather odd choices about cabinetry and furniture placement, I’m confident I’ll get over it. It’s adapt or die over here. And to put it all in perspective a foreign teacher who’s been in China a long time told me foreigner housing is usually called the “panda house.” Ouch. I’ll be sure to munch my bamboo quietly and gratefully.

The 30-Days Summary

Well, it’s been precisely a month since I last wrote for my blog. A thousand apologies. In retrospect it seems that very few reportable events occurred in that time, in all the other ways it’s been a roller coaster ride.

On the teaching front, I have 4 weeks remaining for the semester. This means that things are winding down. Including me. Both the students and I seem to be feeling the approaching end and responding in the typical manner. Any work I need to do seems to take three times longer than it should.

For the last few weeks I have been trying to wade through a backlog of homework assignments, quizzes, and projects. I needed to mark an essay for every one of my reading students (approximately 70 students per class x 7 classes = hell on earth). The essay was on volunteering, its necessity and what the students would do to volunteer. Volunteering is not a strong tradition China and it’s surprising to talk to students about their lack of volunteer experience compared with their Western contemporaries.

Most essays said something like this: I will help you and then you will help me and the love will grow between all the people of the world and soon the world will be a warm, colorful, harmonious place and we will all love each other. That’s all. (A common ending for essays. Th-th-that’s all, folks!) There was a lot of eye-rolling going on as I read these. Nothing wrong with a little optimism, it just wasn’t a very compelling argument to read several hundred times.

There were the budding utopists and then there were the wily coyotes—those who used their cell phones to copy or slightly alter essays on volunteering from the internet. This was far more common than I would’ve ever expected. Sometimes I was amused at their resourcefulness. Sometimes I was outraged.

Then there were the I-will-help-the-old-man-cross-the-street-ers. Who even says that anymore? I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone help an elderly person cross the street in my life. This beyond the fact that I consider this good manners and not volunteering.

It was a long 490 essays.

Then I had to grade reports and presentations from my English for Tourism class. The presentations had been groan-inducing. The reports left me flushed and angry. Almost 100% plagiarized. Even from students I would never have expected it from.

Internet plagiarism is so common in China that it is hardly worthy of note, expect for the relative newcomers who haven’t yet been worn down into a dull acceptance of this distasteful feature of Chinese academic life.

I’m not there yet. So voice-shaking I returned reports to students with the lowest marks I thought the department would allow me to give, lectured them on Western standards of research, reminded them of my first class presentation on this, and then gave them the option to redo their reports, though that means nothing but more work for me. Then I talked to students who seemed genuinely baffled at how to do research and write a report without wholesale copying. It was an educational week.

After all that marking the number of papers in my apartment seems to have hardly decreased at all.

Aside from teaching and marking and planning, the last month has been a time of emotional highs and lows. At the moment I am planning to return here in the fall for a second year. A surprise for me as well as possibly for you.

I suppose in the end it comes down to not wanting to have to start from square one in September. I don’t want to pack up my apartment and bring all my stuff home. I don’t want to transition to a new country, a new culture in the fall. I feel like I am making good progress here. I’ve learned a lot. I’ve made friends. I’ve found my way. I have a comfortable foundation of knowledge and skills that allow me to get around and live my life. Also there’s just so much in China I’d like to see.

When I considered a second year it was with the rosy glow of my coworkers, friends, and students around me. Or at least those things would balance out the negatives of China for me. The cons mostly feature the teaching situation and the cultural context. One thing I didn’t realize in Georgia was how much looking passably Georgian helped me to blend in and feel accepted. I could write a whole blog about my struggles with body image and self-confidence in China. Not something I’ve generally felt comfortable sharing with the larger world. It’s been very, very hard. And that’s something that will not improve next year. Why on earth would I consider putting myself through it all again? I suppose in the end it just seemed like the pros outweighed the cons. And really, I’m going to struggle with those issues wherever I am in the world. The Chinese are perhaps just more direct about it.

So I made that decision, signed my contract and promptly felt that—to some extent—the bottom fell out of my world as some of closest friends here put me on alert that they might not be returning. I took the news better than I expected at first, but with time it’s affected me more and more. I’m standing by my decision to come back, for all the other reasons mentioned above and more, but I can’t help but think about how that change colors my perception of next year. It’ll be Brave New World – Part II. And I suppose that was precisely what I was hoping to avoid.

The option of returning home, which probably is what all of you are thinking about, just doesn’t seem like a desirable option to me. I can’t explain it really, but I like America much better when I’m not in it. I love seeing American thrown into contrast with other countries and cultures. I not only understand it much better when I’m away, but I also appreciate it more.

Distance from American Evangelicalism is also restful. I talk about Church (big C) constantly here and find that I have a lot to work through. I don’t think any other country struggles with religion quite like America. It is so enmeshed in our culture and politics. I’ve tried to explain that to my students and it’s like I’m realizing it as I say it. It’s a big deal in America. Period. Full stop. And not just on the national level, but on the micro level—individuals. It’s incredibly important to me and to most people even if it’s just their distaste for religion or their denial of it.

I suppose I should stop there. Needless to say, there’s been a lot on my mind.

Have no fear; I am not planning any sort of permanent exile. Not consciously, anyways. In due
time, perhaps in a few years or so, I will return to my native roost for good. At the moment though, I will continue in my migratory pattern. And—be advised—soon this little homing pigeon will be homing in on you for a few months of work and relaxation in the native nest.

Rule Number 1

Today is Saturday, February 11, 2012. It’s now noon-ish. The new semester will begin on Monday, February 13th. Since work will recommence in less than 48 hours, you would assume that I would know my teaching schedule. However, in a foreign country, the most important lesson to remember is this: never assume anything. I will be able to go pick up my schedule later this afternoon. Gee, thanks. For, like, all the time to prepare.

Teaching Solo

I am teaching this entire week sans my local English teacher. I am not thrilled at the prospect, but will prayerfully approach it the best way I can. (These days when I start to whine, even inside my head, I get Joyce Meyer and Steve Buckland simultaneously coaching me on what I am saying/thinking. Hah.)

To imagine what this would be like, picture yourself in, say, the Czech Republic. You do not speak Czech. You have to control 20 extremely talkative, energetic junior higher students. You do not know how to say any of the essential teacher words, like “be quiet” “sit down” “repeat after me” etc. Intimidating? Yes, a bit.

Without the English teacher, I feel like I am sort of a substitute teacher. Maybe a bit better since I am a guest and that carries a lot of weight here. But we all remember how much attention we paid to substitute teachers, right? Imagine being a substitute teacher who doesn’t speak the language. “They’ll eat me alive!” was the first thing that crossed my mind when I got the news.

Okay, I’m waxing a bit melodramatic. But it’s just so much fun!

Last night, I mentioned the situation to my host mother in my best Georgian: “Tomorrow, Tsira no. In Tbilisi. I teacher lessons.” I said “7th class” and then gestured a wild frenzy with my hands. She make a big “ah-hah” noise and then offered to come with me. I was like, “Ooo, yes.” An opportunity not to pass up! And I am glad she did.

She came with me to both my classes this morning and was a very effective crowd controller. I think they respond even better to her than they do to the English teacher! Normally both classes are quite wild. Today they were the best behaved children in Georgia. Amazing. It probably helped that the principal dropped by in one class. Yeah, kids. The principal’s got my back. Don’t mess with the guest!

Also I talked to my mom this morning and she said she would pray. Praying mothers are powerful stuff. Not to be discounted. I believe she was even going to call the 700 Club prayer line. Bringing in the big guns, eh, mama? So with God, the 700 Club, my mother, my host mother, and the school principal behind me, my outlook on the week has improved greatly.

 I’ll let you know how it goes!

Exam Day

Our 7^th grade class took a test this morning. Both the process and the results were appalling.

– The process: Rampant cheating, whole-scale copying of other people’s answers
– The results: 100% of the class failed, even the really earnest girls in the front row

Exam Day also did not go well as almost everyone forgot their exam book.

In Georgia, textbooks are not provided by the school. Teachers select a textbook and then the student must purchase whatever is required. Like how we do it in universities. There is usually the student’s book, a workbook, and an exam book. There is also mention of a vocabulary book, but I have yet to see one so I am not sure if that is an actual book or just a notebook the students keep.  

To put your minds to rest, these are not like the heavy, hard-back textbooks we had in school. They are all paperback and generally not very thick. However, considering the economic conditions of Georgia, it surprised many of us in my program that the families had to buy them. Well, let me tell you, the re-sale book business, especially of textbooks, is booming in Georgia. Students are bringing the most intensely dog-eared, broken-spined, re-used books I have ever seen. I am not sure that many of them could be resold on Half.com or Amazon Used Books even ranked as being in “poor” condition. I’m impressed at the families’ resourcefulness, but less amused when all the exercises have already been completed. In pen.

I think that the cunning 7^th graders thought if they did not bring their books that the test would be cancelled. To no avail. I volunteered to write some of the test on the black board so that they could take the test in their notebooks. I wanted to see how they would do.

The entire time the test was being taken there was talking. Test books were being handed back and forth between students. Students were discussing questions with one another. Desks were shoved together, for more effective cheating. Some students stared out the window the whole time.

I was disturbed. I kept an eye on the teacher to see her response. No response. She sat down at the desk and worked on something. I remained standing and made eye contact with the most blatant cheaters. I think I need to work on my teacher glare. It seemed to have no power. I walked around, indicating for students to turn back to their own desks, to look at their own papers, to stop talking. I made the rounds again, glancing up at the teacher to see it I was overstepping my role. No response. I was very grateful when the bell rang and class was over.

We graded the tests. Everyone failed.

Hoo boy, it’s going to be a long year.