What happened to imagination?
What happened to make-believe, dressing up in real and imaginary costumes, talking to imaginary people in outrageous imaginary scenes?
What happened to pretending that your house is actually underwater and the only way to get around is by swimming and you talk all gurgly because that's how people talk when they are underwater?
What happened to inventing out-of-this-world inventions that really saves the world or is this great big contraption that pops out strawberry mint drops?
What happened to round robin storytelling where each successive kid would add in an even crazier, more bizarre problem for the hero to solve with her super duper fantasticombustibal powers?
What happened to creative writing about an old miserly man who had a spider for a pet and the spider loved to listen to Rachmaninoff?
What happened to little outings out in the backyard that turn into journeys of epic proportions?
What happened to bath-time water wars; the sailboat lurking behind the caverns of the knees, ready to ambush the unsuspecting Captain Quacky Duck, but the little pony mermaid saves the day and they splash off into the porcelain horizon?
What happened to reading a storybook and believing that anything is possible, only to have your mum yell about the big hole in the yard when all you were really doing is practicing for a future career in archaeology?
What happened to flightful fancies of exploration, sneaking about in the safari of the living-room hoping to avoid the wild creatures before cautiously entering the Pyramids of the bedroom and daring each other to see who will get hit with King Tut's curse?
What happened to making your own treasure hunt with strange cryptic clues only to have no one able to find the treasure, but it's okay since that means more Skittles for you?
What happened to the kids of today?
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Thursday, May 7, 2009
classroom notes #10: just a job?
Today I felt so frustrated with my kids. I keep pushing them to go beyond themselves, to think deeper with more complexity, to make themselves stand out and I felt as if I was talking to air. Is this the product of the Hong Kong education system? Is this the result of a culture where priority is on examination placement and everything else is not of their concern? And then I thought, am I asking too much of them?
I always tell my fellow teaching friends that whenever they feel angry, sad, or frustrated to remember that in the end, being a teacher is only a job and to detach themselves from any negative feelings but then it's not that simple. You invest in the well-being of your students both emotionally and mentally and the resulting mass of frustration steaming out is from seeing them not growing to the potential that you know is there.
*pulls hair out*
I always tell my fellow teaching friends that whenever they feel angry, sad, or frustrated to remember that in the end, being a teacher is only a job and to detach themselves from any negative feelings but then it's not that simple. You invest in the well-being of your students both emotionally and mentally and the resulting mass of frustration steaming out is from seeing them not growing to the potential that you know is there.
*pulls hair out*
Friday, March 13, 2009
classroom notes #9: learning as a teacher
What is worse? Feeling angry at someone or being disappointed in them?
That's a lesson my kids experienced today...
When a teacher is angry, she may yell, shout, scold, punish, assign stacks of penmanship or other repetitive unwanted tasks.
When a teacher is angry, she may look frazzled like a monster with static-y hair.
When a teacher is angry, you can almost see the steam coming out of her ears, and the furrows between the brows is like a mask that is slipped on over her normally cheerful demeanour.
When a teacher is angry, you don't take it seriously because the teacher still cares to push you to finish your work and still cares to make you work harder, as hard as you are capable and then even more.
But.
When a teacher is disappointed, it's as if a dark gloomy cloud has settled over the classroom.
When a teacher is disappointed, there is only silence, that can't be stirred back up and you start wishing for the teacher to yell, shout, scold, punish, and assign stacks of penmanship or other repetitive unwanted tasks.
When a teacher is disappointed, you feel lost since anger is something easier understood.
When a teacher is disappointed, it is more serious because you are faced with the teacher's expectations and hopes compared with your own effort.
It got me thinking about my own parents. How many times have I made my parents angry? And how many times were they disappointed in me? And so it becomes my own lesson today too.
That's a lesson my kids experienced today...
When a teacher is angry, she may yell, shout, scold, punish, assign stacks of penmanship or other repetitive unwanted tasks.
When a teacher is angry, she may look frazzled like a monster with static-y hair.
When a teacher is angry, you can almost see the steam coming out of her ears, and the furrows between the brows is like a mask that is slipped on over her normally cheerful demeanour.
When a teacher is angry, you don't take it seriously because the teacher still cares to push you to finish your work and still cares to make you work harder, as hard as you are capable and then even more.
But.
When a teacher is disappointed, it's as if a dark gloomy cloud has settled over the classroom.
When a teacher is disappointed, there is only silence, that can't be stirred back up and you start wishing for the teacher to yell, shout, scold, punish, and assign stacks of penmanship or other repetitive unwanted tasks.
When a teacher is disappointed, you feel lost since anger is something easier understood.
When a teacher is disappointed, it is more serious because you are faced with the teacher's expectations and hopes compared with your own effort.
It got me thinking about my own parents. How many times have I made my parents angry? And how many times were they disappointed in me? And so it becomes my own lesson today too.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
classroom notes #8: it's all worth it
The bell rings. It’s the end of a lesson.
“That’s it for today. Hand in your work.”
Chairs scrape loudly echoing off the walls in the hall.
“Don’t forget your homework sheet. It’s due next week.”
Kids muttering impatiently as they wait to be dismissed.
“You need to write in complete sentences and give five good reasons.”
The noise level increases as papers rustle and kids start running around upstairs.
“Give examples. Such as… For example…”
Feet shuffle about as they edge towards the door ready to flee.
“Okay, good-bye class.”
Within seconds, the hall is deserted.
Then a tug on my sleeve and a quiet voice… “Thank you, Miss Hester.”
My pleasure.
“That’s it for today. Hand in your work.”
Chairs scrape loudly echoing off the walls in the hall.
“Don’t forget your homework sheet. It’s due next week.”
Kids muttering impatiently as they wait to be dismissed.
“You need to write in complete sentences and give five good reasons.”
The noise level increases as papers rustle and kids start running around upstairs.
“Give examples. Such as… For example…”
Feet shuffle about as they edge towards the door ready to flee.
“Okay, good-bye class.”
Within seconds, the hall is deserted.
Then a tug on my sleeve and a quiet voice… “Thank you, Miss Hester.”
My pleasure.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
classroom notes #7: a feathery love
A teacher is like a mother duck.
A mother duck waddling about with 35 little ducklings trailing behind.
Fledglings really, learning how to use their wings and fly.
And making lots of noise in the process. A gaggle, a gargle, gurgly quacks
Sometimes you might even want to pull all the feathers from your head out of frustration.
But behind the frustration there is always lots of love.
Love.
A teacher loves with all her feathers.
A teacher loves all the little quirks and quacks.
A quacky love.
What happens when one little fledgling will never feel the starlight on her wings or fly with windy delight?
The world fills up with clouds of stormy rain.
Yet, the duck waddles on with 34 little ducklings trailing behind.
And through the clouds you still smile brightly, for the 34 little ducklings trailing behind.
A mother duck waddling about with 35 little ducklings trailing behind.
Fledglings really, learning how to use their wings and fly.
And making lots of noise in the process. A gaggle, a gargle, gurgly quacks
Sometimes you might even want to pull all the feathers from your head out of frustration.
But behind the frustration there is always lots of love.
Love.
A teacher loves with all her feathers.
A teacher loves all the little quirks and quacks.
A quacky love.
What happens when one little fledgling will never feel the starlight on her wings or fly with windy delight?
The world fills up with clouds of stormy rain.
Yet, the duck waddles on with 34 little ducklings trailing behind.
And through the clouds you still smile brightly, for the 34 little ducklings trailing behind.
Monday, November 24, 2008
classroom notes #6: playground duties and playground joys
Playground duty can be tedious and neverending, the 15 minutes stretching into eternity as swarms of kids holler and whoop around you louder than wild monkeys. But then a little girl with endearing pigtails and sticky fingers will skip along with a sunny smile...
"Miss Hester, Miss Hester!!! How old are you?!!!?" The exclamations audible in the excited speech.
"Hmm. How old are _you_?" Question asked with a quizzical pose.
"I am SEVEN years old!" Shouted jubilantly with a little bounce to accentuate.
"Seven years old!!! Me too! I'm seven years old too!" Paired with an incredulous expression.
"NOOOO! You're not seven years old!" Giggles galore.
"How old is Miss Hester?"
"Uhhh... one hundred years old!" Giggles escalating.
"One hundred? Oh no!"
"Yes! Miss Hester is one hundred!" She takes my hand.
"Miss Hester is old." And a sad little frown.
"You are beautiful! I love you!" Swings our joined hands.
"Thank you." With a little bow.
"You're welcome." And then off she runs after giving me a half eaten gummy.
Sometimes you gotta love your job.
"Miss Hester, Miss Hester!!! How old are you?!!!?" The exclamations audible in the excited speech.
"Hmm. How old are _you_?" Question asked with a quizzical pose.
"I am SEVEN years old!" Shouted jubilantly with a little bounce to accentuate.
"Seven years old!!! Me too! I'm seven years old too!" Paired with an incredulous expression.
"NOOOO! You're not seven years old!" Giggles galore.
"How old is Miss Hester?"
"Uhhh... one hundred years old!" Giggles escalating.
"One hundred? Oh no!"
"Yes! Miss Hester is one hundred!" She takes my hand.
"Miss Hester is old." And a sad little frown.
"You are beautiful! I love you!" Swings our joined hands.
"Thank you." With a little bow.
"You're welcome." And then off she runs after giving me a half eaten gummy.
Sometimes you gotta love your job.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
classroom notes #5: little moments
I’m backstage frantically giving last minute reminders before the kids go onstage for the Speech Festival competition. I make my way down the line adjusting hair ribbons, straightening shirts and cardigans and then I reach Holvin, a precocious Grade 1 little boy who’s so cute he breaks your heart and who will probably be breaking young girls’ hearts in another 10 years or so. He has a low raspy voice that's more befitting of a big burly man rather than this smidgen of a boy barely 3’ tall.
“Holvin, remember to speak loudly but don’t shout.” I adjust the cardigan that’s three sizes too large for him, my fingers trembling with anxiety at how they’ll perform and realizing everything is out of my hands now.
“Okay.” In a stage whisper that booms across the hall.
“Loud, but not too loud.” On my knees looking into his eyes.
“Miss Hester, you already say many times.” He looks back at me, eyes so serious.
“I know. Miss Hester is just nervous.” I give his nose a little rub with my fingertip.
He brings his cheek to my cheek, reaches up to pat my other cheek and then whispers into my ear.
“I know.” He gives my nose a little rub with his fingertip and then off he goes with the rest of the kids onto the stage and into the bright lights.
... And they were marvellous.
“Holvin, remember to speak loudly but don’t shout.” I adjust the cardigan that’s three sizes too large for him, my fingers trembling with anxiety at how they’ll perform and realizing everything is out of my hands now.
“Okay.” In a stage whisper that booms across the hall.
“Loud, but not too loud.” On my knees looking into his eyes.
“Miss Hester, you already say many times.” He looks back at me, eyes so serious.
“I know. Miss Hester is just nervous.” I give his nose a little rub with my fingertip.
He brings his cheek to my cheek, reaches up to pat my other cheek and then whispers into my ear.
“I know.” He gives my nose a little rub with his fingertip and then off he goes with the rest of the kids onto the stage and into the bright lights.
... And they were marvellous.
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