Learning

What I learnt this week:

6.10 is a hideous time to wake up, it's just wrong on every level. 9.00, on the otherhand, it a perfectly reasonable time to rise. Today (Saturday) I slept blissfully until 10.30, which is even better. My alarm goes off at 6.10am four out of five mornings. That sucks hairy dog balls.

If I leave home between 7.05 and 7.10 it will take me about 25 minutes to get to school. If I leave at 7.15 or later, it will take me at least 45 minutes. I learnt this lesson the hard way on my first day. Rocked up to school and found the principal waiting with my class. Awesome. Good first impression made? Tick.

Blackboards still exist. Yes, fo' serious. Whiteboards? No. Interactive Whiteboards? Hell to the no. And my handwriting in chalk is abysmal. And chalk handprints on black pants are a great look.

I should not try to be clever and/or witty with ESL 12 year-olds. Writing on the blackboard examples of what I wanted them to copy - with their own details, I ended up with 25 copies of work with Name: Berthilda Pumpkin-Head on top.

French schooling doesn’t seem to encourage participation and open discussion. The students seem rather shocked that I want us to discuss as a group what Dickinson means in this stanza, or whether the narrator actually is mad in the Tell-Tale Heart. They seem to want me to just tell them facts and to then be able to correctly regurgitate the answer. They also seem incredibly afraid of getting something wrong, or that something I mark might count towards their “moyenne” or term grade.

They seem to counter this stress – by smoking. I haven’t quite sussed out the rules regarding this, but I have seen numerous groups of teens at the lycée, just outside the gate, puffing away with no signs of it being rebellious or against the rule. Confusing.

French teenagers don’t have a sense of humour. Either I’m getting less amusing (Impossible! I hear you say - my schtick is f-ing hilarious) or the slightly surly 17 year olds I encountered this week don’t have a sense of the ridiculous, cause I was pulling out some of my best zingers, and got nuthuink. One or two may have smirked, but it was hard to tell. The smirk, like the Gallic shrug, are fairly commonplace.

7-year-old boys are unstoppable forces of nature. A year of drama classes with this group is going to be a killer. 7-year-old-girls, however, follow instructions beautifully and understand that when you are meant to be floating around the room like a balloon, this doesn’t mean you should be running around, smashing in to people and flinging around ninja-style kicks and “hi-yas”.

Girls > Boys. True story.



Conclusion:

This job is going to be hardcore. But I love it already.

Some classes have had the “zing” already, where I know I’m doing well and the kids are responding in kind. Others have been just ok. On the whole they are very sweet and very earnest. Their English varies incredibly from one class of 6eme who are basically novice ESLers to my 4eme and 1ere classes, who are pretty solid.

And I’m going out for dinner tonight with some colleagues, which should be great.

So my return to the teaching profession? Oh it’s on like Donkey Kong.

xx