Sichuan Teachers

I love teaching teachers.  I don't know what it is, really, the collegiality, the fact that we have a sort of shared suffering, the fact that we understand each other's jokes, but I love it.  For the last five years I have had teachers from Sichuan University, from Chengdu China, come to visit at least once a year for about three weeks.  My task is to give them some insight into American educational practices and attempt to be a master teacher.  It is intimidating in a way, because there is a language, culture, and pedagogical divide that separates us in very real and important ways.  But I also think that divide creates some of the excitement that we all feel when we realize we aren't that different from each other after all.

Yesterday, for example, we celebrated the Chinese New Year.  Since my class starts at nine, and by cosmic coincidence, the Chinese New Year happened precisely at nine am, we had a countdown together.  Here it is.  I can't tell you how much fun I have, and how much I learn.  It is an exchange in the truest sense.  I feel more Chinese each time I train these teachers.  Even my wife, who is not the cultural adventurer that an ESL teacher generally marries, talks about visiting Chengdu. 

I want to see the pandas.  I want to eat hot pots.  I want to see the university. 

But mostly, I want to see my teachers and my friends.

 

Not Should, How

"It is never if or should we help others, but how..."

I hate certain facts about life. Here is one: pouring yourself into a thesis that only two people have ever checked out at the university library (p.s. one of those two people is you). Giving your all to teach students about pronunciation, to discover that their pronunciation DOES improve, but only in classroom settings. (Yes, there is a bit of research that suggests that we get false improvement scores precisely because students don't translate their classroom knowledge into real life--it is like students have TWO brains and the one doesn't communicate with the other).

But here is the worst of the worst: I call it digging holes. This is a reference from Louis Sachar's brilliant book about a boy who is assigned to dig holes, just to fill them up again or dig another. It is absolutely pointless work. And I HATE pointless work.

Let me give you my best example. I was asked to create a manual that would supplement a textbook used in Iraq. So far so good. This is a massive project wherein I am only a cog in the wheel. As part of this project, I was also invited to create videos to help spotlight creative ways to teach in the classroom. Again, no problem. However, what I had noticed from my previous trip to Iraq is that the more we gave to the participants, the more they believed that they needed more, and more from us. The U.S. Embassy in Iraq, for example, created large resource centers with hundreds of book titles and CD's, all state of the art stuff. One of the Iraqi teachers, who actually works at a resource center, remarked on the tremendous expense like this, "Why? Dust. The books just have dust. If I wipe my hand on the books, you see the dust. No one uses it. Why? No one knows." I can still remember the wave of his hand and the look of disgust on his face every time he said why. It was a stunning indictment.

And so I was given an assignment to contribute to these heaps of books that get used, well, not at all. This, of course, worried me. Like I said, I HATE doing work that doesn't matter. It goes against everything inside of me. So I asked around to see if I could work with the Iraqi teachers on developing the activities together. My reasoning was simple. The resource centers aren't used precisely because there is no investment. What I mean is that these teachers are being given ideas and instruments that are not their own, and told to use them. My idea was to learn exactly what the teachers do and what they need from their own viewpoint, and that this would guide my ability to write a productive manual. My idea also came from the idea that people who invest in something rather than have something given to them, will end up caring about that something. I know, I know, I'm sounding awfully parental/Republican/jerk-faced, but I still believe it with all my guts. I want them to be successful, and introducing info that they will thank me for with that condescending smile, and then simply never use, is not enough.

So, of course, I asked if I could collect information from others in Iraq. Discussions were had on the likelihood of teachers responding and how difficult it might be. The organization that hired me also mentioned time constraints and other issues at play. All fair points, truly, but my fear continued. Eventually, so did my solo work. Here, I want to be clear that I am not blaming anyone for this problem except me. I should have pushed harder. I should have made it clear. I should have written more emails to Iraqi teachers and demanded their help. But those dumb deadlines got nearer and nearer...

So I created activities based on what I thought they needed and how I thought they should teach. I worked in a vacuum and worried. Over the course of a few months, I completed over 200 pages of materials and about 50 minutes of video. It was some of the hardest work I've ever done. I really enjoyed it in a sort of twisted, sadistic way, and I'm proud of it.

But you may have noticed that that' s not really the point, is it?

And so now I am left wondering, hoping, that the books are received well. The shipment should arrive in Iraq soon, and placed inside every resource center. The books will then be put on display. And they will wait for someone to notice them.

Meanwhile, there are new holes being dug all over the world, but as for me, I have made a promise to myself. Not by me.

Dug any holes lately?

Lights! Camera! Action!

So I'm appearing in some videos. And they are cheesy! And pedantic! And I hope you love them! At the least, you can make fun of me for looking so ridiculous, although not as ridiculous as I looked as a 14-year old in this all-too-candid photo:

(So I wasn't the most attractive kid)

These videos are the beginning of a youtube series intent on training young ESL professionals to learn some of the basic tenets and practices in the field. It is my sincerest wish that you at least learn one thing while you are making fun of me.

Video #1: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=imtW2DUP1Zs&feature=player_embedded
Video #2: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fX0599suj9A
Video #3: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wgOl54SYzI4&feature=related
Video #4: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WLsD-bx_03I

Competence versus Performance

There were these three Korean girls. They walked into my college preparation classroom and I noticed them immediately. They were a great wall of frowns, a unified front, a testament to cohesiveness that for some strange reason reminded me of a cross-cultural game of Red Rover. They stared straight ahead, shoulders evenly spaced, and in a manner reminiscent of an unusually dour group of synchronized swimmers.

I began teaching in my usual style: all smiles and involvement. I shared how important it is that we become a family, and I shared how it was my goal to teach them that college was like a separate nation, with its own customs and traditions. I told them I would be their tour guide as we explored the boundaries of this new, undiscovered country. I was in fine teaching form, getting students to participate, asking them to elaborate on their own fears and understanding of college, and attempting to open them up to a new world.

But the three Korean students approached me shortly after class, single file.

"We don't need," spoke the shortest. "We only need TOEFL." The others nodded in assent. They were referring to the college entrance test given to non-native English speakers. This was a typical complaint, that my class wasn't preparing students for their most immediate need.

"Oh?" I said, "Well I will be teaching you a lot of TOEFL techniques that will definitely help you."

They didn't budge. "Only TOEFL."

For the next few weeks I insisted how my class would indeed help them for the test and beyond, but these three women (whom I grew to love, by the way), would sit in the back, arms often crossed, and refused to participate. A short time later, they began bringing TOEFL books to class, and they would quietly study. A time after that, they sat outside my classroom and studied their books during my classtime. I did my best to befriend them, but they were adamant. The test is what mattered. All other considerations were secondary. Their logic was simple and overpowering.

That isn't to say they were mean spirited. They even invited me over to their apartment once. Up the steps, past dozens of American apartments, I walked into a door and was immediately struck by the smell of kimchi and the sounds of k-pop. I was in Little Korea. I asked them if they were going to the American party downstairs. I asked them if they had met any American friends. No, only TOEFL was the reply. I believe they shared this as an attempt to brag about their focus. I nodded.

I learned that they had each studied anywhere from 10 to 12 hours daily, pouring themselves into their books like ascetics would the Dead Sea Scrolls. They had put in the work. I was so impressed with them. I still am.

About a month later they came to me with triumph in their eyes. They were holding sheets of paper. Their TOEFL scores. They announced to me that they had understood all along what path would lead them to victory.

"Teacher," said one, "We were right. And you were wrong." Such directness from certain cultures used to offend me, but it doesn't anymore. And anyway, in their celebratory mood, I didn't argue the point. You can't argue with smiles. I congratulated them and told them good luck. They all left for the university shortly thereafter.

What happened after is something I'll always remember. One of the students described it like this:

I went to the university class the first day. The teacher began talking and like you, really, with all the Americans talking back. I couldn't understand the teacher and I couldn't understand anything. When I did understand, I couldn't share my understanding. Five page papers? How could I? What could I do? I went home and I cried. This place is not for me. It is a place I do not know.

My heart broke for them when they told me. They had attained a level of linguistic competence that was well suited for tests, but not suited for the American classroom. All three of them dropped out of school within weeks. They arrived at my tiny school shortly after.

Three Korean girls came to my office, heads slightly bowed. Several of them began speaking at once, telling me their stories.

"Teacher," one smiled wryly, perhaps recognizing the symmetry of her remark, and said, "We were wrong, and you were right."

Another way to think about language learning is to discuss the concepts of competence and performance. Competence refers to the knowledge that we have about language, or as Chomsky states, our "idealized capacity" for language. Performance refers to the actual production of language in real situations. Often, I have a number of students who have learned language in the confines of the language classroom, and have studied grammar and rules almost to the exclusion of actual language use. In other words, I think many teachers focus too much on competence, and too many classrooms fail to create conditions for performance activities.

Language is a Pool

What does it feel like to be an international student learning English? I often ask myself that in some sort of impossible attempt at empathizing with their situation. What must it be like to walk into my class on day one? Let me give you an ordinary scenario of what it looks like on the first day of class:

Two students enter with smiles on their faces, but most come, one by one, rather straight-faced, as if they are skittish or unsure. They check their room information sheets before they sit down. Those that sit up front come with textbooks in hand, but generally the seats fill from back to front. A small cluster seem to know each other already, and for a few Arabic students, who sit in the far back, there is a sense that each seat represents a personal island. When they sit down there is a heaviness. One gets lost in "texting" immediately, which I have learned is a strategy to not make eye contact with me. Others are content enough to simply look forward and wait, but not necessarily at me. I wonder what they are looking for. Then it strikes me as symbolic: they are all looking for something. Their glances seem poignant to me somehow, and then a student near the front asks me a question and my thought vanishes.

I worry about my students. I worry about them a great deal. They come with more obstacles than the typical American university student, and the typical American student already has plenty to worry about. For one, there is the language barrier, of course, fraught with pitfalls and the inability to say nothing without sounding 5 years old. There is the cultural barrier, too (one of my students had NO idea what french fries were, and kept trying to order in English as he would in Japan. In Japan, when you go to a fast food restaurant, you can actually show off your mad English skills by ordering "fried potatoes"). And then there is the social barrier, which includes the sheer loneliness of going home to an apartment, doing your homework, and then turning on the TV. EVERY day. Not to mention they have none of the familiar social network or family structures that one might be used to (meals, calling up a friend, a way to do your laundry that makes sense, a hang out). As one of my students phrased it this week, "I miss being me."

And then, last but not least, how about the classroom culture shock? What must it be like to be speak in a language that you haven't mastered? What is it like psychologically to open your mouth in front of 30 others and just speak incoherent half-thoughts? What is it like to suddenly open yourself to a whole world of academia, opinions, and feelings with a group of strangers? Well, I think you end up feeling like Mr. Bean.

Mr. Bean, you say? Why yes, I do. I think he is the perfect metaphor for an international student, in fact. He has boyish hopes and ambitions, but an absolute inability to translate those hopes into the world around him. He is endearingly relatable, and yet he is aloof from the rest of the world precisely because he is so different. And, most important of all, he always surprises us for, despite all his deficiencies, being willing to attempt the foolish in order to accomplish his goals. In essence, he is willing to jump into the pool.

I think we could all learn a thing or two by being a little more Mr. Bean.

And to my international students, I salute you for your bravery. Even if it is going to take me to step on your fingers to let go of the plank.

Student Resources on the Internet

Have you ever wanted to have a pen pal and practice your English? Improve your typing speed? Get simplified stories for English? Here are my favorite student resources for self study!

Levels 1 and 2 are Basic, Levels 3 and 4 are intermediate, Levels 5 and 6 are Advanced

Typing Resources
1. http://speedtest.10-fast-fingers.com/ 1+
2. http://www.typingtest.com/ 2+
Listening Resources
3. http://cdlponline.org/ (California Distance Learning Project--great listening exercises!) 3+

4. www.literacynet.org/cnnsf/education.html (CNN simplified stories with quizzes): 4+
5. http://www.cnn.com/audioselect/ (CNN Radio broadcasts daily): 5+
6. http://www.npr.org/programs/lnfsound/stories/index.html (NPR stories) 4+
7. http://www.breakingnewsenglish.com/ (current events topics posted weekly): 4+
Speaking Resources
8. http://www.aitech.ac.jp/~iteslj/links/ESL/Pronunciation/ All
9. http://www.online-stopwatch.com/ time yourself for TOEFL or timed speeches! 1+
Reading Resources
10. www.literacynet.org/cnnsf/education.html ( CNN simplified stories and quizzes): 3+
11. http://www.usnews.com/usnews/home.htm (US News): 5+
Writing Resources
12. http://www.epals.com/ (pen pals through e-mail): All
13. http://www.freetranslation.com/ (free translation services): All
14. http://webster.commnet.edu/grammar/ (writing and grammar rules and helps): 3+
15. http://webster.commnet.edu/apa/apa_index.htm (guide for writing with APA style): 5+

Vocabulary Resources

16. http://number2.com/ (Vocabulary for GRE, GMAT, and the SAT): Level 3+

Hitting the Wall

So do you feel it yet? The after Thanksgiving blues? Do your legs feel heavy, your brain woozy, and your heart nearly give out by the very thought of entering the classroom come Monday morning? And do your students look at you like this? Or worse: do you AGREE with them?

Well, honey, it ain't just the stuffing. And trust me, you are not alone. While we can speculate on reasons, teacher and student burnout after Thanksgiving is widely reported in educational circles. I think of it as something akin to hitting the wall in a marathon. If you are unfamiliar with the term, hitting the wall refers to how your body feels after running your first 20 miles. However positive you may have been feeling previous to mile 20, when you hit the wall something happens to the body that simply can't be explained unless you've done it. But let me try in 6 brief sentences:

1. You can't catch your breath (but you CAN feel the tendons all the way down the length of your legs).

2. You can actually TRACE the entire shape of your kidneys in your mind.

3. You're thirsty but your stomach is sloshing with water.

4. All your senses are dull except for your ability to register pain.

5. You keep registering images after they have long left your view ("Was that a car accident I saw at mile 18?" you wonder at mile 22).

6. And above all, you just want everything to stop.

If you do stop, by the way, it is often referred to in running circles as "bonking." (A popular sports drink now boasts the slogan, "Don't bonk.")

And the student equivalent to this, as I implied, happens precisely on November 29th. Yay for today! And here is a peek at some of the results:

(P.S. This is NOT a class doing a sleep deprivation study. It's just a class. And NO it's not mine. Rude.)

Ah, the merriment of the holidays! Well, now that I have set this festive tone, I'd like to ask teachers how they overcome the "after-the-holidays blues."

And so in today’s post I ask a simple question: what do YOU do when you hit the wall? (Besides cry.)

Oh, and don't bonk.

(dramatization: no students were hurt in the taking of this photograph)

Which are YOU? Take the Pepsi challenge.

As far as I have been able to surmise, there are a lot of binary opposites among ESL teachers. Think of it as a Coke/Pepsi kind of a thing. For those of you that aren't ESL professionals, let me explain the difference and have you reflect which one you might be. Coke, or Pepsi?

Coke: (Classic, traditional) Some ESL teachers, for example, see themselves as primarily grammar teachers. To advocates, they are the keepers of the linguistic gate. They are the ones who have truly paid their dues and can, upon request, recite two reasons for the present perfect and the three purposes of the passive voice. They are smart (they do know the rules, after all), well-respected, and have tremendous influence in ESL circles. However, to the naysayers, these teachers move their way through classes like sharks hunting amidst a school of fish. Their focus is to eradicate errors. Their goal is accuracy, and they never realize that accuracy is a far cry from actual competent use of language. Who cares if you speak accurately if you have nothing important to say? And, one could argue, a knowledge of a thousand rules doesn’t really translate to real performative competence anyway (i.e. just because I read a lot of books about basketball doesn’t make me Michael Jordan).

Pepsi (Daring, new) Other teachers take the opposite approach. You might think of them as content teachers. They are those who teach away from the English language and focus on a set of skills or knowledge that they perceive as being valuable to the student. They might teach autobiography, history, resume writing, engineering, or nursing. They focus less on the actual form of language and move toward subject matter. To proponents, these are those who understand that language is a medium for communication, and that errors are simply part of any process to learn a second language. In short, they don’t care so much that students say something right as much as to say something meaningful. Risk and meaning are paramount: pillars of virtue upon which this method rests. To critics, these teachers are hippie feel-gooders with low standards and little understanding of grammar. If these ESL hacks knew the rules, it is implied, they would teach students about them.

Here is a metaphor to delineate the difference. In it, you’ll need to think “words” every time I say “clothes.”

I think of the first kind of ESL teacher as the kind of fussy OCD type that cannot resist the urge to organize a clothes drawer. If the clothes are out of order, how will you ever find them? They arrange by size, color, and function from suits, jackets, shirts, and slacks, all the way down to the sock drawer (formal socks go HERE, casual HERE, and sports HERE). Aside: my grandfather insisted that by safety pinning each pair of sock as soon as he took them off, he never lost another sock again. Such elegant efficiency appealed to the man. Anyway, these teachers are the organizers of chaos. They are the efficient, snappy dressers of language.

I think of the second kind of ESL teacher as the fashion conscious. This teacher doesn’t care so much about organizing the socks by type and function, rather this teacher thinks of how fun it is to be creative with clothes. This teacher will get out all the clothes, mess them up, play with them, and come up with an arrangement that is pleasing and original. This teacher will encourage others to do the same. The teacher will discuss how one might dress and for what purpose one might dress just so. This teacher is interested in trying to show students their own sense of style and that the whole reason for clothes isn’t for them to hang in a closet, rather clothes are for the wearing.


And these two different types, like a bickering married couple, tend to upset the other.
“Can’t you understand” says the first, “how important it is to keep things clean? Then you could FIND stuff.”


“Can’t you understand,” says the second, “that in order to find what I like, I have to make a mess of it?”


So which are you?

Pop Flies in the Sun

I have a friend, Kate, who tells about her son’s frustrations on a baseball team here in Arizona. The coach, a rather strict disciplinarian, has all the members of the team catch pop flies in the sun. A pop fly is, for those of you unfamiliar with baseball, a ball hit ridiculously high into the air. Pop flies are routinely caught by professional players, but can still cause lots of problems for the under-initiated.

This is because as soon as the ball is hit, it can seem to disappear into the sky and then, just as quickly, come hurtling back to earth. With the sun in your eyes, this difficult task can become nearly impossible. You try to shield your eyes with your glove, your hand, your cap, but the sun is ALWAYS larger than the ball. You try squinting or looking at a different part of the sky, but as the ball approaches you say, “To heck with this!” and brave the pain of direct sunlight. Since you are crazy enough to put your FACE between the ground and this seemingly meteoric object, you are absolutely certain that you are about to be bludgeoned to death. And just before impact, you have a deepened appreciation for a peculiar law of nature: staring at too much light causes you to see pitch black.

Can you imagine how you would feel if your coach actually MAKES you endure this exercise. On purpose? And not only make you catch one pop fly in the sun, but make a repeated drill out of it.

As I mentioned, Kate’s son comes home upset. “Coach made us catch fly balls in the sun!” he complains. He continues his tirade by expressing how it doesn’t make any sense, it hurts the eyes and the face, and he doesn’t see the correlation between burned eyes and actually playing in a baseball game.

It isn’t until game time, however, that coach’s seemingly cruel drills pay off. The team is in the midst of a crucial game. Kate’s son, predictably, plays in the outfield and, as is the case in Arizona, is facing the sun (inexplicably, this happens in Arizona no matter what direction you are facing). A ball is struck, disappears high in the air, and then descends upon our hapless player. He stares at the sun in hopes to see the ball, grits his teeth, and with the determined ferocity and tenacious hope that comes with practice, he catches it. This causes the team to burst into celebration. A crucial game is won.

Kate relates this story to the student/teacher relationship inside the classroom. The coach is the teacher in a classroom; Kate’s son is a lot like the students we teach. They tend to complain and to moan when they don’t understand our purpose, and sometimes even see us as cruel dictators intent on harming them. Sometimes, I submit, that is true (teachers can be a melancholic bunch), however, more often than not, teachers aim to prepare students for future contexts. Teachers, good teachers, seek to anticipate what the students need even before the students know it.

You see, teachers, good teachers, love their students. Burned corneas and all. And that is why I invite you to go out to the middle of the field and prepare to be bludgeoned. Just trust me.

Undiscovered Country

Anyone know what bulimic learning is? You can probably guess the meaning without too much effort, but let me give you my definition. Bulimic learning refers to the student body practice of memorizing facts exclusively for a test, then disregarding those facts (purging) as soon as the test is over.

Bulimic learning is the kind of learning most of us, I believe, were accustomed to in high school and college. We memorized a bunch of facts the night before, we regurgitated these facts onto the test paper the following day, and then promptly purged ourselves of the information we had just gorged upon. And just as someone who suffers from bulimia gains no nutritional value from food, so we gained no educational value from our classes.

I remember that in college, usually on Fridays, my friends and I would have particularly difficult examinations. It was after these arduous exams that we would pay a visit to the apartment hot tub and begin the process of "freeing" ourselves from the burdens of what we regarded as useless information. We would soak into the hot water and literally feel our knowledge melt away. Thus freed from such space-hogging clutter, we were left to ask those questions that burn upon the minds of the most gifted scholars. (Questions such as "Why do hands get so pruney?" and "whose turn is it to turn on the jets?")

"Ah!" I would think to myself, "I can FEEL myself getting dumber." When farting in the hot tub seemed funny to us, we knew our purge was complete.

My point in bringing up bulimic learning is to start a little investigation into true learning environments. Obviously, as a teacher, I want to encourage students to move beyond bulimic learning, and I think that this must start with me. I want to move beyond cramming my students full of irrelevant information, and I want to do this by giving them ideas that truly matter. And I want to find techniques that will allow them to care about this information and keep it in reserve for when it is truly needed.

One of the greatest problems in American education is the belief that a test proves students have learned. I think many people would agree with me when I say this, yet it remains a cornerstone of how education works all over the world. I guess this is because people are always thinking that there is no way around it. Maybe you, yourself, are thinking, "but Shane, what do we do? What are the alternatives?"

Well, thanks for chiming in, Sparky. That is an excellent question. What ARE the alternatives to this memorization madness? Gosh, first off. I don't know. It isn't that I'm opposed to tests, it's just that....well, I'll give some of my own ideas on in my next post. Remind me to tell you the pop fly story.

Until then, how about some of YOU tell me? I'll ask this question in a different way so that you can see what I'm fishing for. Could anyone tell me a story about a class where they really learned? About a class that moved beyond the words in a textbook and into the skills and ideas that currently shape who you are and what you do? Into that undiscovered country from whose bourne few travelers return?

Tell me about it. Let the ideas soak in the hot tub of your own brains (Seth, Abdu, and Sparky, I'm especially looking at you). I'll meet you next Friday and we can discuss. Bring your own towels.