I honestly had no intention of writing some sappy Christmas-spirit entry to this blog. It's not really in my character, and I've been feeling totally crappy, with a major relapse of flu symptoms combined with a lot of frustration and uncertainty about work. But…
I have this student who goes by the English name of … well, let's call her Ashley (something makes me shy about telling her real name, English or Korean). She's in my T2 class, which, if you've been reading this blog, you will already know means she's not a superstar when it comes to the "Jared's favorite class" category. But she's been the lead player in the rebellion… at least, it's always seemed that way to me.
More than once, if I'd been hard-pressed to name a student that I was certain hated me, I would have named Ashley. Perhaps the only one in that category… though, in my more rational, adult moments, I recognize it's unlikely she's ever hated me, simply that I was in some way a barrier to the most fulfilling expression of her teenage angst and anger. Or a target.
She's not stupid – in fact, in a recent English level-test, she was the highest scorer in her age-group in our little school. Several other teachers expressed dumbfounded amazement at this, but I'm not so naive as to assume that bad attitude is the same thing as low intelligence or lack of skill – in fact, I might be more inclined to believe the opposite. And when she reads out loud, her accent is almost eerily flawless, at least in comparison to her peers – so she doesn't lack innate language talent, either.
We've had more than one disciplinary confrontation. My least-proud moment, this fall, was when I tore up a crib sheet she was writing (for another class), in an unsuccessful effort to confiscate it from her (although throwing Steve's cellphone across the classroom was a close runner-up – and I did that just recently!). Often an entire week would go by when she would answer not a single question of mine, nor open her book, nor show any interest in the class, while wearing a permanent scowl on her face – and I would know it was directed at me, as I would, an hour later, look in to see her giggling with a friend in another class.
I'm certain I've managed to earn some of her anger: I am not always great with remembering names, but for whatever strange reason she was the target of the "wrong name" syndrome, during my first months at the school, more than most. And I know I misread a sort of inward-looking shyness on her part as a more malevolent hostility, early on. But based on conversations with other teachers, she's not entirely innocent, either. Ryan described her as spoiled, rude and permanently angry.
I have tried not to take it personally. Most of the time, I didn't. But I couldn't help but be aware of her glowering resentment.
Well, today, Ashley gave me a Christmas present – and one of the most wonderful and memorable I've ever received: she participated; she was pleasant and civil with me and her peers; she smiled.
I'm not even certain that it was meant to be a Christmas present. Perhaps she was just in a good mood, for whatever reason. Doesn't matter. It made a difference. Without her serving in her standard role, those T2's shined… and were my favorite class of the day. Of course, we weren't doing much work… just a word game, nothing strenuous, academically speaking – it's Christmas Eve, after all.
Something very Christmassy about that little glimmer of niceness. Of joy. So, everyone… Merry Christmas – from a soulless man in Seoul.