Caveat: 당신은 특☆해요!

It was one of those miraculous, happy days, when putting up with all the sociopathic administrator bullshit becomes totally worth it.  What I mean to say, is the kids came through.  They delivered happiness and joy.
One student wrote to me:   당신은 특☆해요!  (and explaining that ☆ is read as 별 = “star”), hence “당신은 특별해요” [dang-sin-eun teuk-byeol-hae-yo = you are special].  Aww, shucks.  I thought that’s what teachers were supposed to write to their students, not vice versa.
Then, I was in the courtyard, with about five minutes before having to go upstairs to the third grade.  A group of third graders saw me, and said, oh, teacher, you must come to class.  They grabbed me by my hands and hauled me up the stairs as if I was an unruly child, and then when I got there, things were still clearly in a state of recess, so I said, why am I here?
“Fun!” was the chorus.
In another third grade class, I was going through my beginning-of-class routine – I ask students (not always every single one, but at least half, one by one) “how are you?”  I try to get them to vary their answers, and not always use the pat “I am fine” that they all seem to learn early on.  And whatever their answer, I occasionally ask “why?” and try to get them to give some information as to why they feel the way that they do.
So… I asked one student, “how are you?”
“Oh!  Very happy,” calm, but grinning.
“Why?”
“Because you.”  And she pointed at me.  I almost blushed in self-consciousness.
That was pleasing.
Finally, I was in my evening “gifted students’ class” which is at the county education office here in Yeonggwang.  I have about 22 smart – and smart-alecky – but not always focused sixth graders.  Things had been feeling a little bit slow.  But then I introduced them to my Jeopardy quiz show concept.  And they ran with it.
We had to modify the rules a little bit, because it was such a large group (22 contestants is a lot, to have to consult each student’s answer individually).  But it worked very well:  I had them scrawling down answers on scraps of paper and throwing them at me, I would read their answers and say “good” or “bad.”  I would award money (yes, my ubiquitous play money) appropriately.  And the kids started to have a huge amount of fun.  They would write truly funny things when they didn’t know the answer.  I would read them in my best game-show-host demeanor, and then begin laughing uncontrollably and toss the scrap of paper with the answer back into the crowd.  It had the same atmospheric as one of those always playing Korean comedy game shows.  It felt very successful.  Everyone was laughing.  No one noticed it was time to leave.
I walked home and passed the pizza place where some of the expats meet on Fridays… I didn’t really even realize I was walking along that particular street.  The owner saw me and leaned out the door, “안녕하세요.”  I answered in kind, “예, 안녕하세요.”