Caveat: 감동을 주는 학생 관리의 전문가가 되십시오

This is the fifth question (section heading) from the handout entitled “초등부 강사로서의 나의 역량 자가 진단” (roughly, “self-diagnostic of my abilities as an elementary teacher”) which we discussed in a meeting a few weeks back – I discussed the first, second, third and fourth questions prior.

감동을          주는           학생     관리의

impression-OBJ give-PASTPART student management-GEN

전문가가            되십시오

professional-SUBJ become-DEF-FORMAL-IMPER

Become an impressive student management professional.

Actually, it’s not a question, like the others. It’s an imperative. Do it!

This really seems to be a reference to the 상담 (“counseling”) role that I happen to have discussed at length in my exact previous post. In that sense, it doesn’t really apply to me, since my interaction with parents is quite minimal, mostly due to linguistic causes (i.e. my poor Korean) rather than a desire on my part to avoid it.

Nevertheless, I would also take it to mean issues of what we might call “classroom management.” In that sense, it’s important. Classroom management is hard. I have been having a lot of incidences of my lesson plan coming up “short” recently – I finish what I intended to do and still have 5 or 10 minutes of class left. When that happens, I will often just “chat” with the students for a while, or tell a story or play a game, but it does feel like a classroom management failure at some level, and it’s been happening enough that students are starting to expect it, and I’m not sure that’s a good idea. This is what you might call the time-management aspect of classroom management.

In the area of handling disruptive students, I’m more confident. I feel like over all I handle these situations well, and without too often invoking “higher authorities” (i.e. the dreaded “If you do that again I’m going to take you out for a visit with the 실장님” [front desk lady] and then having to live up to that threat).

In the area of record keeping, I think in fact I exceed my fellow teachers, yet I’m actually not very happy with how I do. I would love to have it all in a database, but the raw fact is that I’m too lazy to build such a database, and certainly management is too lazy to provide such a database except in the most rudimentary sort.

Overall, in the area of “Impressive student management professional” I would give myself a B-.

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Caveat: Why Debate at Karma

It’s been taking longer than I intended to write the Part II of my IIRTHW article I began with Part I three weeks ago, now. My intention is to finish it this weekend, and get to work on Part III, which was my original intent all along.

Meanwhile, I thought I would share something I wrote for work. It’s a draft of what’s supposed to be a concise description of the debate program I designed, initiated and have subsequently developed at Karma. Like most of my writing, it ends up being distressingly non-concise, and I don’t envy the poor coworker who ends up trying to translate it into Korean – the document is intended to go into a Karma catalog (a sort of extensive sales brochure) that will go to parents. But it does manage to cover the parameters set out for me (why, what, how – all in less than a page).


Rhetoric is the name, in English, for the art of effective or persuasive speaking and writing. It is a very old concept, which comes to Western European culture from the Greeks and Romans more than 2000 years ago. Aristotle and Plato, for example, each wrote about methods of rhetoric and argued its role in leadership. Thus rhetoric is a foundational element of Western education and civilization, and even now with a good understanding of rhetoric a student has the essential intellectual tools to be successful among the elites of Western education.

Our KarmaPlus debate curriculum teaches classical, Western-style rhetoric in a way that engages students’ interest and imagination while providing opportunities to practice and develop all four language skills: reading, listening, writing and speaking.
Debate is frequently used in government and to talk about public policy decisions. In many countries, there are also academic debate competitions which function similarly to sports competitions. Most major Korean universities have English debate teams that participate in national and international competitions, and our debate curriculum is intended to introduce students to that style of debate.
A student who has mastered the essential skills as taught in our debate curriculum will have an advantage on any test that requires rapid, long-form speaking: iBT (TOEFL) and TEPS Speaking are the best known examples, but many foreign and elite high schools conduct interview tests for applicants where a basis in debate is valuable. Later in life, debating skills can be useful in business or career environments such as job interviews or product presentations.
Each debate class follows a simple, repeating pattern over a series of four or five class-hours. On the first day, we do a reading on the topic we will be debating and discuss answers to questions about meaning and opinions. This provides exposure to relevant vocabulary and concepts. Next we present a  “Proposition” which is the idea to be debated. The teacher gives a detailed hour-long lecture on the background and possible PRO and CON ideas on this topic. For homework, the students write an essay (or several essays) about the topic, and the next class
they form teams for a practice debate, using their own opinions as well as opinions suggested by the teacher. Lastly, they memorize a speech and present it as a “debate speech test” which is recorded on video and scored by a detailed rubric covering many details: intonation, speed of voice, grammar, ideas, organization, research, etc. This is their test score and monthly grade. In this course structure, over four or five class hours we cover reading, listening, writing and speaking.

Caveat: This Debate Is Boring

With respect to my great “absurd debate” lesson I came up with last week, here is one of the most excellent results, from Wednesday night.

Proposition: “This debate is boring.”

Even the PRO team told me afterward that the topic was fun. So in fact, the PRO team lost. These 7th and 8th are doing self-referentiality. Now I can feel like all those years with Cervantes are finally paying off.

Caveat: 원숭이 세척 자주 좀

In my previous post, I mentioned a student survey that I’d recently seen some results from. This survey was only among the elementary students, which is a fairly small group for me since my schedule is more weighted toward the middle-schoolers these days. I actually only have about 20 elementary kids, currently, scattered in half a dozen quite small classes. This survey represents 14 of them.

picture

I might talk about the numerical results at a later point. The two things that jumped out at me were a) my highest scores were for having a “fun / interesting” class (second row), and b) there are 2 students who, apparently, would definitely not recommend me as a teacher to their friends (last row, far right box).
What I wanted to focus on here were the 5 free-form comments at the bottom. These are mostly amusing – there is, in fact, only one comment that is serious, and from its content I already know which student wrote it: she is complaining that I don’t return graded essays for the advanced TOEFL writing class in a timely manner. In that, I’m guilty as charged.
Here is a close-up of the comments.

picture

Here is my transcription, with rough translations.
숙제 내주지 마세요.
Please don’t give homework.
한국어로 말해주세요.
Please speak in Korean.
원숭이 세척 자주 좀
clean the monkey a little
좀스피킹 좀 재미있게 해요. 그리고 Writing 검사를 제대로 해주세요.
Speaking is a little bit fun. But please check writing more thoroughly.
원숭이를 깨끗하게 써주세요.
Please administer cleaning to the monkey.

pictureTwo of the five comments received were that my monkey needed to be cleaned. My “monkey” is the Minneapolitan Rainbow Monkey (who goes by the name “Dinner” which is a reference to his relationship with the alligator), which has been mentioned previously in this blog. I took him home last weekend and let him go on a ride in the washing machine, so he’s cleaner now. But I perhaps should make that a weekly custom – he lands on the floor a lot.

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Caveat: 수업분위기는 어떻게 유도하십니까?

This is the fourth question (section heading) from the handout entitled “초등부 강사로서의 나의 역량 자가 진단” (roughly, “self-diagnostic of my abilities as an elementary teacher”) which we discussed in a meeting a few weeks back – I discussed the first, second and third questions prior.

수업분위기는             어떻게    유도하십니까?

class-atmosphere-TOPIC how-ADV induce-DEF-FORMAL-QUESTION

What kind of atmosphere do you create for your classes?

I know that I’m a fun teacher. I recently saw the results of a survey to elementary students wherein my highest rating (and my only non-disappointing rating, frankly) was for having a fun and interesting atmosphere in my class. I’ll post more about that survey later.

I think I would have already guessed that this is not a weak area for me. I think I conduct a class with a good atmosphere, most of the time.

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Caveat: Absurd Debate Topics

Sometimes I come up with a "filler" lesson plan that's so successful that I end up applying across most of my classes. Recently, because of the end of the test-prep period, I had some mixed ability middle-school classes that weren't part of my regular curriculum. In these contexts, I get asked to put together a one-up lesson plan for a "speaking class." "Just teach them some speaking," my boss says.

In earlier times I would get stressed about these one-up classes, but no longer. I view them as a laboratory and as a chance to try things out. I have a little folder of ideas that I can pull something out of.

One idea I had was to do some "absurd" debates. I've done these before, but always very detailed and well-developed over several classes, in the style of my regular debate curriculum. This idea was a little different: get the ideas out there, brainstorm for maybe 15 minutes, and put the kids to debating right away.

This idea only works if you've already got most of the students (if not all) fully familiar with the basic debate format. Now that I've been doing this a while, I could be confident of this – most of the students, if they've had "Jared teacher" before, have done debate at some style or level.

With this prerequisite out of the way, this "absurd" debate lesson was wildly successful. I never saw so many normally bored or disengaged or struggling students begin to laugh at the propositions and giggle at the prospect of defending one side or the other of these strange propostions. A few students took a while to "get" the exercise, but once they did, they too were fully on board.

Here is a list of the absurd debate propositions I came up with.

"Santa Claus is a criminal."
"Black is the best color."
"Aliens make the best friends."
"Unicorns are better than zebras."
"A smartphone is smarter than a dog."
"The moon is made of green cheese."
"The earth is flat."
"The teacher is a ghost."
"This debate is boring."

I've done a few of these before, and may have mentioned them, but never all together like this. I need to come up with more – this has been one of the most successful speaking debate classes I've ever done. I never have had so many students muttering to themselves phrases such as, "재미있구나" [jaemiittguna = this is interesting]. It's very gratifying to hear this, as a teacher.

Caveat: Debate Methodology

My main debate classes are for the middle-school students, these days. But when I worked at LBridge, we had a full elementary debate curriculum for the speaking component of the EFL curriculum, and I remain a strong believe that debate is great way to teach EFL speaking, especially in Korea where getting kids to do spontaneous conversation is sometimes quite challenging.

I further believe it needn't be reserved for high-level students only. I've been experimenting with teaching debate to my intermediate elementary students exactly the same way I teach to my middle schoolers, in the BISP1-M 반 (cohort).

The lesson follows a 3 or 4 class period pattern. First class introduces the topic and proposition, which follows a debate topic given in a really badly made "teaching newspaper" such as are popular here. The topic in April was "South Korean schools should adopt a 'free semester' system."

A 'free semester' system sounds like a big deal, but it really isn't. The suggestion is that Korean students spend too much time preparing for tests, with a mid-term and then a final each semester. A 'free semester' would be a semester with only one test instead of two. Yay, freedom! Sort of. The idea is that some given semester in middle school would be liberated from a mid-term, and time would be devoted to exposing students to career-planning type activities instead. This is middle-schoolers we're talking about… that said, I think what's being proposed has some parallels in some European models of education, in particular in Germany.

We did some discussion, and found that the students seemed to have a pretty good grasp of the issues.

For the second class they complete an essay either supporting (PRO) or opposing (CON) the proposition. I read the essays and return them with minimal correction (to keep things moving along fast). Then the students have a "panel" debate, where sides and positions are mostly up to them or sometimes chosen randomly.

Here is the panel debate with these BISP1-M kids, which we did on April 10. (Turn the volume down – when I made the video the sound got cranked).

The next class, they are to present memorized 2 minute speeches on the same topic, either PRO or CON (their choice if I'm in a good mood, randomly if I'm not – my mood being contingent on how well they've been doing on other homework and suchlike).

This is what I call the debate speech test, and I use a scoring rubric to give a test score which is their monthly grade. The scoring rubric weights effort and presentation style heavily – it's possible to get an A on the test merely parroting ideas from my own lectures or from the newpaper. This is because I don't see debate class as being primarily about critical thinking or problem solving, but about building confidence and fluency. So in this way, the students often memorize and assemble points from my talking or from each other, too.  I think that's OK.

Here are debate speech tests for this same class, which we did on April 17. (Turn the volume down – when I made the video the sound got cranked).

Caveat: 강사로서의 자부심을 느끼고 있습니까?

This isn’t an aphorism or proverb, but rather a section heading of a handout from a staff-meeting a week or two ago, which was entitled “초등부 강사로서의 나의 역량 자가 진단” (roughly, “self-diagnostic of my abilities as an elementary teacher”).

I bring these Korean language handouts home and over time I study them, if I get the motivation. It’s rough going, but occasionally they offer insights into how my boss is thinking, or at least, how he feels he should be thinking.

The first section heading of this “self-diagnostic” is “강사로서의 자부심을 느끼고 있습니까?” (“do I feel pride / self-confidence as a teacher?”). The problem is that “pride” and “self-confidence” are both offered as translations of 자부심, but I’m not sure they are the same thing.

Does the term mean both? Do these concepts of “pride” or “self-confidence,” in particular, work differently in Western psychology? I would feel comfortable saying I have pride in my teaching, but I couldn’t never fully agree that I have self-confidence in my teaching. Excessive self-confidence in teaching leads to close-mindedness, which is the bane of effective teaching in my opinion. For me, feigned self-confidence is crucial in the classroom, but true self-confidence elusive – and I don’t view this dichotomy as a bad thing.

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Caveat: Wingdings

An advanced-level elementary student was writing an essay for me in the computer lab the other day. She printed her essay and came running to me in either feigned or real panic. She showed me the printout, below. Obviously, something was amiss.

"Teacher! What's wrong. The printer is broken," she complained.

I went and looked at her screen and then again at the document.

"The printer isn't broken," I sighed. "You need to stop playing around with font choices in Microsoft Word and spend more time writing your essay."

Wingding 002

What is this font you speak of, O master?

I have been in a very strange mood, lately. I feel like an old man in a rest home for the mentally deranged. Just a feeling…

What I'm listening to right now.

Harry Nilsson, "Without You."

Caveat: Leaders & Problems

I have two unconnected observations about "business" – I've been in a kind of involuntary "MBA" mode of thought, lately. I'm not really meaning to – let's just call it a relapse to an earlier life. This mode of thinking is brought by the many very serious conversations we've been having at work about the business of being an English hagwon in what is becoming an increasingly difficult context.

First, a meme-pic that was floating around the internet recently. I definitely agree with the concept here.

Business

Second, a quote I ran across – I'm not sure who said it. If you think about it carefully, you will see it's meaning. And it puts a different perspective on solving business "problems."

"Everything you think is a problem is somebody else's income." – Anon

Caveat: Teacher

Student: "Teacher! How are you?"

Teacher: "I'm good, how about you?"

Student: "Not so good, teacher."

Teacher: "Because of the tests coming?"

Student: "Yes, teacher."

Teacher: "You know, saying 'teacher' all the time is not really how English-speaking students talk. It's 'konglish'."

Student: "I know, teacher."

Teacher: "In the US, students almost always address their teachers by name. So I would be Mr Way. But mostly they just don't say 'teacher' or a name at all."

Student: "Mr Way? Really, teacher?"

Teacher: "Yes, really. So instead of saying 'Really, teacher?' you would just say 'Really, Mr Way?' or just 'Really?' Do you understand?"

Student: "That's … strange, teacher."

Teacher: "I know."

Student: "Goodbye, teacher. See you later, teacher."

i was surprised at how much madison got off

Caveat: Teacher! I hate your job!

I have a student named Sangjin. He is quite insane, but in a kind-hearted way and with a penetrating awareness, if not exactly an academically-oriented intelligence.

In class this evening, I was keeping points on the whiteboard for the students. He gave a wrong answer, and per the rules of this system, I deducted some points. It was actually a lot of points, because the points at stake escalate as the class nears the end – this keeps the game competitive right up to the bell.

"Teacher! I hate you," Sangjin said. He was grinning his silly grin.

"Why?" I said, with some sudden mock seriousness.

"Because. Points," he explained, telegraphically.


Psyarms"You're mad because I took away points?" I asked, to confirm.

He nodded and folded his arms, Psy-style (see picture). This is the way Korean rap stars have conversations.

"But," I protested. "That's my job!"

"To take points?" asked another student.

"Or to give points," I suggested, optimistically.

"That's a good job," the other student said.

Sangjin raised his hand. "What?" I asked.

"Well, then… Teacher! I hate your job!"

I couldn't stop laughing.

Caveat: a sum of small events

Sometimes, a sum of small events can add up to a
very bad day.

Earlier, I met a friend (and former
coworker) for lunch and I was telling her about the recent evolution
of Karma Academy. How I feel that it's become too focused on
"business as business" and is forgetting the business of
education. I'm not sure what the solution is, but it's becoming a
much less pleasant place to work, in my opinion.

Still, I can't rule out that it's
partly subjective. My own feelings about my indefinite stay in Korea
have been evolving, and I keep returning to what has been one of my
core reasons for being here: my desire to somehow learn Korean.

But I'm not. I'm not learning Korean. I'm failing. This isn't Karma Academy's fault (though it
might be karma's fault, with a lowercase 'k'), obviously, but my
feelings of failure about that project are impacting my ability to
maximize my potential in my work environment.

These feelings of failure are further
combined with my coworkers' utter lack of demonstrative compassion
about my efforts to learn – it's mostly just amusing to them that I
want to learn Korean, as they seem to find it strange if not
downright suspicious that a foreigner wants to learn their language,
and they definitely find it amusing (in a laugh at me rather than
with me kind of way) that I'm so remarkably bad at it, especially
after having been here for so many years.

So I was talking about that with my
friend, and meanwhile I have a toothache that means I should be
seeing a dentist, which I've been procrastinating on. I fear dentists
more than North Korea. But lately, when I eat something spicy, it
really, really hurts to eat it. The fried rice at the Vietnamese
place where I was having lunch with my friend was a little bit spicy.
Normally I really like spicy food – I love spicy food – but because
of this toothache it really hurt. So I was in pain.

I need to go to the dentist. I will go
on Monday.

Anytime I feel pain, I feel negative
about human existence – this is natural. It's harder to keep a
positive outlook. This toothache is so much my own fault, because I
so despise if not downright fear dentists (due to past bad
experiences) and so now… it's my fault, and I'm feeling this pain.

Now I'm just whining, aren't I?

But then there's this next thing. I had
a rather horrifying class, during my last scheduled hour at the end
of the day. The class was so horrifying, I wrote about it
separately, in a previous blog post… so look for it and read about
it [broken link! FIXME] there.

Then one more thing happened. I came
out of the horrifying class to be told by the assistant director that
I'd had my students do the "Parents Day Letter" assignment
(see previous blog post) wrong, anyway. You see, there were special
prepared papers that the students were supposed to fill out, not just
write them on regular paper. These letters are supposed to go to
parents, of course, but only on the special prepared papers – like
forms to fill out.

I felt really upset by what had
happened in class, and now this was like a "last straw" –
because I really had zero recollection that I'd been told about these
special prepared papers.

"Perhaps you told me this in
Korean, not realizing I didn't understand?" I asked the
assistant director.

"No, I told you, in English,"
she protested.

Nothing is more upsetting than the
feeling that one is losing one's memory. At least… for me. So on
top of these other issues, I'm losing my memory, too.

"I really don't think you told
me," I complained, feeling helpless. I felt very angry, though.
"I really don't like how so often people don't tell me what's
going on around here," I finally exploded.

It wasn't exploded exploded. But I was
showing my anger, which I really rarely do.

I added to my rant: "And
then people think they told me because they said something in Korean
and they think I understood," I added.

The fact is, I'd much rather believe that she was
misremembering and had said something in Korean where I hadn't
understood, than it turning out I had had some kind of weird blackout
during some announcement in English in the staffroom yesterday.

There was no resolution to this, except
to underscore that if I would just get my butt in gear and learn
Korean, I wouldn't have the excuse I took recourse to above, and
perhaps I'd have known about the special prepared papers.

All of which is to
say, I'd traveled in a full circle back to my earlier frustration I'd
been expressing to my friend about being unable to learn Korean
adequately.

Caveat: With A Baseball Bat

or… The Horrifying Class

My students are filled with passive-aggressive anger toward their parents, and I almost wanted to cry today, having to interact with it. Korean parents push their children so hard. And sometimes unkindly.

We've been having the students write "Parents Day Letters" – Parents Day is a Korean holiday on May 8th, that is sort of a combined Mother's Day and Father's Day. The idea is that the kids get gifts for their parents, or write them letters, etc. So as an activity at Karma, we're having the elementary kids write Parents Day letters, in English.

One boy, in 6th grade, wrote his letter, and it was filled with the appropriate platitudes: thank you for raising me, thank you for helping me with my problems and being there for me, etc., all in the somewhat unnatural English to be expected of only intermediate ability, limited English. But then he came up and showed me something. At the end of his letter, he'd written "I love you." He pulled out something he had in his pocket, a flashlight. It was a black-light flashlight. "I wrote in invisible ink," he explained. And indeed, he had written in invisible ink: superimposed on his "I love you" was a clearly visible "I hate you" under the black light. I didn't know whether to amused or appalled.

I shook my head. "Do you think that's a good idea?" I finally asked.

"Maybe not," he admitted, but grinning.

"Are you going to change it?" I prodded.

He shrugged, and returned to his seat. I may intercept the letter.

Then a 5th grade girl refused to write her letter. She was suddenly refusing to speak English. She's a pretty good student, but not very consistent, and she gets frustrated easily. I got a little bit angry, saying she had to write her letter. She wrote it. She brought it up and showed me. It said a lot of platitudes, but near the end it said, "Mom I hate you x 10 x 100 x 100 x 100." You get the picture. She was angry at her mom.

She was standing in front of me. I circled the phrase in her letter. "I don't think you should say that," I said. I could tell she was angry. I could see she was even on the verge of tears.

"But it's really true," she defended.

"I understand," I said, blandly. I really believe adults should validate the feelings of children as much as possible. "I think sometimes we shouldn't say things that are true," I suggested. "How about writing about something true that you can agree with. Something about the future?"

I crossed out her words and sketched out a possible answer on her draft letter. What I wrote was to the effect of: "Mom, I hope that in the future you can help me and show me your love." I pointed to my draft sentence and asked the girl, "Can you agree with that? Is it true for you?" I was kind of prompting her, and happily composing her sentence for her, because I didn't want to add layers of frustration with the English language on top of the frustration she was feeling with this assignment and about her parents.

She wrinkled her brow and studied it, to make sure she understood it – it's in English, after all, and she maybe had to sort it out or translate it in her head. Finally she nodded, but then she said, "I don't want to give her this letter." Adamant.

"I think you have to," I said. "It's the assignment."

She shocked me, then. "I really don't want to. Why should I give her this letter? My mom hits me with a baseball bat." Tears were coming, now. "yagubaeteu," she emphasized, repeating the term for "baseball bat" in Korean just to make sure I knew what she was saying.

I just stared at the girl, then, a little bit slack-jawed. The other students were staring, too. "We'll talk about it later," I said, somewhat awkwardly. I let her wrinkle up her letter draft and stuff it into her bag when she returned to her seat. At the end of class, I asked her was she OK.

She spoke rapidly in Korean, to the effect of: the bell rang, I'm getting out of here, leave me alone.

I let her go.

In the US, we're obligated as teachers to follow up on these kinds of revelations. Korea doesn't work that way – especially for foreign teachers like me, and especially not in a hagwon environment like mine. The most I can do it mention it to her homeroom teacher or the owner of the hagwon. Past experience with this kind of thing tells me that nothing at all will happen.

Parental child abuse as we conceive it in the US seems largely unrecognized as a crime in Korea, as far as I've been able to figure out. Yes, there are laws on the books about it, but they're only enforced rarely if at all. Just like the rules about corporal punishment in schools. Some schools follow the rules, some don't. Enforcement is random.

Helplessness is not a happy feeling.

Caveat: The Scary Dino

My students did a rendition of "The Scary Dino" using cut-out, handmade paper puppets attached to disposable chopsticks. The kids love this type of thing, and never seem to grow bored of it. I think it's good learning, too. They memorize their conversation lines and songs over time, and those phrases come out in later lessons. It goes quite well, and reinforces my notion that a "dramatic arts" component would be quite successful in a hagwon environment, if only Korean administrators would open their minds to the idea.

Caveat: Dog Has Bone

The dog is green. It has a bone. I don't remember what this was about.

Dog 002

I have been pushing out a lot of negativity, lately. I was hearing it in myself, today. Not so much with students – I have my mostly successful facade with my kids… but I'm definitely pushing it out with coworkers and others.

I need not to be doing that.

Caveat: 왜저레꺼몽키

Kkeo 002 My student who recently changed her name to Jara (which is just something she invented as far as I can tell) drew a picture of my minneapolitan rainbow monkey holding some bananas (at right).

The first part of the descriptor to the right of the monkey's head is easy to understand: 왜저레 [wae-jeo-re = "what the heck" – but in this context it's my name: "way-je-ret"]. The last part of the descriptor is easy to understand: 몽키 [mong-ki = "monkey" obviously]. So the overall intended meaning is clear to me, too: "Jared's monkey." But the suffix on my name was puzzling me: -꺼 [kkeo].

The ending is not in my reference grammar. And the initial explanations from my coworkers only told me what I already had figured out – it's a possessive. The standard possessive suffix (i.e. genitive case ending) in Korean is -의 [ui]. It's the only one I thought existed. So confronted with what seemed a new one, after so many years… of something so basic. Well, I was distraught.

None of the Koreans I asked seemed at all unfamiliar with it – they all took it as obvious. But when I pointed out that it wasn't in my reference grammar or anywhere to be found in any online dictionary or web search, they, too, were scratching their heads. I began to suspect it was a sort of informal or slang contraction of something – but of what, exactly? It's not even to be found in Samual E. Martin's presumeably exhaustive Reference Grammar. Therefore if it's slang, it's fairly recent or considered somehow more obvious than you'd think.

Eventually, a coworker of mine suggested it was a contraction of -의것 [uigeot]. This isn't entirely implausible – there's a sort of tendency to faucalize (geminate) consonants in the context of contraction processes in the language. So dropping the [ui] and faucalizing the [g] -> [kk] seemed vaguely conceivable.

So I'm going to settle on the idea that -꺼 = -의것 for now.

I'm not sure why Jara made herself into a turtle at my monkey's feet. That's more of a psychological puzzle than it is a linguistic one, however.

Another student in the same class drew a portrait of me on his vocabulary quiz. I appreciate its minimalism.

Kkeo 001

Caveat: The Price of Lateness

"Teacher, why are you so late to class?"

I was indeed late. I had accidentally looked at an old class schedule, instead of the most recent, and I had somehow vacated my mind of the fact I'd been switched on Wednesdays, to one hour earlier for this particular cohort of kids.

"You're very late," another said.

"I know," I said. "Sorry."

"You should pay us a dollar because of coming late," a student suggested. This proved a popular idea.

"Really? I have to pay you for being late?" I asked, in mock surprise. "Each of you? Really?"

"Yesss," they rallied.

I paid them.

Caveat: A Small Adventure

Two eighth-grade girls that I know quite well were adrift and giggling in the corridor outside the staff room. It was not the regular time for break between classes, so I felt justified in inquiring, "What are you doing?"

Without missing a beat, in excellent English, Hwayeong answered, "We're having a small adventure."

Both girls grinned, and crept to the end of the hall where the water cooler was. I decided there was no harm.

Later, they came by my desk and borrowed my whiteboard markers, because I had better colors than the other teachers. My board markers are sky blue and purple. Most teachers make do with black and red. They ran back to their classroom to try out the markers. I have no idea where their teacher was, or even who.

Caveat: …the (rainbow colored) monkey on my back

Today in the BISP1-M class, the students were begging to play my invented game of "[broken link! FIXME] monkey darts."

Initially, I said no. I've been annoyed with these kids.

But then one boy said, in perfect English, "But… teacher! Monkey darts is my life."

This weakened my resolve. So I relented, and allowed them 5 minutes of throwing the toy, rainbow-colored, minneapolitan monkey at the whiteboard at the end of class.

The game has an aspect of gambling, the way that we've been playing it – if they hit the target, they get a small cash prize (in the form of my "[broken link! FIXME] alligator bucks"); but if they miss the target completely, they have to pay me from their savings.

The boy who told me that monkey darts was his life? He lost $6. Next stop: gamblers' anonymous.

Caveat: 강사 평가 기록표

In a staff meeting yesterday, I was handed the below form. It’s called “강사 평가 기록표” which means something like “teacher evaluation worksheet.”

2013-04-03 11.33.29

 
I think it’s a good thing we’re doing teacher evaluations. It’s actually something I suggested we do, a long, long time ago. I asked what I was supposed to do with it, though, given that it was in dense and jargony Korean. Someone said, “You can figure it out.”
On the one hand, I welcome the opportunity to work on my Korean. But on the other hand, I somewhat resent when it’s made obligatory by my work environment.
I’ve noticed something recently: as my listening and comprehension skills with the Korean language have improved, my coworkers actually tell me less than they used to. They just assume I know what’s going on, because sometimes (but only sometimes), I actually do just know what’s going on. But they inform me directly much less than they used to, and furthermore, when I ask, “what’s going on?” I am often downright ignored. What’s with the attitude change? Do they think they’re helping me learn Korean? Mostly they’re just making me feel annoyed, because I have no idea what’s going on at work.

So… what’s going on? With that, I mean.
Crickets.

Caveat: By Karma

"The foolish are trapped by karma, while the wise are liberated through karma." – I don't know who said this. I found the quote attributed to someone (or something) called stonepeace, but I don't know what stonepeace is.

Regardless, it's a quote worth contemplating. I'm playing with words and meanings, of course: the irony (or deliberate predicament) that results from the fact that my place of employment is called "Karma."

Am I foolish, that I feel trapped by my work (by Karma) right now? Have I become foolish, in that a year ago I felt less trapped and more liberated in my work? What's changed?

Caveat: Bad

"All the other classes are playing. Last day of month." Kevin had an expression halfway between offended and desperate. "It's not fair."

Jinu, in the front row, squirmed his discomfort, and tried to peer out the classroom door, down the hall, toward these other classes allegedly playing.

"Fair?" I asked. "This class really hasn't earned play time," I said. This went over most of the kids' heads – earn isn't a word they've likely learned yet. I tried to simplify. "You're a bad class. Bad!" I said this with a little too much conviction. They shrank back in their seats.

"OK, then, where were we?"

What I'm listening to right now.

Gary Wright, "Dream Weaver" (1975).

 

Caveat: Hello! and Enormous Turnips!

Hello 004

With my second graders, we were going to do a play based on the story about The Enormous Turnip, with some musical bits, based on a script in our text, but the kids found the script too hard to memorize and disliked the costumes too. Furthermore, there were five characters but only three students. So we did a "dramatic reading" instead. I think they did fine. I'm happy with them and they are very cute.



The picture at the top was drawn by one of the girls in the play. She did it freehand and presented it to me, saying "Hello!" She's a pretty good artist.

Caveat: Harping on Consistency

I think one of the issues I've had with the hagwon business as I've experienced it is the utter disregard for genuine consistency in how rules are applied to students or parents alike. Or worse, the utter lack of rules. It's about relationships but everything is therefore subjective and unpredictable to someone "not in the loop." I guess there's nothing wrong with trying to have a personal relationship with each of your customers, but it makes for an unscalable business model on the one hand, and it makes for unpredictable quality of outcomes on the other. I get really tired of the line "well, for this student, do this way, because her mom wants that, but for this other student, do this other way, because his mom wants that other way." Some students stay late when they don't do their homework; for others it's forbidden. Some get "level up" even though their test scores are inadequate; others stay behind despite better scores. Some get special schedules: "little Haneul only comes on Monday's and Fridays, so you have to remember to tell her about the Wednesday homework."

This comes about in part because of all these personal relationships. But… there's no one tracking it all. It's not in any system that anyone has ever told me about. It's utterly unpredictable and unscalable. And ultimately, I think it leads to poor quality outcomes.

The end result is that you're not able to track your progress as an institution, you're not able to compare one student to another because they're all being treated differently. I have nothing against providing personalized attention and even bespoke curricula to students. But at some point, there has to be an objective standard: where are we trying to get this student, ultimately? What constitutes acceptable progress, and if the student isn't meeting benchmarks of progress, what should our response be? It's quite telling that I'm not even able to have this conversation with my coworkers, much less get any kind of answer. They are befuddled that it should concern me. The only thing that matters is: will the student continue to enroll at our hagwon? That's putting the cart before the horse… provide a quality education to your students, then customers (parents) will recognize that, and they will continue to enroll.

My boss has an ambition to be a successful
businessman. I know that he thinks highly of an entrepreneur like Steve Jobs – he somewhat idolizes him. In light of this, I'd like to make an observation about Jobs' business style, as I've understood it. Steve Jobs
never seemed worried about how much market share he was getting. Until
recently, Apple was always a "minority" product – a niche. Jobs would
identify a niche market at the "top end" and focus on quality,
consistency and attention-to-detail. He never worried about who was
interested in his product. He was happy to turn away customers who were
not interested in his product. He was happy to tell customers to go buy the competition if he wasn't meeting their needs. That created an elite and clubby feel to his niche, and conveyed an image of extremely
high quality, which may or may not have been really accurate. I think that kind of strategy can be successful in a Korean for-profit hagwon,
too. It's a similarly fragmented and commodified market, despite the huge differences. Don't try to be every thing to every customer. That's impossible.
Decide what students you want to teach, decide what kinds of parents you
want to work for, and stick with them. Never be afraid to say "I'm
sorry, but this hagwon is NOT a good place for what you want. Please
shop somewhere else." There are many parents and students who might be
too expensive – in both time and effort – to match what you can offer.

There a
many niches in the English hagwon market. Choose ONE. Only ONE. Then… do it better than
anyone else.

Caveat: Venting… with Calories

The week isn't over yet, but, despite promises that the workload would lessen with the advent of the new school year and a new schedule, I've put in more hours this week than at any time since I was covering for both Grace's schedule and my own last summer – and that was only temporary, whereas this state of affairs is looking more and more permanent.

And I have a full day's of work ahead of me tomorrow, too. I'm burning out. This was the kind of stress-driven burnout that lead me to abandon LBridge, in 2009. I'm considering long-term options.


Calories 001
Calories 002Meanwhile, I came home craving something disasterously caloric. I made a cheese, mushroom, onion and tomato omelet. It was really good. Not really very healthy, though. This is why I get fat when I'm stressed (and hit 260 lbs while being a computer programmer, last decade), and why having a high-stress job doesn't work for me, health-wise. It's not workable for long-term sustainability.

Ok, enough complaining.

What I'm listening to right now.



Young Empires, "The Earth Plates Are Shifting."

Caveat: Llora… Trocitos de madera…

The song below (and referenced in the blog post title) isn't really related to the anecdote below, except that they both involve crying.

I have this one class where my patience runs thin. The ISP72-T 반 (which is mostly 8th graders) has some boys who really lack the ability to control their actions in class. They mouth off (in Korean, and half the time I have no idea what they're saying, I just know it's inappropriate, partly just by watching the reactions of the kids around them), they complain and protest every single assignment, they find excuses for un-done homework, they play footsie under the desks.

I selected one of the ringleaders today and lost my temper, a bit. I put a desk in the hallway, where I could see him out the door, and made him sit there. He's a "class-clown" and always happy-go-lucky, never doing much of anything in the way of homework (though he's not the worst by far in the class), though he's genuinely funny many times – he has a good sense of humor. But I'd just had enough of his constant acting up and not paying attention, mostly because he pulls away the attention of the other students.

His reaction, sitting there at the desk in the hall, was unexpected. He cried.

I thought about something I wrote last week: that I hope never to be the teacher that students remember with fear or loathing. I hope I'm not one of those teachers. I misjudged his resiliancy and wounded his complacency, clearly. It's one thing when a 2nd grader bursts in tears. It's a bit disconcerting when it's an 8th grader who's as tall as I am.

So he had a hard day. And I have a day when I question my effectiveness as a teacher.

What I'm listening to right now.

La Yegros, "Trocitos de madera."

Images

Caveat: Baby Ostrich Karma

More strange and disturbing news from students:

An 8th grade girl: “Teacher! You look like a baby ostrich!”

I looked at her, unable to muster any kind of response.

She waited three beats. Four beats. “Very cute,” she clarified, in the same tone of amazement.

Was this a quick recovery, or a pre-planned joke? No matter. I will take compliments… such as they are.

Here is a picture I drew while a student in a lower level class was preparing a test (she’d failed to bring her pre-prepared speech from home, so I gave her time to rewrite it and practice it a bit before her speech test). It came out pretty well. Some characters my students will know, combined with a sort of happy-go-lucky feel.

picture

There’s no baby ostriches in it, though.

picture

Caveat: Little Red Riding Hood

Puppets_html_m3dbccf3fLast Thursday, my students used puppets (in custumes!) to perform a version of Little Red Riding Hood. I played the wolf, using an alligator puppet. The little girl is a white rat puppet and her mom is another alligator puppet, while grandma is a wombat puppet and the hunter is an ostrich puppet.

It's all just slightly incoherent, but I like it anyway. I love my classes with the little ones – basically I just play with them in English. It's a good gig.

Caveat: 가르치는 것도 배우는 것도 소중한 인연입니다

가르치는 것도    배우는 것도     소중한            인연입니다
teach-ACT-TOO learn-ACT-TOO be-precious-PART karma-is-FORMAL
Both the act of teaching and the act of learning are precious [parts of] karma.


Newsletter 001This isn't a regular proverb or aphorism. It's the "motto" at top right of KarmaPlus's monthly newsletter (image at right – click to embiggen). I'm not sure if the boss got it from somewhere, or if he made it up himself. On the one hand, it ties together the mission of the hagwon – teaching – with the name of the place, since the concept of karma in Korean is often 인연 (destiny, fate, cause). On the other hand, it's a subtle (almost coded) reference to his Buddhism. One can find equally subtle coded references to the religious affiliations of other businesses, in Korea – especially hagwon. I can sometimes guess a hagwon's "affiliation" just by considering the references of their advertising copy – if I can figure it out.

I sometimes wonder how aware Koreans are of these references, and whether they make consumer decisions (such as what hagwon to send their children to) based on them, the way that American evangelicals, for example, will intentionally take their business to the "Christian Fish." e.g. 
Symbol-of-christ-26252 – or the way that non-evangelicals, for that matter, will avoid businesses flagged the same way. 

Caveat: Hellbridgier Than Ever

I knew when Karma took over Woongjin that there was some risk that the prey would overtake the predator. It hasn't really unfolded the way I expected, but work is nevertheless definitely reminding me of LBridge (which was taken over by Woongjin), lately. Mostly it's an issue of poor management of administrative tasks, combined with boneheaded curriculum decisions and too much work load. So. I worked for 10.5 hours today. And not a thing to show for it except a splitting headache: not even a "job well done" or "thanks for working late." I know, I know… Korea doesn't really work that way. Sigh.

Caveat: The Drama Of The White Down Feather

This is a completely true story.

Imagine there is a classroom full of eighth-graders – Korean eighth-graders, attending a typical Korean evening English class. There is a girl, who is named Shy But Intelligent Girl, giving an interminably long, well-written but painfully-delivered speech.

Meanwhile, there is boy sitting in the front row who is named Oblivious Boy. He already gave his speech, so he is relaxed: he is on the verge of dozing off, even. Oblivious Boy is pretty handsome, in a KPop sort of way, and the girls seem a little bit intimidated by him, which in 14-year-olds tends to come off more as a dismissiveness, in their mannerisms.

Unfortunately, Oblivious Boy is wearing a black sweater, and attached to the middle of his back, in the midst of the clean black sweater, is a large white down feather – the kind of white down feather that sometimes sneaks out between the seams of popular North Face brand down winter jackets. The white feather is protruding well over a centimeter from the back of his sweater, as he sits motionless in the front row, gazing up, absent-mindedly, at Shy But Intelligent Girl who is giving her interminable but well-written speech.

This white down feather is too noticeable. It’s an affront to fashion. Who better to decide this than the girl seated two rows behind him? Her name is Fashionable Girl, of course. She is seated with her friend, Confident And Sociable Girl. They are giggling because of the protruding white down feather on Oblivious Boy’s black-sweatered back.

picturepictureThis distraction demands a solution. Fashionable Girl quietly extracts a pair of green-handled scissors from her bag. Straining across the intervening desk, she clearly intends to remove, or decapitate, the offending white down feather. But she hasn’t quite reached Oblivious Boy’s black-sweatered back with her snipping scissors when her friend, Confident And Sociable Girl, realizes what Fashionable Girl intends,  and so she whispers for her to stop. Stop! She makes a mime to her friend which – as anyone fluent in Korean teenager gesture-language could recognize – means, “omigod what if he notices?”
Fashionable Girl pouts, and then she has an idea.

She tears off a square of paper from her notebook, about the same size as the offending white down feather. She whispers something in Confident And Sociable Girl’s ear, and the latter turns and leans forward. Fashionable Girl the places the square of paper in the same position as the offending white down feather, and then she proceeds to use the green-handled scissors to pluck the square of paper off of her friend’s back.

Confident And Sociable Girl turns around and gives a jubilant thumbs up. Their experiment was clearly a stunning success – the offending piece of paper was successfully removed with the green-handled scissors, without being detectable!

Meanwhile, Shy But Intelligent Girl’s interminable speech continues apace – if, well… rather interminably.
Having conducted their successful experiment, Fashionable Girl resumes leaning across the intervening desk in her effort to assault the offending white down feather on Oblivious Boy’s black-sweatered back.

Snip, snip, snip. She can’t. Quite. Reach.

At this particular moment, it occurs to Confident And Sociable Girl to take a moment to look around the room. Much to her alarm, several sets of eyes have drifted away from Shy But Intelligent Girl’s interminable but well-written speech, and are instead following the drama of the white down feather avidly. It’s not just several students either, but The Teacher, too. He’s standing at the back of the room, and he watching curiously.

Omigod!

Confident And Sociable slaps her friend’s green-handled scissors-wielding hand down in panic, and immediately, both girls collapse into giggles, face down on their respective desks.

Shy But Intelligent Girl pauses in mid-delivery of her interminable but well-written speech, with a combination of annoyance and mortification on her face. “Why are these other girls interrupting my speech?” her expression demands.

Oblivious Boy, however, remains oblivious.

The Teacher returns his attention to the interminable but well-written but now-interrupted speech, and prompts Shy But Intelligent Girl to continue. The Teacher makes a “cut it out” face at the two giggling girls. Minutes later, the speech has resumed, and the green-handled scissors have reappeared, and have resumed their snipping adventures, shakily snaking across the gap between the two grinning girls and the boy at the front.

But they just can’t. Quite. Reach.

Unfortunately, at this moment, Shy But Intelligent Girl’s interminable speech suddenly terminates.

The Teacher says, quite unexpectedly, “Yudam. Put the scissors away, please.”

“Yes.” Fashionable Girl sits back and gives a look of pure innocence, and she looks around the room as if it was some other kid in trouble. Confident And Sociable Girl giggles again, and whispers to her friend.

Oblivious Boy, however, remains oblivious.

Another speech begins, and this chapter comes to a close.


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