Caveat: The New Me

Per the advice of several people I have been interacting with during my job search, I have been implementing a new website dedicated to presenting myself professionally.  I went "live" with it today. It's still missing some pieces, but I'm fairly happy with it so far.  It's quite spare and simple, but I think that's best for a professional presentation.  https://www.raggedsign.net/jared

I would welcome any feedback or observations.  I'm not always good at following advice, so I won't necessarily follow yours, but I still would gladly hear anything anyone might have to say.

Caveat: The Job Situation

A number of people have messaged me or sent emails:  "Jared, what's the job situation?"

So, here's a summary, so I don't have to tell everyone:  I didn't get the job I was hoping to get, but I knew it wasn't a "done deal" when I came here, so I had contingency plans.

Plan B is that I'm now looking for a job in Korea.  But, I'm not in a hurry.  Most (or very many) jobs start in March, since that's when the new school year starts for Korean kids.  And I'm prefectly OK with waiting until then.  I will take my time looking, and be picky about what I can find, at least for now.  If March gets close and still nothing, I'll get less picky.  I've actually already rejected one offer – it looked way too much like another LBridge in terms of excessive hours and unnecessary staff-room rules.

What I'm doing, instead, is trying to work on the Korean thing.  I'm really bad at learning languages – I know all of you think, "oh, Jared, he's studied linguistics, he's studied all these languages, he's so good at it."  Well, just to be clear… that last concept doesn't necessarily follow, logically, from the previous ones.  So, it's a struggle.  I look up the same word dozens of times in my dictionary.  It goes on my flash cards. And still, I hear it and wonder, "now, what the hell did that mean, again?"  Just yesterday I heard 모든 and thought, "I looked that up about 30 minutes ago.  What did it mean?"  I recognize that I should know a word, but not always know what it means.

Anyway, because of that, and because of my "Motivational Deficit Disorder" that I sometimes struggle with, starting around Feb. 1st I'm enrolling in a full-time "Korean Language Hagwon for Foreigners."  I think it will help structure my time, and give me opportunities to practice Korean with Koreans who will be patient and scrupulous with me, because they're being paid to be.

So, in fact, because that's a month-long commitment, I don't actually want a job before March 1st, at this point.  And that's fine.  It will give me time, hopefully, to find something that works well for me.  I'm looking at "after school at public school"-type positions, right now.  They're the latest thing, where, essentially, public schools are elbowing in on the traditional private hagwon market by offering their own higher-level supplemental coursework in the afternoons.

Caveat: Oh, how’s your alligator??

I found the following message in my email box this morning.   I miss my students already.

HELLO! teacher.

Remember me??

I'm christina. My summer vacation was over.

So i'm so sad some time when i thought about

summer vacation.

How's you? I miss you…

i miss your alligator and your funny story.

i want you to come to Korea and teach students in

L-bridge school.

While i'm so happy to go Eldorado1.

But my friends are sad because i go to second

time in L-bridge school.(thesday and thursday time)

And i'm so sad because i can't study with Emily…

I visted your sight and i'm so happy to see your

alligators.

Oh, how's your alligator??

You gave all your alligator to our L-bridge teachers???

Any way, i want to hurry to teach L-bridge students.

SEE YOU WHENEVER…

SEE YOU SOON..     GOODNIGHT!

 

Caveat: The Kids

I finished putting this together, this evening, lurking in my hotel room in Tokyo. It’s not perfect, but I’m pretty happy with it. It will help me remember my 14 months at LBridge pretty vividly, I think. Great kids!
The song is from the children’s musical that Zina was in, that I went to see six months ago. Keep in mind that I “lengthened” the song by looping the 2nd chorus about 4 times so that it would match the length of the video – so don’t be alarmed if the thing seems a bit repetitive. Thematically… I’m not sure it’s a great match: I think it’s about about a mosquito who’s bemoaning the current environmental crises in the world. But I like the song, and I think it goes well with the kids, especially since one of the kids in my video is actually one of the voices performing the song.

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Caveat: Bye

A short dialog with a student named Wendy, last Thursday.

Wendy:  So you are leaving LBridge?

Jared:  Yes.

Wendy:  Okay.  Bye.

Caveat: “an unsatisfied feeling”

In about 24 hours, I'm flying from Seoul to Tokyo.  I'm saying goodbye to my job at LBridge, but only a very brief farewell to Korea.

The plan: 2 weeks in Japan, 1 week back in Korea as a tourist, then to Minneapolis. After that… road trip (Chicago, Denver, Phoenix, LA, Humboldt, Portland — big circle). Expecting a month or more pause in LA, though. After that… ? Back to Asia, most likely. Looking at Vietnam, Tawain, Mongolia, and/or back to Korea. I'll have to see what sorts of opportunities turn up. It's best when all is in flux…

And here's why I really like this teaching thing.  I feel like I'm promoting myself by sharing this, but this letter I received from a student really touched me, and affirmed why it is I like trying to be a teacher so much.  Here it is, mistakes-and-all:

Dear, Jared teacher
Hi, teacher.  I'm Shaina.
I write this letter because I want to give expression to thanks.
For the past six months, thank you very much.  I was very shy, and I have no confidence about English.  But you were bring conviction to me, so I gain confidence about English.  Untill now, I announced many speech.  But always I was tremble and wobble, but teacher was always praise me.  So I can get good scores.  And you teach our very funny and interesting.  So I always respect you.  But you will go will go back to America.  So I have an unsatisfied feeling.  And I'm sad.  ^^
Even though you go back to America, I will not forget you.  Thank you, teacher.  and good-bye.
from Shaina.
 


Caveat: 나는 전지전능해

My student Anastasia wrote “나는 전지전능해” on her workbook cover.  She translated it as “I’m almighty” but the dictionary suggests  “I’m omnipotent” might be a better translation.  In any event, it shows a lot of self-confidence, huh?
Saying goodbye to all the kids is hard.  Then there are the moments when I just have to laugh, too.  My student Brian (3rd grade) put on a very serious face and said, “teacher, I wrote you a letter.”  He handed me an index card.  I turned it over,  and read a single word: “~bye”
My student Paul (4th grade) came up to me right after the end of class and spontaneously hugged me.  That was great, but it wasn’t so great when he immediately poked me (well, gently) in my gut and said “I will miss your stomach soooo much.”  Maybe that’s a sign I need to lose a bit more weight?
Lastly, I got the following card from Sally.  She did the cover art herself, obviously inspired by my many alligators.   I was touched by what she wrote.
picture
picture

Caveat: We have a Skywalker in this class too

The backstory to this is that we have an eccentric (but fun) student in our class who insists his English name is "Skywalker."  Peter apparently did some research on his background, and delivers a speech that provides a summary of the Star Wars story.    Speeches that summarize stories are not easy at this level, and I think Peter does a truly excellent job, using no notes and without just coming off as a memorizing robot-voice.  I was really impressed with this — it was one of the best (absolutely best) low "Goldrush"-level speeches I've ever heard.

Caveat: My mother stole my money

I'm recording some debates and student speeches in class with my new video camera.  I think that it will take a lot of editing to put together anything that looks like a "real" debate.  However, there are some short segments that will make for good excerpts, I think.  Here is Candy, telling a short anecdote about how her mother stole her money and went to Hong Kong.

Caveat: Are you devil?

I use my cellphone as a stopwatch in class when students are giving speeches. Further, I occasionally allow the students themselves to be “timekeeper” for a given other student’s speech. This means my students are often playing with my cellphone.  It doesn’t really bother me, although more than once, I’ve gone back to it later and found its most recently used application was something under the “game” heading — I rarely play games myself on the cellphone because, since it’s a Korean cellphone, it tries to help me play the game with instructions in Korean.  I did once manage to get a 37% score on a quiz game entirely in Korean, basically by viewing it as a linguistic abstraction game.
pictureSo… I was pulling photos off my cellphone last night, and found the following. I have no recollection of when this photo might have been taken. Is it flattering? I’ve definitely been making a lot of use of my plastic black and red pitchfork (lower left of photo), lately.
I don’t know how to put on the fancy frame, either. But whoever did this picture of me apparently had no problem not only surreptitiously taking this snapshot but then managing to add the fancy frame without my having a clue. I think it was a time when they were brandishing their own cellphones and I was hamming a little bit, so it’s not like I wasn’t aware of having my picture taken. In today’s modern (Korean) classroom, it’s ubiquitous, and something I accept as a matter of course. I suppose that technically, there are rules banning the use of cellphones in class, but I view such rules as both reactionary and irrelevant, and rarely enforce them except maybe during quizzes or when they’re clearly proving too distracting.

“Are you devil?” Gina asks, every time.
“Maybe,” I hedge. It’s all part of the schtick, right?
Every teacher needs a schtick. Or a fork. And a coupla alligators (made in China).
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Caveat: A trip to the aquariroom

Jessica, a 2nd grader, writes about a trip to the "aquariroom" in her workbook.  Apparently while there, she saw "in toilet stool there a fishes!"  That sounds like a very interesting trip!

Caveat: Each Day…

I've been trying to decide if I will continue my monomaniac effort to post to this diary each and every day, after I cut myself adrift.  It will be less convenient to continue doing so — I imagine a search each evening for a PC방 (Korean internet game room) or the local equivalent wherever I am.  I've never been good at keeping up habits in the face of inconvenience.  One of the favorite creative bits of language I've ever run across in any of my EFL students' writing was Ella's "inconvenience is the mother of invention."  So what would I invent?  No need, here.  I can always "post date" / "pre date" my blog entries.  But that kind of feels like cheating.  Well, it's of no major consequence, actually. 

Yesterday I had a student giving me a long, drawn-out excuse for unfinished homework, involving diarrhea and visits to the doctor, apparently.  I would have preferred the abridged version, to be honest.  But it did expose me to some unexpected vocabulary in Korean, and thus, as tends to be the case, I made it into a "teaching moment."  I don't know it it was appreciated.  But whatever.

Not-so-random notes for trying (still trying, only trying) to learn Korean
자신 = self-confidence, confidence -하다 to have self-confidence
할아범 = old man (according to dictionary)
할아범탱이 = not in dictionary, my students tell me it means senile old man
전염 = infection
변비 = constipation
설사 = diarrhea
모든 = each, every, all, whole

Caveat: … and the next Beckett?

My student, Troy, writes:

Person:  Hello.

Another Person:  Hello.  Who is this?

Person:  I’m a person.  What’s your name?

Another Person:  I’m just another person.

Person:  Really?  Oh.  I’m looking for my brother.

Another Person:  Are you my brother?

Person:  Yes.  I am.  Let’s meet at LBridge.

Another Person:  Hmm.  OK.  What is your phone number?

Person:  010-9246-7245872-3271.

Another Person:  OK.  My phone number is 010-4272-247671-1234.

Person:  OK.

Another Person:  See you at LBridge.

And Junseop writes:

A:  Hello!  My name is A.  Can I speak to B, please?

B:  This is B.

A:  How are you?

B:  I am sick.  I’m getting cancer, because I smoked too much.  I am going to die in two days.

A:  Oh.  That’s good.

B:  What?  I will kill you, too.

A:  No!  You can’t kill me.  I’m visiting my uncle in Russia.

B:  Ah!  I’m dying.

A:  Yes, you will go to heaven.

B:  Oh, no!

A:  I’m hanging up, now.

B:  Don’t do that.

A:  Why?

Caveat: The next Ionesco

I have a student who insists his English name is Skywalker.  That's only the beginning of the absurdity.  Here's an imaginary telephone conversation he wrote.  I made some small corrections on word choice and grammar, but I made no effort to try to make the thing… make sense.  Here it is:

Skywalker:  Hello.  May I speak to my fish, please?

Fishfather:  No.  If I give you my son, you will kill him.  Please don’t kill my son.

Skywalker:  OK.  Aha… then can I fish with him?

Fishfather:  As long as you don’t kill my son.  Hang on…

Fish:  Hello, this is fish.

Skywalker:  What kind of fish hurt you?

Fish:  A tiny fish that couldn’t bite me.

Skywalker:  Maybe.  Let me think.  Aha, then I will make it so you can’t breathe.

Fish:  No, please!  I don’t like that.  Just fish with me.  Not breathing is not good for health.

Skywalker:  Really?  Oh, then… I will do that to the silver shark.  He ate my expensive fish… four of them!

Fish:  No, don’t do that.

Skywalker:  Why?

Fish:  He will be angrier if you do that.

Skywalker:  I don’t care.  Doo doo doo…

Fish:  Wait!  Don’t do that, you bad boy.

Skywalker:  I heard that!

Fish:  Bye.

 

Caveat: Old Hand

Today, I felt like an "old hand."  Cynical and well-informed.  We had the annual summer speech contest today.  It's my third speech contest for LBridge, so I knew the routine.  Last-minute disorganization, great kids, but a bit scaled down from previous events.  I got to be the finalist speeches' MC again.  It's weird how I just kind of shrugged and went with it, when the boss came to me five minutes before and said, oh, by the way, can you be MC?  There was a time, I remember, when such cavalier deployment of my limited talents would have pissed me of f and made me uncomfortable, but I just went with the flow, and it was fine.

I was please to see several of my students place in the finals, including Willy (6th overall), Tracey (5th overall) and tiny Dana (4th overall).  I'll try to post a few pictures later, although I don't have as many as I'd have liked, since my camera ran out of batteries. 

Willy gave a speech about how parents shouldn't try to make their children into slaves.  "I can think for myself, so please let me think for myself," he explained.  Another boy, David (not my student) gave a really serious, excellent and compelling speech about "one thing about Korean culture I would like to change":  his choice?  Korean men's drinking culture.  That's a pretty heavy-duty topic for a 5th grader.  And he did a really good job with it.

Caveat: If I ran the hagwon (Items 1 – 11)

This list started as occasional jottings in my little notebook, and then several months ago, moved into my "might make a blog about it" document. It's by no means complete, and these are only some thoughts, wishes and desires about what might make for a great working and learning environment. 

It's not necessarily an effort to think about what's really possible given all the different constraints that Korean English-language hagwon operate under. Further, the list is fairly specific to the private hagwon environment as it currently operates in Korea, and is based on my experiences of the last two years with elementary-age students. Maybe I'm thinking about this a little bit as an entrepreneur… what I would be comfortable with if I really did run a hagwon, and how I would differentiate it and be successful in the cutthroat Korean private after-school academy market.

What would make a great hagwon?  Here goes…

  • 1) Korean teachers should have some amount of time set aside each week to study (i.e. improve!) their English, and this should be a compensated additional duty of the English native-speaking teachers
  • 2) Vice versa, non-Korean-speaking teachers (i.e. foreign teachers) should have some amount of time set aside each week to learn Korean, and this should be a compensated additional duty of the Korean-speaking teachers. This functions as a perk for the foreign teachers and a way to get the Korean and foreign teachers interacting, too.  It can also provide some awareness of cultural-differences to both sides.
  • 3) Collegiality is important (part A).  Managers should feel obligated to attend certain types of social events of their employees, and should encourage other employees to attend too.  Things like weddings, children's first birthdays, etc., are very important in Korean culture, and by attending these sorts of functions, they're showing interest in their employees lives.  I suspect managers and coworkers avoid these sorts of things (when they do) because of the cost (since small financial contributions are essentially obligatory).  For this reason, there should be a discreet gift fund set up to make this possible for managers and employees who want to attend but can't afford to.
  • 4) Collegiality is important (part B).  I really enjoyed eating with my bosses and coworkers, when I was working at a place the had that.  I also remember learning a lot about my coworkers and my job when I would eat lunch in the cafeteria at Moorestown (NJ), when I was teaching there.  Group meals should be a regular event, and should be an integral part of the schedule.  It's about building your staff into a community.   For large hagwon, this could operate on a once-a-week "team lunch" type concept, rotating between different teams of teachers.  It can be on-site or off-site (although I prefer on-site, and I think it's cheaper, too).  You will get strong participation if you make the "free meal" part of the perk package, and pay for it out of the hagwon's operating expenses.
  • 5) The Korean hagwon market is almost entirely "month-to-month."  Parents are billed month-to-month, and make decisions about enrollment / re-enrollment / cancellation on monthly boundaries.  So why do hagwon create complicated multiple month academic calendars, only to have kids dropping out and in at the most inopportune times (vis-a-vis that complicated schedule)?  There should be monthly progress evaluations.  Grades should be closed out monthly.  There can be "continuing" curricula, but there should be logical breaking points built on calendar month boundaries so that "drop-ins" don't struggle. 
  • 6) I still have vivid memories of the novel and unique "contract-based" learning that was used at the Moore Avenue school I attended (grades 1-3). I think that the concept of written contracts with children is exceptional as a means of motivating and making expectations clear, and I'd love to try to develop and apply something like that in a hagwon environment, where it seems even more appropriate (given it's both a private business and a specialty "after-school" educational institution).  It would allow for the hagwon to market itself as highly individualized while not over-taxing teachers with extensive "counselling" duties.  Contracts could be based on quantity-of-work metrics (projects completed, workbooks filled out, etc.) and on relative score increases on standardized or specialized level tests (such as the widely used TOSEL tests in Korea, and special interview tests — see below). The whole could be managed with an interactive website.
  • 7) There should be regular objective and subjective teacher and course evaluations, which should not be subsequently ignored by the management.  Teachers and courses can also be evaluated on the basis of progress in student scores on standardized and placement tests, which should be administered monthly.  Korean parents love objective measures, and hagwon should work hard to generate genuinely meaningful objective measures of both student progress and teacher and course effectiveness.
  • 8) There should be a Korean-speaking homeroom/"study hall" at the beginning of each day's schedule for each cohort of student.  This would be a place to check homework, attendance, pass out memos and other administrative stuff… It would help to keep it separate from classroom face-time for instructors, and provide a chance to check each student's individual progress in a way that minimizes time wasted in teaching classroom.  Also, it would not necessarily have to employ high-English-competency teachers, so teachers could be hired with other strengths (administrative skills and compassion for students would be notable requirements), probably at a cost savings to thehagwon management.
  • 9) I think it would be more fun for teachers and students to have integrated curriculum (all "four skills" [reading writing listening speaking] combined) with topic-based courses rather than skill-based courses.  For example, history class, literature class, debate / discussion class, science class, etc.  As well as intensive "clinics" in particular skill areas, prep courses for standardized tests.  There could be different, varied  and interesting different offerings for each monthly cycle.   All offerings could be evaluated for their ability to draw students' interest and their ability to improve scores on test metrics.
  • 10) Don't just use standard ABCD multiple choice test formats. There should be something I have been thinking of as a "graded dialogic evaluation" — roleplay-based "situation cards" that students would have to respond to with trained testers, where the situations that needed to be played could be controlled for vocabulary and concept content (e.g. "let's talk about what you did last year" would be testing things like past tense and vocabulary about activities).  They would be graded in difficulty, and in sufficient number that there was a basically random selection (although in free-form [judged] speaking tests, repeated material is not necessarily problematic, since pre -memorization / cheating is nearly impossible).  Each month students would take these tests, and scores would be based on "highest level of card" completed along with simple judge-scoring (cf. how TOEFL speaking is scored, 4 point scale).  Staff doing the testing would not be the same staff that teaches the students (computers make this kind of administrative task fairly easy).  This IS labor-intensive, but I think the value should be immediately apparent.  I basically envision dedicated testing days, say two each month, with special schedules. 
  • 11) Technology can be and should be better leveraged than what I've so far seen.  Internet Cafes (as Koreans call forums) can be created for classes.  Grades and teacher and course evaluations can be interactive.  Writing assignments can be mediated using FREE! tools like Google Apps, rather than crappy ActiveX-based Korea-specific fee-based websites.  The web is swarming with fairly effective (and often nearly free) software-as-a-service that can keep in-house technology know-how requirements to a minimum.

Caveat: Confident about…

I have this really smart class called Eldorado 2a월.  The students had a debate speech test today, and so they embarked on a project to try to keep me distracted and conversational in hopes of delaying the inevitable start of the speech evaluations.

Somehow, we were talking about self-confidence.  Unlike most of my classes, there was no need to spend time explaining what self-confidence was, conceptually.  Someone asked, "Are you self-confident?"

"I am in some things, and not in others," I offered.

And rather to my surprise, one student asked, "Do you feel confident about teaching?"

It was a penetrating question from a 6th grader.  It was not being asked in a hostile tone, so I answered honestly:  that in fact, I don't always feel confident about teaching.  I said that in teaching, I was always feeling I could do a better job.  Yet in that moment, in that class, I felt really pleased with how things were going.  I wasn't "fishing for compliments"…  and none were offered.  They just nodded as if they understood.

The tone felt a bit serious, so Candy lightened the mood.  "I feel really confident about eating," she said, with a wry smile and a dry tone.

"Yes, me too," chorused some of the others.

Caveat: One year of not quitting

I have hang-ups about quitting.  Which is to say, I often have beat myself up, in the past, because I feel I quit things too easily.   And, in fact, I have quit many things:  jobs, relationships, careers….   One thing my stepmother Wendy (whom I hugely respect and admire) said to me, long ago, that meant a huge amount to me and that I remember often, is that she believes that one of the reasons she is on this earth is to learn patience.   Actually, I think in my own case, I'm pretty good at having patience with others, at least in some ways, but I definitely lack patience with myself.  And this manifests as a frequent, premature notion that it "must be time to move on!" Or that moving on will somehow make life suddenly easier, or solve some grave motivational deficit that I'm suffering from.

So to make her words my own, I would say that I believe that one of the reasons I'm on this earth is to learn how to "not quit."   That is why, when I so desperately wanted to quit my job, last fall, I "stuck it out" — not because I thought it was the best thing, necessarily, but because I felt that quitting, right then, would have left me feeling more like a failure.   In essence, although there were many, many logical reasons why any person who had a modicum of self-respect might have decided it was healthier to move on, I chose not to quit simply because "not quitting" was (and is) the current priority in my life. 

I will acknowledge that this is probably not entirely healthy, psychologically.  But having taken on the project to learn how to "not quit," I would do very badly indeed to quit that project, wouldn't I?  Hmm… this is sounding circular.  Well, welcome to my brain!

Why do I choose to reflect on this business of "not quitting" at this moment?  Because today, July 21, 2009, is my exact one-year anniversary of working at LBridge.   I have successfully "not quit" for one year, and I'm on track to finish my contract on good terms at the end of August.  And I feel a huge sense of success and accomplishment, because of that.

Just sayin…. 

Perhaps that's one real psychological advantage, for me personally, in working on a time-delimited contract, is that I can leave a job with no guilt whatsoever, on the scheduled end-date of the contract:  no loose ends, no feeling that I'm abandoning something prematurely.  It's perfect for me.

Caveat: Cheating (on testis)

I managed a situation badly.

The background.

I had two students, let's call them Jim and Jerry.  They're among my more advanced cohort, both 6th graders.  Normally, cheating isn't much of an issue, with these high-level kids.  If a kid relies on cheating to get ahead, it's unlikely that a sustained habit of it can get them to this advanced level — there has to be real ability.

It wasn't a major test — just a quick vocabulary quiz.  The sort of thing I wouldn't even bother with, if I could design my own curriculum.  Certainly not in the "memorize the English words to match the Korean definition" format that these kids are given.  But… anyway.

I don't keep an eagle-eye on the kids when they take these quizzes.  If anything, I keep up a bit of a monologue laden with (hopefully) clever uses of the vocabulary words, mostly as a kind of good-spirited effort to give some hints as well as distract them to make the quiz more challenging.  I'd rather have a more interactive classroom with slightly lower scores, to be honest.

Anyway, I guess Jim and Jerry cheated.  One of them copied the other's paper, and I didn't notice during the quiz.  There are occasional roving eyes, and I will sometimes say something like, "Keep your eyes on your own papers, please."  But, at least in the advanced classes, I've never caught anything that looked much like blatant cheating.

But when I was correcting the quizzes, the evidence for copying was overwhelming.  If two kids get right answers, then obviously they're the same right answers, and whether they've cheated or not is not something that can be determined after the fact.  But Jim and Jerry both got very low scores (in the area of 20%).  And they had lots of peculiar wrong answers, which were exactly the same between them.  Some examples:  "facillity" for "facility"; "endangerous" for "endangered"; and, most hilariously, "testis" for "attest to".  There was, in fact, only one word where their answers differed at all — one of them got it correct, and the other left it blank.  It was a word near the bottom.  You can see, I hope, why I concluded that there had been cheating.  

I jumped to a further conclusion… though with less certainty.  Jim had studied for over a year in US, while Jerry has never studied abroad (I don't think).  And I feel it was much more plausible that Jerry copied from Jim than vice versa, based strictly on linguistic evidence.  Why?  Because misspellings like "facillity" and ANY use of the word "testis" by a 6th grader reeks of what I think of as "native-speaker error."  No Korean, exposed to only Korean English education, will know the word "testis," whereas almost any American child will have been exposed to term in some playground or locker-room context, and will find it funny or strange or mysterious or all of the above.

So my working hypothesis is that Jim wrote his answers (mostly wrong, a few right) and Jerry copied, except in one instance near the end when he happened to remember on his own a word that Jim hadn't gotten.

Whatever.  That's not why I'm frustrated, now.  I'm frustrated, because I managed the situation badly.

I circled their scores on the quiz papers, and was due to give them back to the students today (Friday).  I intended to discuss my observations and concerns with the two boys, and keep the problem entirely "close to the vest" i.e. "in house."  But I also left blanks for their scores in my grade sheet (rather than make a note – my first mistake).  Because we just finished mid-terms, I was trying to get caught up in entering grades into the computer system, and so I turned around and at another point in time I was tearing through my grade sheets, entering grades.  I wasn't really paying close attention — just making sure everything I had was in.

When I saw those blanks for those two boys, I decided to put in zeroes (my second mistake — blanks should be blanks, never zeroes).  I did that with the idea in my mind that the two boys in question weren't stellar students, and that there was some issue, but I wasn't specifically remembering the cheating problem.  I've done this before, rarely, and mostly what happens is one of two things:  (a) neither the students nor the parents (who see the scores online once they're entered) care; (b) the student or parent comes to me and asks to resolve the issue somehow — doing a make-up or something like that.  No problem.  Normally.

But Jerry's mom saw the zero online almost immediately, and then called his homeroom teacher.  Jerry’s homeroom teacher sits right across from me, so when she got this "alarmed-mother" call, she immediately just said, "hey, Jared, what's the deal with Jerry's quiz grade?"  

I looked in my grade book, and saw the quizzes with the circled scores, and, remembering the cheating concern, I simply explained, immediately, the whole story.  That was my third, and biggest mistake.  I have always felt, believed, and tried to practice the idea that things like cheating controversies should be strictly between student and teacher until at least one conversation has taken place between them.  But I'd not seen Jerry since quiz day, and so I hadn't met my own criteria.  Yet I nonchalantly dumped the whole problem out there in public view.  

If I'd followed my own rules, I'd have (a) never typed a zero into the computer (b) never said anything to Jerry's homeroom teacher about it until talking to Jerry.  The fact that both things happened in sequence meant that the thing exploded (predictably), and got completely out of my control.  The mom was furious.  Of course, she picked a peculiarly "Korean-mom" way of being furious:  she declared that I must be a terrible teacher, because I wasn't doing my job, which was, apparently, first and foremost, to "prevent her son from cheating."  It has been reactions like this, in the past, that caused me to make up my own policy regarding keeping such controversies "in house" as much as possible.  

So the whole thing escalated to the campus director.  The mom's anger has been assuaged, a little — by removal of the zero, a commitment on my part to "talk fairly" with her son, and, most importantly, a chance to "retake" the quiz for a better score.

But the whole thing has been a bitter experience.  Embarrassing.  Frustrating.  Depressing.  I'll get past it.  But.  Argh.

Random Notes for Korean
답장 = reply
전달 = delivery, conveyance
인쇄 = printing
목록 = listing, catalog
방울 = drop, dewdrop, little bell
완화하다 = mitigate, assuage, mollify
거짓말 = lie
언론= speech, discussion
언론의 자유= freedom of speech

Caveat: Let’s put a moratorium on fun

"Let's put a moratorium on fun."  – my timid student Sarah, when asked to use the word "moratorium" in a sentence in a workbook.

And Ellen, summarizing an article, had some problems with a certain homonym:  "Ulsan asked the International Wailing Commission to allow wailing on a limited basis."

Meanwhile, I was surfing around earlier today and found reference to something I'd explored a while back but never got around to posting (I don't think, anyway… I've been blogging long enough that I don't actually know everything I've posted, but a cursory autogoogle says "no").   I've always been into abstract art that looks like writing or maps (but isn't actually writing or maps).  This is sometimes called "asemic writing" apparently, and I found an interesting commentary on "asemic art" recently at a blogger named The Nonist.

If I ever ventured to be a "real artist" in the field of visual arts, that's one sort of aesthetic I'd try to pursue, I'm pretty sure.

Caveat: 쓴경험이 있었어요.

My students, especially at the lower level, often write about some bad thing that has happened to them, leading to being reprimanded by parents or teachers, and they will conclude with a sentence that looks rather formulaic:  “I had bitter experience.”
That’s not bad English, but it’s not really idiomatic.  It’s clear to me that they’re translating some Korean idiom.  I’ve been trying to figure out what that idiom is.  My best guess has two variations:
1)  쓴경험이 있었어요 = bitter experience (subj) there was
2) 쓴경험을 했어요 = bitter experience (obj) I did
Both seem like good Korean.  But I still haven’t gotten clear feedback if either of these is really a common idiomatic phrase.  More research required.

Caveat: Already Amazing!

I have a little self-inking rubber stamp that I use to "sign" my students' homework, as it goes faster and the kids think the stamp is fun.  The one I'm currently using says "AMAZING!" and has a picture of something vaguely resembling a dragon (or perhaps an alligator).  So it's all part of a theme, I suppose.

Today I was in my "Mayflower"-level class, which is the lowest level I teach, currently.   So there are sometimes challenges in communication.  I was going to stamp my student Ellen's workbook, but she put her hand up very seriously and said "teacher, I'm already amazing."  That was pretty good English, for a level that often struggles to put together a sentence.  And she used the adverb correctly, too ("already").

So I answered, "yes, I can see you are amazing.  That was amazing!"  And I stamped her book three times, rapidly, which everyone thought was hilarious.

Caveat: “벼락 오버머” 사랑해!

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I was correcting student workbooks earlier today. There’s an article in the most recent newspaper (an ESL “teaching” newspaper published in Korea) that features “Barak Obama” – our belovedly misspellable future Space Emperor.

I found this picture, above, in Julie’s workbook. It’s BHO’s best picture ever! And she wrote above his misspelled name her own personal misspelled transliteration: 벼락 오버머 (byeorak obeomeo, rather than the standard translilteration, 바락 오바마). Note the little lightning bolt above the “벼락” (byeorak means lightning bolt, I think).

Relatedly relevant:

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Caveat: 바보!

pictureI am now officially a baboizer – Ellie sent me this candid photo, retouched some way or another using her cell phone. Note that “babo” in Korean is “fool” or “idiot.” I don’t actually ever call my students “babo” – or “idiot” for that matter. I get the impression from the pragmatics that babo is fairly mild in most social contexts, though it’s far from polite, obviously.
I other news, I tried to be like the Space Emperor BHO today – by killing a fly with a single hand in mid-air. I wasn’t successful. But I did it in two tries, against the wall. The kids reaction: “disgusting, teacher.”
Normally, I don’t bother voting in shareholder actions… I own enough different stocks that I get quite a few opportunities to vote one way or another on various things.  Everything’s electronic, of course, but I rarely feel sufficiently informed to bother voting one way or another.  But today, for the first time since coming to Korea, I voted: I gave a “for” vote in the action for Sun Microsystems to merge with Oracle. Not that I think it makes much of a difference, but it was empowering to feel as if I had an opinion worth having and to be able to act on it, whether an accurate one or not. If the merger goes through at the declared price, I will more-or-less break even on my Sun investment. And we shall see if Oracle is able to make the merged result profitable or not.
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Caveat: Threading… Computers vs Kids

When I check under XP, my computer is running about 300 threads at idle (that is, no programs running).  Does an O/S really need that many threads?  When I boot under Windows Server 2003, I find 500 threads at idle.  And when it's running under Vista, the number is almost 800 threads. 

Obviously, Vista works a lot harder to do the same amount of nothing.  No wonder my laptop crashes sometimes when I ask it to boot to Vista… it's saying "please, no, I'm tired!"  Just like when I ask my students to do more homework?

A few months back, I said goodbye to Ubuntu.  But now I'm reconsidering.  Vista is getting on my nerves, again.  Nevertheless, I had a major insight, yesterday, at work, as I was trying to do something (anything!) constructive with the new install of Microsoft Office 2007 (or some recent year).  It doesn't help, obviously, that I'm stuck with the Korean language version at work, and that it doesn't let you switch to English.  But why is it that every time Microsoft upgrades something, they change all the keyboard shortcuts?  Do they think that no one uses them?  I really despise relying on my mouse to get things done, and since I'm working with the Korean version, figuring out the keyboard shortcuts basically boils down to randomly pressing keys and collecting data on what it does. 

Oh, so, what was I talking about?  My major insight…  I prefer teaching to working with computers for one very simple reason:   computers always make me feel stupid, and kids at least sometimes make me feel smart.  There's nothing complicated about that.

Caveat: Argh, sycophancy

I was out at dinner with teams "D" and "C," along with the campus bosses, after work the other night.  One of those obligatory "let's all get drunk and pontificate and expiate ourselves at each other" that drives the Korean business environment, English-language schools included. 

And I began feeling really angry.  It was mostly at a certain brand-new coworker.  Speaking English, so I was comprehending… I would probably have felt the same sort of anger at the others, but they were mostly sticking to speaking Korean, and that made the pontifications inpenetrable, though still self-evidently pontifications, nevertheless.

The internal mantra that kept me quiet and inscrutable throughout the social experience was:  "If I've nothing good to say, I will say nothing."  But the speech-to-new-coworker that I kept reformulating through most of the second half of the evening was something along these lines:

You've only been at LBridge for less than a week.  What the hell do you know?  I've had more than 30 bosses in my life, including work in fortune 500 companies, non-profits, factories and union work, the US Army, mom-and-pop businesses, and more.  And beyond any doubt, our campus manager, this person whom you sycophantically are right now praising up, down and sideways, is the absolute worst manager I've ever had.

This job has other redeeming features, including the super-smart children, as well as Sarah's amazingly competent (if not always user-friendly) efforts at keeping a well-structured curriculum.  Please don't misunderstand me — our boss is not a bad person!  His heart may even be in the right place, although he seems to me to be stunningly superficial and unreflective, like the worst caricatures of G.W. Bush.

But as far as basic management skills are concerned…  as far as "caring for and mentoring" one's employees is concerned…  as far as showing consistency and business acumen is concerned…  well, forget it.  It ain't there.  And don't try to say that I'm applying "western" standards.  I had several Korean bosses before the current one, and although all of them annoyed me at one point or another, I would never have declared any of them to be fundamentally incompetent.

That was the "angry" speech.  I never said it.  All's the better.  But since then, I've also spent time composing another, much less scrutable statement.  I've managed to avoid uttering that one, too, but I relish playing it out in my head — if only because I would love to see the gears turning in this new person's head as my intended meaning becomes clear:

In North American mainstream culture, respect is something that is earned, and that can be lost, too.  In Korean traditional business culture, respect is due to one's superior regardless of merit.  I am trapped between cultures.

But I've managed to just stay quiet.  Except, now, this totally says-it-all internet post.  Hah.  So far, no one at my current job has shown any ability whatsoever to use the outside-of-Korea internets to find things out about me or anything else in the entire universe.  A lack of curiosity?  A lack of ability?  Korea manages to remain insular despite 100% internet connectivity, through a combination of walled-garden-variety internet portals and simple linguistic and cultural naivety.

And do I really give a damn, at this point, if they find these, my rantings?  Seems that I don't.

Caveat: Best Class

This has been my best class so far. All smart. All interested. Almost all the time. Awesome kids: Ellen, Candy, Eunice (she came back!), Helen, Anastasia, Sydney, Steven.
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Caveat: Proliferation Security Initiative

According to various news sources (e.g. The Korea Herald, The Australian), South Korea's response yesterday to the North Korean nuclear test has been to finally get around to joining the US's "Proliferation Security Initiative."

This was particularly interesting to me, because of an incident in one of my most advanced debate classes about a month ago.   We have these "newspapers" (they have current events packaged for ESL learners, produced by a domestic Korean publishing house) that always have a current debate topic in their pages.  I really like pulling our in-class debate topics from these newspapers, because they are always topics that are immediately relevant to South Koreans, being policy issues that are under discussion by the government.  I can urge the kids to consider that they are learning not just English, but something along the lines of a South Korean civics class.  This provides at least some of them with some additional motivation, and because the topics are prominent in the South Korean media, it also makes them easy to research, even if they are often conceptually quite difficult.

 Last month, the newspaper had as its debate topic the question as to whether South Korea should fully join the US's Proliferation Security Initiative.   I didn't know much about it, and I didn't put too much time into researching it, myself.  I read the article, gave it some thought, and it seemed like a pretty uncontroversial thing, to me.  I understood South Korea's ambivalence, about it, however, given the always fraught nature of its relationship with its northern neighbor — North Korea had basically said that it would view South Korea joining this treaty as a "declaration of war."  Huh… right.

I tend to avoid stating my personal opinion on these debate topics until after the debate is finished, so as not to bias the students' take on them.  But I'd formed in my mind that joining PSI would probably be OK.  Until Sally's discussion of it.

Sally is a sharp sixth grader.  A bit of a prodigy, in some ways, excellent with these civics and social studies type concepts.  I have joked that she's going to be a lawyer, some day.  Anyway, we were beginning our discussion of this Proliferation Security Initiative, and she begins, quite simply:  "I read about it, and I think it's illegal."  My jaw dropped open.  "Uh… That's not what the newspaper said," I was thinking to myself.

But she went on to explain that it involved arbitrary search and seizure in international waters, and that it basically boiled down to a form of international racial profiling of ships-at-sea.  Not using this kind of vocabulary — she's not THAT good — but she did a perfectly adequate job of making these ideas clear using simpler vocabulary.  And I was just stunned, even recognizing that she was probably basing this on something she'd found on a Korean opinion website of some kind.  Because here was a 6th grader, lecturing me on international law.   She'd managed to internalize the arguments, and it was clearly not just parroting but that she understood the significance of them.  I was so impressed.

Sure enough, when you look at Wikipedia on the topic of PSI, you find that it was another one of those dubious cowboy-internationalist undertakings of John Bolton, former UN Ambassador under President Bush.  Given that pedigree, how could it NOT be illegal?  I bonked my forehead and went "d'oh!"  And, because of Sally, I changed my mind about South Korea joining the Proliferation Security Initiative.

Now, it becomes moot (note to self:  now is the time to explain the meaning of the word "moot" to Sally's class — we can revisit PSI for 5 minutes in light of the news).    South Korea has gone and jumped into it, anyway, in reaction to the North's intemperance.  Ah, well…

Caveat: Alas, Robuckle

It was a pretty rough week.  Not so much in the quantity of work, but in the ups and downs of the affective environment at LBridge.  There was the announcement, mid-week, that there will be layoffs, campus closings, etc.  Though not impacting me directly, obviously the mood in the staff room has taken a beating.  And today the rumors began to surface that teaching loads would be way up, next term.  Which is logical, but no more welcome, for all that. 

And there were deprecatory things muttered about "speaking teachers" (code for E2 visa-holding teachers as opposed to "natives") who have "easier jobs."  While I disagree with that, with regard to class load, I do acknowledge that not having to interact with the parents, as is required of the native teachers, definitely makes things a little bit easier.  I see how they struggle and suffer with the constant shifts in mood and policy (oh, there's a policy?), and of course, lack-of-support, on the part of management. 

But the thing that has me most depressed is the situation of a student of mine.  Not just mine… she's been in the Eldorado-ban (level) for a good portion of my time here.  Her English name, self-selected, is Clover.  I actually really have enjoyed having her in my class.  She's not a great intellect, and her English skills are spotty.  She's not a hardcore studier, and she's often moody.  She can be easily discouraged, and is too often comparing herself unfavorably to her peers.  The competition gets her down.  But… she could be a lot of fun, too.

One day, a month or two ago, I came in, and she announced, "today, I am Robuckle."  I said, "that's an interesting name.  I like it."  But I wanted to know where it came from.  She managed to explain, after jumping up to the board and drawing it out in Korean hangeul, that it was the consequence of playing a common language-game with the hangeulized version of "Clover."  This, of course, enchanted me – everyone, including my students, know about my love for all sorts of language games.

Here's how it works.  If you write "Clover" in Korean syllables, it comes to keul-lo-beo (클로버).  Then, according the rules of the language game, you put the first syllable last.  That gives lo-beo-keul (로버클).  But now the leading /L/ has been un-twinned, so it gets to become an /R/, according to standard Korean phonology.  That gives ro-beo-keul.  Finally, you un-hangeulize it back to something close to English phonology, and it sounds like "Robuckle."  Fabulous!

Clover enjoyed having made me so happy with such a silly thing.  So I enthusiastically endorsed the renaming of Clover as Robuckle.

Robuckle went back to being Clover a few weeks later, but after that, I always would grin to myself whenever I was scoring a paper of Robuckle's, or entering a grade, or whatever.  I'm easily and eccentrically pleased, I guess.

Anyway.  Clover's grades have been dropping quite a bit, of late.  And she got a terrible score on the speaking final speech.  She complained (via her mom, conveyed to the homeroom teacher, conveyed to me) that I had scored her unfairly.  And she became grumpy and taciturn in class.  Which of course caused her subsequent scores on things to drop, too.  I asked her, several times, to bring me the scoring sheet I had given her for the speaking final – I was open to renegotiating the score, or, even, letting her have another go at it.  But she was more interested in being angry about it.  She finally told me her mom "threw it away" (meaning the scoring paper), to get me to leave her alone about renegotiating the grade.

The other day, she apparently complained to her mom that she "hated" all of her teachers at LBridge.  Which is fine.  Such complaining is the god-given right of every adolescent.  But she alleged that we all hated her, too, and that we were unfair to her.  Such complaints come from children everywhere, all the time.  But the problem in the hagwon biz, where the parents are the paying customers… well, you can imagine: I've written about this dilemma at least once before.  The management is just as likely to side with the kid as with the teachers, especially if the kid in question is being unequivocably backed by his or her parent.

The outcome of this is that Clover's homeroom teacher got a dressing-down today by the manager, for not intercepting Clover's problems, and for being unfair, and for not mediating her perceptions of unfairness of her other teachers, such as myself.  And that left Clover's homeroom teacher pissed as hell, naturally.  At Clover.  At Clover's mom.  At the manager.  And Clover is, most likely, dropping out.  And Clover's sister, a star pupil across the street at the middle-school branch, is being pulled, also.  Officially, it's all the fault of us teachers. 

You see how this works?  It's depressing.

And despite all that, I'll miss Clover, too.  Her unkempt hair, her occasional wry grin, her sullen slouch, that baseball cap permanently affixed to her head, her flashes of real intelligence shining through the murk of atrocious syntax.

Alas, Robuckle.

Caveat: Apocalypse hagwon

The first hagwon (a Korean for-profit, after-school academy – think "night school for elementary kids") that I worked for was called Tomorrow School.  I was under the impression that it was pretty successful, but it was a small, single-location, "mom and pop" business.  The owners, Danny and Diana, showed either a lot of market savvy or else had a lot of luck in selling it when they did – basically, they jumped out at the top of the market, as far as I can tell.  So, after my first four months, Tomorrow School was purchased by a rapidly growing chain of hagwon being built by LinguaForum corporation.

LinguaForum was not, originally, a hagwon business but rather a significant publishing house of language-teaching materials.  I had the somewhat vague impression that they were building the chain of hagwon mostly to function as a sort of "lab school" environment in which to develop, test and promote their textbooks and teaching materials.  In that respect, I liked them, because they showed a great deal of methodological sophistication in terms of their higher-level curriculum design and intentions.  But they were new to the hagwon business, and their on-the-ground execution was pretty weak.  I don't think they had a clue how to actually manage, capitalize, and compete in Korea's private after-school-academy market.

So, after taking on too much debt by growing too fast (mostly through acquisitions of mom and pop single-location hagwon like Tomorrow School), LinguaForum decided to abandon the field.  They tried to arrange some kind of complex cross-investing relationship with LBridge company, which was a successful and growing but well-established local player in the Ilsan area hagwon market.  I'm under the impression that more than one of the terms of the deal fell through, and neither LBridge nor LinguaForum were happy with the outcome.

Nevertheless, the consequence was that last July, LBridge acquired my contract from LinguaForum.  Unfortunately, management flat-footedness (in the form of no small amount of arrogance, among other things) meant that although the LinguaForum hagwon chain ceased to exist (the parent publishing house remains), only about half the teachers and barely 10% of the student body tranferred over.  I have the unconfirmed suspicion that the failed deal was bad, financially, for LBridge.

All of that, combined with the slumping economy (although, as I've mentioned before, South Korea, relative to other OECD countries, is doing quite well) and an intensely competitive hagwon business environment with lots of consolidation, cutthroat student poaching, etc., means that LBridge now finds itself it somewhat dire straits.  Yesterday, it was announced to staff that there will be layoffs, campus closings, and shrinking teaching "teams" in the coming Summer term.  I don't think I'm directly affected… my current understanding is that they're going to let my contract run out as written to the end of August.  But end-of-contract "bonuses" are imperiled, apparently, and Korean staff (i.e. those who are working here as Korean citizens rather than under work visas, regardless of native language) are deeply and justifiably concerned about job security. 

Enrollments have definitely been shrinking.  There have been lots of complaints about the difficulty of the curriculum – yet, last fall, there were complaints about the lightness of it.  To keep changing the curriculum in response to the tides of parental sentiment is a little bit of an unwinnable battle.  You've got to adopt a curriculum and methodology, and stick with it.  LBridge definitely has proven poor at this. 

Mostly, however, it seems to me that success in the hagwon biz is about building and managing relationships with kids and, of course, parents.  And my gut feeling is that LBridge is TERRIBLE at this.   Unlike Tomorrow School or LinguaForum, LBridge leaves the major portion of the parent-relationship-management problem to the front-line teachers.  While philosophically this may be a good idea, the fact that the management provides precisely zero training or support to the teachers who they throw into this role means that LBridge sets itself up for failure.  The fact is that they basically treat their staff like wage-slaves rather than professionals (i.e. things like a lack of respect, a distrust of teachers' abilities to manage their own time, etc.), yet they think they're being clever by having their front-line people be the ones in charge of interacting with parents.   You can see the mistake, here, I think.  The parents, after all, are the paying customers.  You don't want disgruntled and untrained staff being the ones who manage your customer relationships.

To connect this crisis to a business I know fairly well, it is like those tech companies that rely on their technical people to manage customer relationships.  This, as we all know, rarely works.  You need customer-relationship-management specialists – commonly known as salespeople.  That's how for-profit business works.  Far be it from me to parrot the likes of the Harvard Business Review, but it seems to me self-evident that in successful companies, intelligent and hard-working salespeople and marketers drive quality and innovation, and then the technical people make it happen behind the scenes, where they can murmur and grumble to their hearts' content.  In the hagwon biz, that means having dedicated "parent-relationship-management" specialists, I think. 

Danny, the owner of the Tomorrow School, understood this intuitively:  he did almost nothing but focus on interacting with the parents, as far as I could tell, leaving the day-to-day management of his business to his wife Diana, and the classroom execution was left to the teachers from whom he expected a great deal of self-reliance and innovation (which is to say that, despite my complaints at the time – see my blog from a year and a half ago – he actually treated his workers more professionally than I've seen at LBridge… we always see things more clearly in retrospect, right?). 

Caveat: You never asked

No three words make me angrier and more prone to stereotype Korean management negatively than those three:  "you never asked."   At least today, they weren't directed at me.  I have yet to have a long-term interaction with a Korean manager (or even aspiring manager) who hasn't at some point used those words with me or with some other underling.  It comes in response to statements such as "I didn't know…" or "no one told me…" 

Frankly, in my opinion, those words, "you never asked," are always and inevitably a complete cop-out on the part of a presumed manager of people.  I liken it to teaching:  do you wait for children to "ask" to be helped?  to be corrected?  to have some error pointed out to them?  no… you must be proactive, when teaching.   And managers must be teachers.

I know many will say, but… what about cultural differences?  What about Korea's pervasive hierarchicalism and Confucian values?  Is it possible such things interfere with being a proactive, teaching manager?  On the contrary!  Unless I have radically misunderstood the core confucian value system, part of the tradeoff for all that filial respect (etc., etc.) is that the elders are supposed to "mentor" the juniors.    That is, they are supposed to be caring, even nurturing, teachers.  So when Korean manager types fall back on the "you never asked" excuse, they are not only being bad managers in the western way of things, but they're being damn bad confucians, as well.   Or have I really misunderstood things that badly? 

Don't wait for the people you manage to fall on their faces, don't wait for them to make mistakes, and then, when they fail, shoot a scathing "you never asked" at them.  This doesn't help.  It damages them, and it damages your enterprise, too.   Identify possible points of failure, just like with the children you're supposed to be teaching, and proactively show them how to solve the problem.  Uh, well… many Koreans don't really manage their classrooms that way, either.   They don't explain how to do things… they expect the kids to figure it out, and then flunk, berate, and punish the kids for failing to do so.  

Does this maybe teach a degree of emotional self-sufficiency?  Is there a positive side to it all?  I can't imagine there is, but perhaps I am wrong.  And it is entirely possible that there IS something confucian in saying to the failing student:  "you never asked."  Something I just don't quite GET.

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