When I grow up... I want to be a teacher. But after grad school, which I've come to know as my own personal "dark ages" complete with the black plague of choiceless abstinence, I decided that I still needed some growing up to do before I could accomplish the monumental feat of being the best teacher I can be. After sitting on my ass for a few years, doing the table waiting thing and all that jazz, I knew I still wasn't ready to pull off a spectacular double somersault dissertation masterpiece, vigorous mind-expanding lesson planning at the college level, and finally receiving that mythical gold-plated holy grail: the Doctorate of Philosophy (aka PhD). I thought, "How's about I goes to Thailand and teaches me some English to lil' Thai kids 'till I figure out what in tarnation I'm doing with my life?" At least that way, in between island hopping and working on my tan, I can learn a new language and get some nice teaching experience, all of which will help me in my eventual quest for academic superstardom. As usual, things never pan out quite the way you expect.
Thais, as Italians (and most Europeans in general), are a bit on the lazy side. Things move slow here; I find that it's taking my mind and body much longer than usual to adapt to a different way of life. My emotions, however, have yet to join the lackadaisical ebb of the rivers surrounding this provincial town, and much prefer to rise and swell like crowds in the central outdoor markets of inner city Bangkok, roaming from the smallest muddy alley of disheartened misery to the wide open green foliage of clean and utter contentment. But that is neither here nor there.
Following suit, my students are mostly lazy, preferring to stroll into class at least ten to fifteen minutes late with only a third of them completing that day's assignment. It's taken the better half of a semester to figure out that these kids are actually stretched thin with a number of classes and activities, and that Teacher Bri's English Class is, well, kind of a joke. An elective. Fifty minutes of so called "free time" to check email on the cell phone or take a nap. To be fair, a lot of the brighter students are quite hard working.... in other classes and activities. The laziness seems to seep deep into their eyelid sockets, however, when I step in front of the whiteboard and jabber on enthusiastically about some ridiculous coordinating conjunction or other, and how fun it is to practice irregular past tense verbs. I suppose it is quite the give-and-take. Some care, others don't, and everyone has their up and down days. Including me.
Still, looking at myself through the fantasies of all the good I thought I could do teaching, and following in the wake of quite inexplicably magnificent teachers and professors over the years of my fine educational upbringing, I could just about cry. I find myself falling into that same lazy bowl, day after day, caring less and less about finding games and activities that will "peak" their interest. Not that I don't care, in fact quite the opposite; I am appalled by the lack of discipline in the entire Thai educational system (not to mention the numerous failures of educational institutions all over the world), which leaves me feeling hopeless, and quite honestly, helpless. I feel as if I'm not making any difference at all, and if that's true, what's the point of teaching? Am I just wasting time here, repeating the same simple lessons so many times the words start to lose meaning and I doubt my ability to speak English at all? Am I filling some void left over from an unfinished, naive dream of making the world a better, less ignorant place? Who knows...
What I do know, somewhere deep down, where reason has no welcome mat and criticism no corner to hang its ugly hat, is that I will look back on this experience one day and understand its worth. However little the external reward, teachers do make a difference. If a teacher can make even one person open up their mind to the curiosities of this spinning rock, then the spinning becomes that much more of a fun ride than a monotonous, nauseating plummet to the center of the sun. The problem is, that teacher may never know the difference they make - it may take a person years to recognize how that person changed their life (hopefully for the better), and even then, they don't usually end up writing a 15 page thank you letter to someone they assume is probably dead or insane from too much teaching.
No, the rewards of teaching rest on that invisible plane of glorified hope that you are doing the right thing just by being there for little people learning to think for themselves. You are there to answer their questions as best you can, and that is all anyone can ask for, in a teacher, in a student, a parent, or what have you. Sometimes I yell and get angry about it, directing my high pitched screams at the smirking perpetrators, but more often than not I have to remind myself to take it all in stride. You can't take everything so serious that you never smile, because smiling and laughter are the best medicines, and if you can make someone laugh then you have captured their attention, and the opportunity comes to quickly teach them, in that tiny window, why it is incorrect to say "teacher go to toilet?" First of all, it's "teacher can I go to the bathroom slash toilet?" And second of all, no you can't - why didn't you pee the first 20 minutes of class when everyone was fucking around?
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