Four-Year-Olds are (not) so Cute
I had secretly always wanted to teach little kids, just a few times, but I didn’t have time to add another class onto my teaching schedule when I lived there. So last week, when a primary-level teacher asked me to fill in for their first grade class of 45 four and five-year olds, I was very excited. It was the perfect chance to work with the super young kids without having to make a commitment.
Armed with only a big smile, and a vague plan of singing nursery rhymes, I entered the small classroom where the 45 young kids sat on the floor. They all sat with hands folded as I approached the front of the class. I asked a little girl to give me her textbook so that I could figure out what they were learning about. She tossed the textbook to me instead of walking over and handing it to me. All of the sudden, the other children decided to toss their textbooks as well, and I started getting pelted by preschool textbooks.
That was the moment when all hell broke loose.
I told them to knock it off and collect their textbooks, and the students took that opportunity to start running around whacking each other with the tattered books. One child turned over the garbage can, spreading filth all over the classroom, and turned it into a loud drum. Some of the five-year-olds got a hold of the bamboo rod used by teachers to control unruly children and started hitting each other. I tried to grab the cane, and their little nimble arms were too fast for me. They started hitting me.
I finally gave up (after a grand total of ten minutes in the classroom) and was planning an escape out a nearby window when the teacher returned to investigate the loud noises coming from the classroom. Armed with an even larger bamboo cane, the teacher whacked the children into submission very quickly. I just apologized for disturbing him, and left. It was a complete failure, but at least got to make my escape out the door rather than the window. I never had a chance to sing “The Wheels on the Bus Go Round and Round.”
American Pumpkins
A teacher asked me to co-teach his sixth grade science class with him, so I went with on a day when they were learning about how different climates affect different crops around the world. The teacher gave the example of pumpkins, and how Nepali pumpkins are tiny compared to American pumpkins. He kept going on and on about how enormous American pumpkins are, and how we are famous in the world for our pumpkin sizes.
I’m standing next to him, wondering where all these massive American pumpkins are. I’ve been missing something my whole life, apparently.
Then he tells the class he learned about how American pumpkins are as big as carriages in a book, Cinderella. I decided not to disappoint him by telling him it was a fictional story that doesn’t take place in America.
Dancing Queens
I was co-teaching the Deaf classroom (a class of twenty students who are deaf or hard-of-hearing) and the teacher asked the students to each take a turn dancing. Each student performed a beautiful, traditional Nepali dance routine. After the students had finished, a few of them asked me to dance as well. I explain (in Nepali Sign) that I will do an American dance.
You can probably imagine me dancing in an American style. There was a lot of head bouncing, some spinning, a little sprinkler, and a helping of robot. I’m not known for my dancing, but I have fun with it.
When I finished, the students were all staring at me wide-eyed. The teacher jumped up and started explaining to them that Americans don’t do the flowy, every-finger-and-toe-accounted-for, intense Nepali-style dance. Instead, he explained, Americans do a lot of head bopping, shoulders slouched, casual bouncing. He concluded by saying I was an excellent dancer, by American standards. I responded that even American dance standards weren’t that low.
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