Entry 11: Putting the "Chool" in "School"

So, I'm teaching summer English classes at the technical school (which specializes in such subjects as the production of milk products [which I realize is both repetitive and repetitious, and possibly even tautological] and food service management) for six hours a day. An average day goes as follows: wake up, have breakfast at Natalya Mikhailovna's, teach a group of younger students -- ages 6 to 12 -- for three hours (with a lunch break in the cafeteria), have lunch at Natalya Mikhailovna's, teach a group of older students -- ages 12 to 17 -- for three hours (with another break for lunch in the cafeteria), have dinner at Natalya Mikhailovna's, have a bit of free time (though I might use it all up planning lessons or writing blog entries -- it's all your fault, Gentle Reader!), go to sleep, do it all over again. As you can imagine, it's quite an exhausting schedule, perhaps not even so much because I have to teach two groups of hyperactive students of widely varying ages in the middle of the summer, as because I have to expend even more energy eating at least five times a day. "You eat so little!" Natalya Mikhailovna exclaims, adopting an accusatory tone, at every meal (which consists of about four courses -- I invariably have dessert even with breakfast). I can only counter that, at three lunches a day, I'm not really in any danger of starving to death, to which Natalya Mikhailovna just shakes her head...
On my first day of school (perhaps the first one where my mom didn't take pictures of me beforehand), I hadn't the least idea what to expect. "Natalya Mikhailovna's a professional," I thought; "I'll just sit back and observe, and jump in once I feel comfortable that I know what I'm doing." Nothing doing. Natalya Mikhailovna had to meet with the parents to decide a number of supposedly pressing questions (how to get me to eat yet a fourth lunch, most likely), so I was left completely alone with about 12 elementary-age children, who knew very little English, and absolutely no plan. I began introducing myself, giving the kids name tags and hoping introductions would buy me a lot of time. They didn't. I tried to explain something about myself, but, seeing that the subtleties of contemporary United-Statesian geography would likely be lost on a group of 8 year-old Siberians, I decided to avail myself of a handy visual aid: a projector hooked up to a laptop. I opened up Microsoft paint and started drawing and labeling. That led to me trying to draw various geographical vocabulary to the children, which somehow led to me creating my own country -- "Tedlandia." I created a flag for my country and then passed the task on the children, getting them to come up with their own countries, with flags, geographical features, etc., which they would then have to label in English. The lesson turned out astoundingly well, with the children getting pretty creative -- my favorite turned out to be the Maxlandia Federation, which shared a border with Zhenlandia (though I hear they've since closed it to prevent freeloading Zhenlandians from coming over and stealing their jobs; nevertheless, Maxlandians still go over to Zhenlandia to get drunk on holidays). I got the children to present their countries (most of which resembled Russia to a suspicious degree), at which point Natalya Mikhailovna came back, and we were able to finish the lesson together. By the time we finished, I was extremely satisfied... I had come up with a very successful lesson on the fly, and all the children had been simply delightful -- friendly, energetic, creative, and eager to learn. Maybe this whole teaching thing isn't so hard after all, I thought.
Then it came time to teach the older children. I assumed things would be even easier with them, since they knew more English, and I wouldn't have to come up with games to keep them entertained. However, as I started teaching (Natalya Mikhailovna had again gone off on some errands... soon to become a reoccurring event), I realized that they knew less English than I expected. Despite years of studying the language, having never come into contact with a native speaker, some of them had trouble answering even the most basic questions, like "What is your name?" and "How old are you?" Needless to say, getting them to speak or participate in activities was like pulling teeth -- everyone was scared and insecure in their abilities. Also, I found that I had to keep them entertained just as much as the younger children, which turned out to be even more difficult, since I had to do it without the aid of crayons, balls, and other such aids. At lunch, there was awkward, almost sepulchral silence, and I found that my attempts to engage the students in conversation were met with one-word answers, responses of "what?" or, in the worst case, "chto?" As the lesson ended, and the students began rushing out faster than you could say "disillusionment," I thought to myself, "Well, perhaps there's still a lot of work to be done before I go buying myself a 'World's Greatest Teacher' mug..."