Leading up to my first class day, I called a teacher who I had already met with to set my schedule and said "I don't know which room we will be holding class in on Tuesday." She said "The teacher will tell you which room when she finds out." It confused me, because all along I thought she was going to teach me. Riding a bus all the way out to our campuses is not a desirable job, so I figured maybe she had passed it on to some underling teacher. I asked "Also, can my teacher bring my passport and receipt for my visa to class on Tuesday?" She told me "The teacher will bring it with her on Wednesday. Right now she isn't at school, so she won't be able to get it by tomorrow." Afterwards, she called me back and told me "The teacher will meet you at A building, room 503 tomorrow morning at 9AM." So, I had everything I needed to start class, except I didn't know exactly who my teacher was.
Tuesday morning came, and I woke up with ambitions of a great student/teacher relationship with whoever my teacher was going to be. Shelley had some delays getting out of the house for her class, so I was trying to help her, and as a result, left a few minutes late to get to my class. Not wanting to be late for the first day of class, I biked as fast as I could. Upon arrival, I received a phone call from the lady with whom I had corresponded previously. She said "Jarred, are you having trouble finding the classroom?" "No, I am almost there, give me just one minute. I am so sorry." "Okay, the teacher is waiting for you in the classroom." I felt really bad, because whoever my teacher was was probably wondering who I was, where I was, and if the whole thing was a bad joke and I wasn't even going to show up.
Finally I arrived at the classroom door, sweaty from biking and climbing 5 flights of stairs, and a little flustered. As I approached the door it was like a moment of truth. Who would be the teacher who is solely responsible for my language development, the one teacher who would work with me 10 hours a week to perfect my speaking, reading, and writing? It was intense. Then I opened the door and walked in to... the same lady whom I just spoke to on the phone. Up to this point, I thought "the teacher" would be someone else. Actually, she just referred to herself with a third person title "the teacher." "The teacher will meet you at this classroom" "The teacher is waiting for you." The whole time she was referring to herself! And to make things worse, she continued, and continues to this day to refer to herself only as "the teacher." Let's get one thing clear... this is not an old lady, and I am not an elementary school student. I haven't found out her age yet, but I am fairly sure I am older than her. Yet, she insists on referring to herself not as "me" but as "the teacher." I asked all my friends if their teachers did this, and mine apparently is the only one with this strange power trip. Josh told me that in ancient times, the emporer referred to himself in this way, and he even had a special written character pronoun to indicate that someone was writing about the emporer, not a common person. Maybe the teacher has her own pronoun. Maybe I should only refer to myself as "the student." Imagine that dialogue
"The teacher will give you your homework now."
"The student is ready."
"Write these characters 5 times."
"The student will write them to the best of his ability."
"Ok, have a good afternoon."
"Thank you the teacher. The student will see you tomorrow."
"The teacher will see you tomorrow. Goodbye."
Overall, my first week of class was exhausting. I would give my left arm for someone else to take the class with me, to have to answer the teacher's questions so I could give my brain a 2 minute break. As it is, we have 3 hours of class on Tuesdays and Wednesdays with a 10 minute break. On Thursdays, we have 4 hours of class and she is merciful enough to give me 15 minutes of break. One 10 minute rest and one 5 minute rest. Thanks the teacher. She is relentless and uses a red pen to check every assignment that I do. Keep in mind that I do these exercises right in front of her, and she watches me do them, and corrects me as I do them, so she knows as I am doing them what is right or wrong. Yet after she has watched me do them all, she still insists on putting checks by the correct answers with a red pen. She is the youngest old-school teacher ever. I will let you know as soon as she breaks out a ruler to slap me with, or demands that I bring her an apple.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
