This was originally posted on blogger.

Here are some stories about my students thatI think are cute. They don’t necessarily have a great resolution or take-away message. That’s why I’m sharing them on my blog.

Core Memories

Yesterday my boss brought in over a hundred cookies for the kids to decorate at school.

“You made all these?” I asked.

“Yeah. I stacked them in the oven. It made me feel like I had a purpose while I was watching NBA.”

“You know, I remember decorating cookies at school when I was 6, too,” I recounted. “We were learning fractions or something. I guess it was a great activity, since I still remember it, and I’m 23 now.”

“Corree memories. We’re making core memories here,” he replied. I chuckled.

Crickets

A couple months ago, I had my last class with a group of students I taught in the afternoons. Three hours every Wednesday and Friday afternoon.

Tracy was a star student of that class. She was goofy and fun at breaktime. She loved songs like Belle (from Beauty and the Beast) and We Don’t Talk About Bruno (from Enchanto) so much that she cherished the sheet with lyrics and told me to play it in one of our first classes. She made up new games that would combine leapfrog and Jenga blocks to play with her friends. And she’d patiently guide her classmate Owen through his homework.

When the kids moved classes, Tracy was in an evening class with teacher Bryan. The only other classmate was a rambunctious boy York. I’m friendly with Bryan – he’s tall, Mexican-American guy, and a good teacher. It’s a couple months after this transition. I ask Bryan one Wednesday evening if I can stop by his class.

“Sure,” he says. “But they’re deadly quiet. See if you can get them to talk.”

I go in with a ghoul mask. “YARRHGGHHH!!” Crickets.

I see York, and Tracy a couple seats down the line.

“York, how you doing??”

“Teacher, give me!” He points to the mask. I put it on his face.

I turn to Tracy and ask, “Tracy – how are you??”

Crickets. Tracy doesn’t talk. She’s hidden behind her mask, crouched in her seat. She doesn’t even look at me. It’s like we had a bad break-up and she’s giving me the silent treatment.

Later, I see her again waiting for a pickup outside the school.

“Tracy!” Another chance. “What will you be for Halloween?” Kids are better at responding to direct questions.

“Hmmm, I don’t know… Maybe a princess?” she responds.

“That’s a lovely idea!” Then I whisper, “Teacher Bryan’s class is so quiet. Isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Tracy says. “It’s because… Teacher Bryan is scared.”

“Teacher Bryan is scary?” I clarify. The words scary and scared are easy to confuse.

She nods, “yes. Scary.”

I assure her it’ll be okay. I can understand – with class in the evening, a new teacher, new classmates, and only York tying her back to her previous English life, it’s a big change. Teacher Bryan isn’t scary to me, but maybe if you’re 1/3 of his height, and have a much quieter voice, he is.

I wonder if we all go through these changes growing up. I remember being naughty and goofy as a little kid. Then, in middle school and high school, I became reserved and less confident. For me, it was a product of the social environment I was in. I vauled excelling in academics over having lots of fun with my friends. And now, maybe I’m a combination of both those states. I believe the bright, fun Tracy will shine in English again one day.

He runs everyday

“Teacher, my father wants to know how many km you run. He’s a runner too,” my student Brody tells me.

I met Brody’s dad at an open house some time ago. I thought he was pretty cool. Brody’s a great kid, and you’re telling me his dad runs, too!? An inspiration.

“I run 5, or 6, or 7 km. Does your dad run every day?”

“Yes,” says Brody. “Wait, no. He runs every week.”

“That’s a big difference!”

Another student, Jerry, is a fast runner too. “Teacher, I run every year,” he says jokingly.

Multi-lingual School

I thought I’d have an upper-level do a project running a political campaign. I dreamt up some requirements: a poster and a speech. I taught some key words: presidential campaign, political ideology.

My students are surprisingly into it. They’re excited by the idea of crafting their own party name, logo, and policies.

During work time, I realize some of the students are sitting on their butts. I take the role of back-seat project manager. While Linda’s drawing on the posters, I tell Sam and Tina they should be writing better policies.

Momo, another student, wants to speak Mandarin. Because of our immersive English program, I’ve only heard her speak words and fragments in her native tongue. But then suddenly in Chinese, her words come tumbling out – she wants her policy to be a multi-lingual school where kids can speak any language they want like Japanese or or Korean English or Chinese, like a bilingual program, but multi-lingual. She’s excited and expressing her creativity! I’ve never seen her talk like this. And I’m suddenly unprepared how to support her idea. I simply tell her how to spell the word “languages” and that she should write down her idea. Thank god I don’t teach actual humanities, and that suffices as a response.