You Can’t Stop Progress

When my dad dropped me off at school yesterday, he wondered aloud whether or not I knew the number of days I have so far volunteered in the ESOL classroom. Why, yes, Dad, I do: Tuesday constituted my 15th visit. Consistent with the recent trend, yesterday was a lot of fun. For the most part, I felt productive, useful. I also noticed how certain lesson plans allow for more probable student learning improvements while others, I predict, will not. (For the record, I use Bill Heslop’s losing campaign slogan in Muriel’s Wedding, “You Can’t Stop Progress,” in a slight, ironic sense.)

The county’s (or is it the state’s?) curriculum for ESOL level 1 stipulates that the students know certain verbs in the present and past tenses by the end of the school year. With time running out this semester, the teacher instituted a new regime yesterday to quicken this learning process: every week, the students will learn ten verbs and take a quiz each Friday that gauges their comprehension of these verbs as well as all the ones that have come before in weeks prior. She prepared three different kinds of the same packet: one with French translations of the verbs, another with Spanish ones, and yet another with blank spaces for students whose native languages are neither French nor Spanish; she invited them to use a bilingual dictionary to fill in these spaces. Crucially, there is a column on their verb chart packet where they are meant to write a sentence using each verb in the past tense.

From what I could tell, the students hadn’t yet learned how to form the simple past tense let alone what it means. Instead of teaching this lesson, she quickly reviewed how the verb to be has two forms, was and were, depending on the subject. Then she instructed them to write sentences for the first ten entries on the alphabetical list. This lesson structure poses many challenges, I think. First, most of the verbs on the chart are irregular in the past tense, such as become (became), blow (blew), and catch (caught). Drawing on my own experiences learning a foreign language, I was surprised that she would teach them irregular verbs before even demonstrating how to conjugate regular verbs, like ask (asked), walk (walked), and watch (watched)—that is, by adding -ed to the stem. Second, working from an alphabetical list means that the students aren’t learning the words in context. As such, many students whose work I supervised and corrected didn’t understand how to use words like blew and caught. Since she hadn’t taught them, relying too heavily on direct translation, I’m hardly surprised many didn’t know what the words evensignify. It will be interesting to see how this new program unfolds in the coming weeks. Some students were quick to get it (one impressed me with her offering of The wind blew very hard yesterday), while others struggled to put a sentence together at all. I’m not sure they’ve ever been explicitly told what the different parts of speech are and how they relate to one another. Otherwise, I think they’d understand that they need only one verb per phrase/sentence (remember, they’re writing simply at level 1). For I corrected many who’d written something along the lines of My aunt was became an American citizen last year.

Toward the end of the period, we reviewed the names of places around town (bank, post office, and laundromat to name but a few) because there’s a new class project in the works: each student signed up to draw one of them on a letter-size piece of paper. We will then collect the drawings and lay them out on a street map strewn across the floor. I like this lesson plan because it is creative and will likely engage them in the upcoming unit’s material: asking for and giving directions around town. Plus, I like the idea of strengthening their visual and spatial reasoning skills.

Before I move on to talk about a new group I worked with during period 3’s basic reading class for ESOL students, I’d like to report that the level 1 teacher revealed a new rule she’s instituting after the class returns from winter break. Starting January 2, the students must drop 5 cents in a collection jar every time they are caught speaking in their native tongue rather than in English. Eventually, we will donate the money to an agreed-upon charity. The only exceptions are when a student explains a part of the lesson in their language to someone who doesn’t understand it in English. I look forward to seeing how well they adapt to the new law.

For a change of pace, I worked with a different reading group during period 3, one composed of the five weakest students in the class. I’d worked with two of them before, many weeks or months ago, and I was both surprised and delighted that I didn’t encounter any stubbornness from either one. In fact, all five of the students were engaged in the lesson, and they all worked very hard. We read the first chapter (or four illustrated pages) of a story about a Japanese boy who moves to New York with his family. Each sentence is accompanied by a demonstrative image. After reading it once as a big group, I checked for comprehension, asking them for the antonym (or “opposite”) of wide and explained that Jackson Heights, the protagonist’s new neighborhood is also difficult for him to pronounce, as evidenced in a scene that phonetically spells out the name in his Japanese accent. It’s a nice touch. The teacher was more concerned about the students’ understanding the content of the story rather than their proper use of grammar when answering a worksheet’s questions about the plot. This was a pretty effective lesson, I have to say. The students seemed to enjoy it, probably because it didn’t go way beyond their abilities. However, I could tell that one student was really struggling, and I have resolved to help him more tomorrow. At the teacher’s request, I’d paid more individualized attention to one of his classmates, the boy who in the past resented having to work with me because he couldn’t understand me and wanted me to speak to him in French. Incidentally, he is the worst student in ESOL level 1, and he most likely has a learning disability that has heretofore never been addressed. But he did well yesterday.

Switching gears, I mainly observed the reading class for special education students, but I interacted with a greater variety of pupils than I ever expected to. One, the friendliest of the bunch, talked my ear off almost the entire period. At one point, a classmate bluntly asked her why her voice is so high. Appalled at the other girl’s rudeness, the teacher reprimanded her and quickly explained that people are born with different pitches. Meanwhile, I whispered to my companion that she should just ignore the… um… bitch (I didn’t use that word, of course). Earlier, I’d successfully engaged the rude girl in an exchange about the social studies homework she was finishing up when I arrived. She even let me look at what she simply described as “Unit 3” when I asked what it was about. Ouch. I glanced at her paper, which was in fact about imperialism, and was perplexed as to why she wrote “national security” and “humanitarian [issues]” as reasons for imperialism. Her response to my question? “That’s what the teacher told us to put down.” I didn’t want to push it, believing that the rude girl wouldn’t listen to my lecture anyway, but I couldn’t help but think, Just what is her teacher teaching her?!

Unexpectedly, a fire alarm rang out for one of the school’s monthly tests. I’d been dreading such an occurrence since the beginning of my volunteership (they’re major time suckages), but if it was going to happen, I am glad it did during period 4, my least favorite hour. It managed to stem some of the awkwardness I routinely feel in that room. Have I told you that I have resolved not to return to it in the spring semester?

Finally, I stayed for tutoring during the open lunch period. The ESOL students slowly trickled into the room, either seeking to take missed or failed tests or to have one of the American students help them with their homework or review English language lessons. Just when I thought I wouldn’t have anyone to work with, I wound up helping two students. The first was preoccupied with some minor errors she thought that she had made on Friday’s test about clothing. Since the teacher hadn’t yet graded her exam, she allowed the student to look it over with me, telling me which changes she would make if she could (she couldn’t permanently make them). I scanned her entire test, assuring her that aside from those few small mistakes she’d learned that she’d made after the fact, she had an “A” test on her hands. She left happy, relieved, and grateful for my feedback. Then I turned my attention to the boy whom I’d had problems with in the past, the same one with whom I worked during period 3. At first he was impatient that I started working with the other student while he stepped out to buy an apple; his teacher suggested he work with someone else. But he refused. “You want to work with me?” I asked to clarify. “Yes.” I’m not sure if he could tell or not, but I was stunned, flattered, and absolutely fuckin’ chuffed!

All in a Day’s Work at School

Yesterday was my 13th day in the ESOL classroom, and the first day back for the ESOL level 1 teacher, who was away all last week on a trip to France. It was touching to watch the students profess how much they missed her, showering her with hugs. She also got to meet two new students who joined the class sometime during her absence. Other than a raffle prize drawing, in which the teacher and I took turns pulling five random students’ names out of a bowl in order to choose the new owners of five Eiffel Tower keychains she brought back from Paris, periods 1 and 2 were relatively uneventful. We reviewed vocabulary for clothing and accessories and introduced new descriptive adjectives like striped, plaid, and leopard. Using photos on the board, we prompted students to describe what each pictured person is wearing. Then, to prepare for Wednesday’s vocabulary quiz, the students filled out a worksheet, labeling the parts of people’s wardrobe without the aid of a word bank. I walked around the room, assisting them wherever or however I could, often by spelling words or reminding them of certain, heretofore elusive terms (like stocking).

The beginning of period 3 sort of took me by surprise: one of the students in my reading study group hugged me. I’d never seen her in such an upbeat mood, which may have had more to do with the confidence she felt after just completing a math test rather than my reappearance in her basic reading class. It’s not that I’d thought she didn’t like me, it’s just that I had no idea she liked me so much. During our sessions together, she always looks so bored and disinterested—if on-task. Anyway, there was a slow start to the period, as I escorted the four students to another teacher’s classroom (that of period 4’s special education teacher, as a matter of fact), where they each selected the next book after The Odyssey that they wanted to read independently, according to their previously determined reading skills level. Once everyone was finished and I had handed them their respective activities to work on as they read their book, we went back into the hallway, and they began to read to themselves. (It seems that the days of our haunting the teacher’s lounge, which the students dreaded, are now over.) Instead of twiddling my thumbs and dwelling on the fact I should have brought my own book to read, I read over the prompts on their worksheets, wondering how I can help them with each of their books since I won’t be reading along with them. I defined terms for the students, often acting out or gesturing their meaning. Regrettably, I couldn’t explain the meaning of gruel to the student who’s reading a comic book adaptation of Jane Austen’s Emma. Yikes! Rather than simply saying it’s watered down porridge, I told her that, contrary to what the character says about it, it’s actually what unhealthy, poor people ate back then.

Period 4 was the most different. Instead of having the students split into two broad groups, those who are reading independently and those who are completing activities on the computer, the teacher conduct class as one big group. They begrudgingly took turns reading aloud from their textbook/workbook a memoir about immigration. I tried to read along with the boy sitting next to me, but he didn’t want to share with me. So I just listened to the story. Throughout, a few students were engaging in off-topic conversations, much to their teacher’s frustration. Once she managed to get them all on track, she decided to reward them with a treat: a Dum Dum lollipop each. (I selected strawberry, for a change; I always choose root beer whenever one is offered to me.) I couldn’t help notice that, as she introduced the idea (“If I give you one of these, will you stop talking?”), she was literally trying to pacify them. As if they were babies, which, let’s face it, they sometimes are. Completely immature, rude, and crude. While the gesture certainly toned down their disruption, it didn’t eradicate it absolutely. The teacher ended class a few minutes early, telling me that it’s ironic that, no matter how ill-behaved they are in this particular class, they still get done everything that she plans. I told her that that must mean she knows how to anticipate the length and depth of her lessons. That may be part of it, but she also said that her other classes have deeper discussions about their reading materials. If only I could observe her periods 1 and 2, she said.

The Changes Need No Translation

Today was both my 10th day in the ESOL classroom and my first day back there in three weeks. (In between, I went to New York with my siblings, hosted my sister at home, and then served as an election judge.) I returned to find that some things had changed, while most everything else had stayed the same.

The early double period in ESOL level 1 may have been the most pleasant and enjoyable time I’ve ever spent there. As soon as I stepped through the doorway, I saw big smiles on the students’ faces; I was just as happy to see them. One boy even playfully reprimanded me for my excessive absenteeism: “Where have you been?! I’ve missed you!” “I missed you, too!” I replied, a little overwhelmed by their collective response. A few minutes later, when their teacher made the announcement that she’s leaving today for France (she’s chaperoning advanced French language students on an eleven-day trip) and that they’ll have a substitute teacher all next week, I noticed that the girl who used to show very little patience with me at the beginning of my tenure was relieved and pleased that I would be coming by next week, too. I had never felt so welcomed in that class before (that’s not to say it is uninviting), which made it feel so good to be back. Even the stubborn girl who once accepted and then rejected my help during lunchtime seemed to open up to me more, asking for help to retrieve her email password and exchanging smiles with me throughout the double hour. I sincerely hope she changes her mind again and lets me privately tutor her during lunch sometime in the near future.

But those aren’t the only changes I noticed. I quickly spotted two new faces: a boy who’d been moved down from level 2 because he’d been failing and a friendly girl who is new to the school. She was one of two students who each presented a PowerPoint slideshow introducing us all to members of his/her family. Glimpsing a bit of her home-life made me wish that I had been able to see the rest of the class’s presentations. However, most of the double period was devoted to mastering four critical prepositional phrases and the names for businesses and offices in a town/city. For example, the students practiced reading and saying sentences like “The bakery is next to the bank” and “The hotel is around the corner from the post office.” From what I could tell, everyone handled these new grammatical structures really well, never leaving out words from the prepositional phrases.

To my surprise and delight, my translation services (from English into French and from Spanish into English) were even requested. While monitoring the students’ work in pairs, three boys, each from a different country, inquired how to say pareja in English. It took me a few seconds to understand the word, and rather amusingly, one of the boys pressed his shoulder on his partner’s to signify the meaning, adding, “You know, like husband and wife.” “Oh! Pair or couple,” I recalled. “Yes!” they all exclaimed. And then I took a risk by playfully asking the leaning boy, “Are you two a couple?” They all laughed, and then he said, “No, we’re a couple of students.” Yes, that you are!

Period 3’s basic reading class for ESOL students was a little more calcified. I was surprised to see that the gang of four whom I tutor in reading comprehension had not yet finished nor even really continued The Odyssey in all my weeks of absence. Today, we finished reading the comic book adaptation of the epic poem. This time, I remembered to assign speaking parts to the students to keep them active and engaged rather than full pages to read. It was a happy accident that the strongest reader of the bunch recited the narrator’s (many) lines. Genuinely impressed with her abilities, which previously never came across as strong at all, I complimented her on her great work today while we walked out of the teacher’s lounge together once the bell rang. She smiled and thanked me upon hearing my enthusiastic praise.

Not everything was as splendid, though. I didn’t like to hear it, but I finally got the obnoxious boy to admit why he dreads seeing my face all the time (he was sorely disappointed that I turned up today, out of the blue). It’s nothing to do with me personally, he said—he just doesn’t like working in the boring teacher’s lounge, separated from his friends and classmates. I’m afraid my explanation (that we need the space, quiet, and distraction-free zone to get our work done) did little to convince him of its worth, and I was a little wounded that at least one of his classmates agreed with him. If the subject arises again, I’ll say he should be proud, as he’s more advanced than the classmates who stay behind in the room. Despite their dissatisfaction, I couldn’t believe that all four pupils stayed on task. I didn’t have to goad anyone into participating. My announcement that their teacher was going to quiz them on The Odyssey tomorrow probably motivated them the most.

Unfortunately, I don’t have anything to report about the special education reading class (period 4). It was the same unwelcoming, somewhat hostile place to which I’ve  grown accustomed. I spent the hour socializing with the two friendliest friendly students, attempting to assist another in her reading (she was slow and lazy), and then reading from one of the novels in the classroom’s library of remedial reading materials. I should have whipped out Haley Tanner’s Vaclav & Lena, a novel about two friends who meet in an ESOL classroom, which I am dying to start.

You Win Some, You Lose Some

When I arrived at school today for my ninth morning of volunteering in the ESOL classroom, the main entrance was closed and all the lights were turned off. The Homecoming dance is Saturday night, and to celebrate, all four classes decorated hallways according to a theme, one of which was inspired by ska revival band Cherry Poppin Daddies’s “Zoot Suit Riot.” (I find this funny since the sophomores who’d chosen it were born the year it came out: 1997.) After braving the teeming hallways, circumventing the darkest, loudest, and tightest ones, I safely arrived at my destination: the classroom, which was also closed. Eventually I learned from a student that all class periods—including lunch—were part of an abbreviated schedule today, with school commencing at 7.50 am rather than the usual 7.25. In the afternoon, the students were to revel in/endure a Homecoming pep rally, which I loathed while I was enrolled there. Anyway, the day got off to an extraordinary start—and it portended the bad things to come.

We spent period 1 in the computer lab. As part of their new vocabulary unit, the pupils are going to make PowerPoint presentations with photos of and a few sentences about their different family members. Only one student came prepared with photos to insert in her electronic family album, but that didn’t preclude the rest from writing the captions. Only a couple had ever used PowerPoint before, so I was on hand to help the teacher explain how to use its functions. This time in the computer lab was very different from the first and heretofore only other instance I worked with the class there. Although it was technically a more complicated task than signing up pupils with a free study aid website service (they are supposed to make something, after all), supervising and demonstrating was a far simpler task for me. I have no complaints.

For period 2, we returned to the classroom. With the shortened class-times, we only managed to get partly through an activity in which the students, divided into pairs and working from the textbook, practiced dialogues with new and familiar vocabulary. I went about the room listening in on couples’ conversations, and on one occasion, I stepped in to help an uncommunicative pair. One was new to the school, and her more advanced partner wanted me to explain the exercise to her. I tried my best, but the partner and I called over a girl who speaks the new pupil’s native language, which solved our problem. Sometimes fellow countrymen are the best resource for overcoming language barriers, but they shouldn’t become an impediment to English language comprehension.

Things shifted quite a bit for period 3’s basic reading course. One of the four students whom I have worked with for weeks moved out of the class yesterday; his whole schedule has changed as a result of his being bumped up to ESOL level 2. In his place, another student who started transitioning to level 2 this week (and was originally in periods 1 and 2, as well) joined the group. I felt bad that, as today’s assignment called for the students to review what we have already read in The Odyssey, I didn’t have the time to read through it again for his benefit (unfortunately, he’s not allowed to bring the book home, either). Instead, I used his ignorance as a teaching tool. Under strict guidelines to have the students come up with answers for the worksheet on their own and at my prompting (I was expressly prohibited from “feeding” them information), I asked a lot of questions to review the story, even going so far as to say, “Tell [your new classmate] what the witch Circe did to Odysseus’s men.” I was really impressed with one of the students’ comprehension of the story and her eagerness to relate it. But several times I had to request that she give someone else a try. Not a bad position to be in, right?! The rest of the group was less enthusiastic. Oh well. You win some, you lose some. Though I took it as a good sign that the boy who is the least interested in our group-work asked if he could take the book home to review it. I asked his teacher for permission, which she quickly denied. I wonder if that’s the best strategy.

A note on the door of the special education class (period 4) reminded students that they were to convene in a computer lab upstairs. I relied on the group waiting outside to lead me there, slightly pissed off that this constituted the second time today that I was kept in the dark about changes to the routine. Two of the students in our group were the girls who are the most hostile to my presence, and at several points on our journey I felt that they were ignoring me or otherwise disrespecting my authority, particularly when it appeared that they were going to skip class (in the end, it turned out they simply took another route to the lab). I was fuming—to myself—the whole way, but as soon as we arrived at the computer lab, I felt incredibly guilty, at fault for the five students’ tardiness. Everyone else had already begun their reading comprehension tests. Mercifully, the teacher told me that they knew ahead of time of this room change, so I was blameless. She and I hardly interacted today, though. What could I do if they were taking a test for the whole period? So I sat at a computer and read from the September issue of my favorite magazine, Sight & Sound. In a way, I was somewhat relieved that I was let off the hook, but I also felt like an impudent child, because I whipped out my reading material without ever consulting the teacher if she wanted me to do anything. The quiet and the absorption into the movie reviews helped me get over the downright nastiness of those two girls. Seriously, I want to pull them aside and ask, “What is your problem?” They make it difficult just to be there.

Aside from just two kids, I don’t believe that any of the ESOL students have an attitude towards me. From what I can tell, most are either happy to see me every Tuesday and Thursday or just indifferent. It’s just the current state of things, and they’ve merely gotten used to my presence. No one but those two boys—the one from the reading group who has a hard time staying on task and the one whose English and French are so appalling it doesn’t look like he’ll ever improve—disrespect me. In general, this makes it very easy to go into the ESOL classrooms. (It doesn’t hurt any that I feel productive myself and that I can sense the teachers’ appreciation for my efforts.) Perhaps it is a cultural thing that the American-born students have a harder time taking me seriously. When I first considered becoming a teacher, I was concerned that my age and young looks would deter high schoolers from accepting me as an authority figure, especially since I am significantly shorter than a lot of them and am extremely shy and unconfrontational. That hasn’t been so much of a problem with the ESOL kids. In fact, on numerous occasions, they have called me “teacher.” (That feels both good and false.) I’m probably making a mountain out of a mole hill, since these two young “bitches” (yes, from where I am standing, the label fits) are just an extreme case. Besides, most of the special education students have “emotional” or attitudinal problems. I know I shouldn’t take it personally, but it’s really starting to depress me regardless.

I stayed again for lunch, when the ESOL 1 teacher hosts a homework help/study hour in her classroom. Those thirty minutes or so were such an emotional roller-coaster, a “perfect” way to cement a rather upsetting day. (But how could I have been so stupid as to ignore the first three pleasant and productive periods?) At first, I eavesdropped on a conversation between the teacher and one of the ESOL 1 students that I have worked with many times (I have always felt that she likes me, for she doesn’t smile at everyone!). Unhappy for a reason she didn’t want to divulge, she wants to go to another school, but she won’t be able to unless her family moves or until she reaches level 3. (The high school where I volunteer is an ESOL center, and one of the ways it is set apart from other schools with an ESOL population is that it specially caters to beginning English language learners.) Failing this, she said she wants to move up to level 2, pointing to her good grades in math and science for argumentative support. The teacher told her that that’s not enough; her English isn’t strong at all. She’s actually one of the weakest students, as she is easily distracted in class and, as I soon found out for myself, incredibly stubborn. Because I like this girl and I want to see her succeed (though I want that for everyone), I piped up and said, “If you want, I can work with you during lunch Tuesdays and Thursdays. We can do homework, read, anything you want.” She smiled and nodded. I felt like we were getting somewhere, until she disappeared for fifteen minutes and then turned down my offer upon her return. The teacher wondered aloud, “Why won’t she let you help her?!” Seriously, she’s not likely to get very far with this attitude; she’s already repeating ESOL 1.

I didn’t wallow in my abandonment, though. Instead, I reviewed two ways of writing the negative of simple, descriptive sentences with the boy who can’t speak clearly in English or French. By the end of our time together, I may have worn out my welcome. I admit to having grown frustrated with him. He failed the first exercise, so I slowly went through an example, underlining words and otherwise graphically representing how, say, “isn’t = is not” and “the boy = he.” The student, to my astonishment, wrote “There boy” instead of “The boy.” This was even after I explained that, no, the sentence shouldn’t begin with, “Boy”: “You wouldn’t write, ‘Garçons.’ It’s ‘Les garçons.'” Anyway, things came to a head when he threw up his hands and exclaimed, “Speak French!” My knee jerk reaction was to shout back, with more than a considerable amount of exasperation, “Speak English!” Then I calmed down: “I’m trying to help you learn English. You need this.” Yes, you need this more than I need to perfect my French, I thought to myself. I fear that I may have hurt his feelings with my forceful tutoring, my pushing back against his ineptitude, for his eyes started to look watery. When I told his teacher about this episode, about my feeling as if I may have crossed a line with him, she said that she’ll have me work with other students from now on.”Yes, I think that’s a good idea. I don’t think he likes me.” Besides, a student as weak as he is really needs his teacher.

Having a Sense of Humor in the ESOL Classroom

I took it easy during my fifth day in the ESOL 1 classroom. I woke up at 5.30 am in order to leave the house by 6.30, walk about a mile to the bus stop at the hospital in town, and ride all of seven minutes to the high school. It was still dark out when I left home—foggy and wet—and I forgot to bring a flashlight. Though I easily gathered the stamina to make the journey to school, by the time I arrived there, I was ready to go back to sleep. Technically, I didn’t really wake up until period 3’s basic reading class. For, during the early double period, I opted to stay in the classroom instead of work one-on-one or one-on-two with select students. It didn’t help matters that, by virtue of using the high-tech overhead projector, the teacher kept the lights switched off throughout. We reviewed oppositional descriptive adjective pairs, such as tall and short and beautiful/handsome and ugly.

The only “real” personal interaction I had with the kids today occurred as I walked around the room, listening in on their dialogues (pupils asked their partners, based on the images in the textbook, whether Danny is fat or thin and Maria is rich or poor), generally helping them with pronunciation and verb agreement. One of the new girls, with whom I had only worked once or twice before, practiced reading and pronouncing my name, which I had scribbled in my hasty handwriting on a visitor pass stuck to my breast. This makes her only the second student to ask for my name since I was introduced on Day 1 (I wear a visitor badge everyday so as to not be mistaken for a student if I am in the halls during class-time). All the other kids call me “Miss!” Not “Miss,” but “Miss!” Anyway, this girl blurted out, to my surprise, “I love you!” “Oh, well, I think you’re pretty cool, too!” I smiled back. I don’t want to be someone who turns down love or affirmation, but I couldn’t help thinking, Where did she learn this phrase and why doesn’t she know that she shouldn’t go around saying it to strangers? Whatever. There are worse things that people say to you.

As I later reported back to the basic reading teacher, I had fun during the group session I led with the more advanced kids in period 3—even if they didn’t enjoy themselves. It was a diverse group: all four students came from different countries and spoke different languages. And as they are more advanced, straddling the line between levels 1 and 2 in ESOL, it is easier to communicate and have a laugh with them. Their coursework is also slightly more complicated and therefore more interesting. And for once, the teacher asked me to review what they’ve already been working on instead of teaching them something completely new. Today, we glided through a chapter on reading comprehension devoted to identifying the topic of various kinds of documents: from lists and advertisements to emails and short descriptive paragraphs (there was also a tourism brochure). No one hemmed and hawed when I asked him or her to read aloud a passage or answer a question, but one boy had some difficulty staying on task. I had to ask him several times to put away his iPhone or iPod Touch (I can’t tell the difference), to which he always replied, “Sorry, Miss!” In spite of this occasional inattention, he, like all the others, seemed to understand the concept of a topic or subject. The next time that I work with them in a group (in the teacher’s lounge, by the way), I will remember to take some time to ask if there are any words that they find unfamiliar. I only once solicited definitions, and I impressed myself with the way I explained sightseeing, a word no one picked out but one I thought they probably didn’t know (and I was right).

Today’s Period 4 in the special education class also improved upon Tuesday’s off-putting experience. Introductions were lopsided: I presented myself as an aspiring ESOL teacher here to observe and help out in the remedial reading class, but not one of the ten students introduced him or herself. No matter, since the friendly paraeducator told me everyone’s name beforehand (and I’ve already memorized name-and-face combinations). I built up the courage I lacked on Tuesday to walk around and strike up conversations with the students, asking them about what they were reading or writing about. Everyone was happy to oblige me.

But not all of the 50 minutes were a breeze. A pair of best friends with “emotional problems” are full of bitchy snark. I noticed that, as I looked up at the posters advertising colleges around the country and spotted NYU (which is where I received my master’s degree last year), one of them followed my gaze and whispered something to her companion. They continued to stare and speak cryptically to each other, making me feel somewhat paranoid. The teacher later assured me that they weren’t talking about me (I was concerned I offended them, by, I guess, looking in their general direction). My observation of the class came up with another student, who at first called me out on what she interpreted as my “staring” (for the record, I don’t stare and I’m not just saying that). When I objected, she labeled it “observation,” and then we laughed over the idea of my being a spy.

Today I learned that the teacher in whose classroom I volunteer during periods 1 and 2 also hosts an extra study session every Tuesday and Thursday during lunch (period 5). Students come for homework help, to seek guidance, or otherwise hang out with friends. Kids in the higher ESOL levels offer tutoring to their lower level compatriots, and from what I understand “mainstream” students (that is, those who are not in the ESOL program) do not participate. The teacher said she would love for them to stop by (so would I, as it would better integrate the sometimes divided student populations). I have resolved to stick around for period 5 on Tuesday. At least those who come during that period are looking for help, so I shouldn’t encounter any great unwillingness to listen and be coached. I think I may gradually end up spending all day on campus, finagling my way into the the afternoon math and/history classes for ESOL students.