Jessie's Mother

Jessie quit our academy. The reason? Her mom didn't like her grades. Actually, her mom was so upset that she ripped up the evaluation sheet. Jessie wrote about it on our class bulletin board—that she wanted to continue attending our academy, but she didn't think her mom would let her. Our grading scale has 5 letters—Excellent, Above Average, Normal, Poor, or Bad. As I best I remember, I gave Jessie A's for reading comprehension and pronunciation, N for speaking, and P for attitude/classroom behavior because she's constantly chatting with friends or looking out the window or otherwise not listening or working. Mona gave her N for presentations. Mona was a little upset about it, probably dreading calling the mother to discuss it.

Mona used the typical Korean teacher "she's fine in my class" line. Of course she is—she knows she'll get beaten if she misbehaves, or you'll call or her mother, plus with some kids they might hear negative things about foreigners at home (I'm not sure what causes it) so they treat foreigners like a circus side-show or a non-authority figure. I keep most of my students in line, but with some there's a huge difference between how they act in the foreign and Korean teachers' classes—huge. Because Jessie is only in the 3rd great it's not too bad—yet. However, I can see it starting—the way she looks at me when I tell her to do something, such disdain and defiance. The mother can try another academy, but it won't do any good until Jessie learns that foreign teachers deserve the same respect as Korean teachers. The bad thing is, her English has really been improving, despite the inattention. If she stops studying now, she'll forget everything she's learned.

The adult class was so nice this week with the new student and a couple of the older students back again. With 5 students Grace's annoying comments and incorrect answers are diluted. Before she would often correct the other students or they would ask her something and at first because of her age I was very careful about correcting her. Now I don't care about her age—if she says something wrong I bluntly correct her, correct her again, and continue correcting her until it finally sinks in. The new student's high English ability makes her the new expert. In fact, the other students are joking that Chris is the small teacher and I'm the big teacher. It's the same thing as "big father" (father's older brother) and "small father" (father's younger brother), I guess.

Thursday I got a bruise on the bus ride. It was nearing my stop so I was standing next to the door with my arm wrapped around a pole. The bus suddenly slowed down and then immediately sped up again. The motion sent me flying forward and then back, with my body slamming up against the pole and pinching my arm. It started turning colors almost immediately and the muscle was sore all day so I was worried it might be a pretty bad bruise, but it ended up being about the size of a dime, if a dime were oval. It's also healing quickly—red, purple, today yellowish-brown. Buses are dangerous!