No. 8

Date: June 30, 2016

Status: Reflecting on my classes

              Hello. 
              Good evening. Good EVVVVVVVVEning. No, not Eve Laoshi. EVENING. 

              I'm an English teacher in China. And as much as I try to teach my own language (with those tricky Vs so absent in Chinese) and culture to my students, I end up learning quite a bit more about their culture and just how differently things can be interpreted here.

Candy and Andy are really into stickers.

              Today I thought I'd record some thoughts on this to benefit...someone. Perhaps you're aspiring to be an ESL teacher in China and are looking for a cultural heads up. Or maybe you're the parent of an ESL student, and you want to know how you can make your teacher's life a little bit less insane. Or maybe you're just a curious stranger. Who knows. 


              The first thing any foreign teacher will notice when he or she meets his or her class is the kids' names. It becomes immediately apparent that Chinese names work totally differently, so the parents have bestowed English names upon their children accordingly.
               Chinese names do not get shortened. Children have "little names," but these names are not shorter versions of their given names and are only used by close family and friends. Chinese names are chosen to have specific meanings, often poetic or metaphorical. Shortening a name like that would make no sense. So when a little Chinese boy is given the name William, that's his name, period. Who the heck is Will? Actually, I have a class with a Will and a William. There is no confusion. Those are totally different names to them. Same with Mike and Michael.
               Chinese parents left to search the internet for a nice English name for their child are not handed a guide that explains the unwritten cultural meanings of a name. They don't know that naming their girl Mavis makes her sound like your ninty-year-old grandmother. They don't know that Belinda just sounds like a fat girl name, no matter how cute and petite Belinda may be. They don't know that names like Coco and Yoyo, though they may be easy to say, honestly just sound like stage names for ladies with less than reputable careers. On the other hand, foreigners should never make up their own Chinese names and should definitely not try to "Chinese-ify" their English names. Sorry, Ben, your name means "stupid" in Chinese. 

Kim is blissfully unaware that he has a girl's name.

               Chinese names can use pretty much any word. Since Chinese is written in characters rather than an alphabet, naming a kid in Chinese is more about putting together some nice words than about mashing together some pronounceable sounds. Some Chinese parents try to apply this logic to naming their children in English. As a result, I have identical twin boys named Orange and Blue. ("Blue, what color is it? Oops, you're Orange. Orange, what color is it? Right, it's blue. Good, Orange!") My coworker has a student called Smiling. ("Smiling, are you happy today? No? Oh...") And I have a timid student named Tiger. ("...You like snakes? Are you sure?") While it's true that some crazy Westerners name their children with these types of names, I'd recommend consulting a native English speaker before giving your child something as important as a name.

                The next cultural difference is something I never would have thought would be an issue before coming to China. Apparently in China, crayons are not crayons. I still don't understand why or how, but somehow, "Your child needs crayons for class" means something totally different in Chinese. Chinese crayon manufacturers are getting way too creative, and the definition of crayon seems to mean very little in this country.
                I have seen a kid come to class with a pack of four crayons. Four. Like you'd get at a restaurant as a kid in the States. How can I check that your kid understands colors in English when he only has four crayons?
                Preschoolers come in with markers. When I was a kid, you had to earn the right to use markers. You had to be mature enough to handle something with that much mess potential. You can't be the kind of kid who absentmindedly colors a hole through three pages of his book. You don't get markers for that kind of behavior. 
               Preschoolers come in with colored pencils. Trust me, if you're trying to make that apple red with your little bitty colored pencil while the kid next to you has already finished it in two strokes with his inch-wide crayon, that really hurts. You might cry.
               Parents actually buy their kids oil pastels. You know those mushy cylinders that are reserved for fancy art kits you get for Christmas back in the States? Yeah, make those five times mushier and twice as wide and pop 'em in a plastic tube for "mess-free" coloring, and you have Chinese "crayons." Guess what? This is not a mess-free coloring option. That mushy glob of bright color glides easily across your paper, your table, your hand, your friend's hand, your friend's back, and all the way down your teacher's pants leg. But even with the best coloring manners, that gleaming oil slick is still going to get all over your hands and the inside of your bag the moment it's time to pack up.
               Parents buy their kids twisty crayons. They have a thin bit of crayon inside a clear plastic tube that you can twist like a tube of chapstick. Suddenly that student has invented a fun game of twist up all the crayons and break them off as they come. If you want to know whether your student is mature enough to deal with this kind of product, give your student a tube of lipstick. Now turn away for the approximate amount of time it would take for a teacher to assist twelve other students. Is there a lipstick mess? I thought so. No twisty crayons for little Alpha.
               And finally, parents send their kids to English class with twisty crayons that have four different colors in one crayon. I already explained why twisty stuff is a bad idea. Now let me explain why having a crayon that produces a tie-dyed burst of red, yellow, orange, and blue is a bad idea. The English teacher will expect the class to follow spoken English commands like "Color the dog yellow." Poor Cici is going to get awfully frustrated if she can't follow a simple command that she fully understands.

               Then there's the cultural difference you've all been waiting for: grades! The stereotypes you've heard are true. Education and grades are very important in China.
               Let's start off with the fact that the school I teach at is not an 8 a.m. to 3 p.m. kind of school (or whatever time little ones go in the USA these days). All my students go to "regular" school on weekdays. Then in the evenings and weekends, they come to learn English at our school. And when I say this is an evening and weekend activity, I don't mean it's like a study group for high schoolers. I am saying that this is a totally separate and extra course that parents of children aged two to eighteen pay good money for. And that's on top of violin, piano, sports, computer, and robotics classes, to name a few.

Frank is so lucky to have a laoshi who can make
a hat out of a plain old piece of paper.

               Most parents are extremely concerned if their kids don't do well. True, some parents of younger kids don't mind too much that their two-year-olds aren't speaking fluent English yet, but most parents take progress reports pretty seriously. Up until October of 2015, many Chinese parents could only legally have one child. (Now they may have two.) In a culture where the older generation, rather than saving, invests in the younger generation as their future financial caretakers, this put a lot of pressure on a lot of only children. Each of these kids has to do well in school and get a good job, or else who will take care of four grandparents and two parents when they are too old to work?

               So all in all, this is a pretty good place to be an English teacher. I have the respected title of "Laoshi," which is used only to address teachers. I'm never the Chinese equivalent of Miss or Ma'am. Sure, my pants often come home with new decorations, and my students may have some strange names, but at least I know that the work I do is appreciated, welcomed, and needed.