Let’s talk about school. I’ve not talked about school for a minute.
So yes, I teach at a junior high school. I also teach at an elementary school on occasion. However, these occasions are hardly regular. Much like the rain during Japanese Junes, it comes in great big merciless chunks. What’s more, I usually have to take on full teaching duties in these classes, because the elementary schools tend to not have anyone qualified to teach English with me.
On one hand, I don’t like to complain too much because it’s not as though I have to work with elementary students all the time. I’m sure that the regular Japanese teachers must experience all sorts of exhausting, frustrating situations. On the other hand, they’re a lot more experienced with that environment. People can be pretty resilient and, with enough exposure, can acclimate to even the most ridiculous of circumstances. This isn’t necessarily a good thing of course, as the countryside is filled with old women who walk with their backs at a constant 90 degree forward bend due to planting rice by hand. But I digress.
No matter what the level, no matter what the responsibility, familiarity can make things far easier. There’s a perception (justified on occasion) that ALTs are overpaid and underworked, that they complain needlessly and demand special treatment. What people forget, though, is that it’s no small feat to walk into a classroom of students you barely know and teach them in a language they don’t understand.
I recall a Spanish teacher from my elementary days. I barely learned anything, and I can only imagine how difficult it must have been for her to feel productive. I then try to imagine what it would be like to be a substitute for said teacher, to not even have the slightest connection with those students whatsoever.
Yeah, this job has really made me respect substitute teachers too, simply because they have to go into classrooms without knowing the students.
This week I will visit roughly twenty classes. Those classes will have, on average, twenty to twenty five students each. These are children that I see, at most, once every two months. I don’t know any of their names. Some of their faces I recognize, some of their personalities I recall, but it’s hardly enough to make adjustments aside from “this class is quiet, this class is loud, this class has discipline issues, this class has the homeroom teacher who shouts “shaddup!” in a bad American accent, etc.”
And yeah, while I could just blow this off and not make a concerted effort to teach well, it just bugs me too much when things go wrong. A language barrier doesn’t prevent you from seeing a kid in the corner of the room who’s completely confused and about to give up. It doesn’t make you blind to the frustration and disinterest which can take root at the worst times. And it doesn’t let me ignore when I’m doing a bad job.
So yeah, if I’m coming home tired and happy this week, perhaps I’m doing things right. If I’m coming home tired and sad, well, at least I tried. But I can guarantee one thing: I’m coming home tired.
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