Check out these cute kids shakin' it

A Kid Again

             I love dinosaurs. I talk about them all the time with my students. It may be one of the few English words my students have learned. Half the time when talking to students, all they need to say is “Dinosaur” to get my eyes to light up. I am always showing them pictures of fossils, having them draw dinosaur pictures to tape to my desk or playing a dinosaur memory game.

Teaching makes it acceptable to act like a kid again.

Our school recently had a litter of baby rabbits. I spend at least an hour every day starring into the cage. My face is glued to it far more than any student. When I tell the student that there are baby rabbits and we should go look at them, they just nod their head, roll their eyes and walk in the opposite direction.

After school, kids come and stare at me with wide eyes until I figure out a way to entertain them. It has forced me to remember how to play hopscotch and red rover and to fold paper creatively. I get to play tug-a-war and run around like a mad man.

I spend 20% of my days cutting, pasting and coloring.

I am re-watching all my childhood cartoons and listening to soundtracks of Disney movies.

I have noticed that Thai schools only seem to teach Math, Thai and English. I never see classes doing craft projects or much hands on work. Growing up, I remember walking through the halls of my elementary school and having the walls decorated with horribly done student artwork.

I had my students draw pictures of Sea life and hung the pictures up behind my desk. They love it! I have kids coming in any chance they get to look at the pictures and show all their friends their artwork.

Check out those awesome drawings.

When I first started teaching, I had no idea how to teach little kids. I was teaching them like my college professors taught me. This experience has made me think back to what it was like to be that age. It is giving me a perspective of what it is to be young again. 

Speaking of my childhood, they have pogs here!

The Time I Saw My Childhood Icon

Early summer morning always have a smell to them; it’s a mixture of insecticides and fresh grass clippings. When I get this smell I am transported to the summers of my childhood. I remember waking up early, around 6 am, every weekday for the sole purpose of watching Garfield and the Price is Right. I grew up with Bob Barker. He was my summer morning babysitter. I grew to worship the man; he was so charming and really cared about those unneutered animals.

            Last fall, when I saw that Bob Barker would be appearing in the Senate building in D.C. I knew I had to be there. He was there to put on a press conference in the hopes of banning the use of large animals in the circus, very true Bob Barker form.

            That day I sat anxiously at work, counting down the minutes till I got to walk up the street to the Senate building. I skipped eating lunch that day so I could take a late lunch break to see the man who taught me how to be a mindful shopper. When 2 o’clock rolled around, I put on my suit jacket and made myself look as professional as possible. I walked up the street practicing my confident strut to make sure I looked legit. The only way to get into the pressroom of the Senate building was to pretend to work for a Congressman and failure was not an option.

            After a nervous but successful Congressman Legislative Assistant impersonation, I made it into the room and there I saw Bob Barker. He was sitting at the middle of a press table, wearing a cleanly pressed white suit jacket and a pastel button-up, looking fresh off the golf course. For a man with such an extensive tan his entire television career, he doesn’t look a day past sixty. I sat there in complete awe as he went on and on about elephants and tigers. When the press conference ended he said one of the most famous lines in television history,

              “Help control the pet population, spay and neuter your pet.”

            I realized now that I have no idea what he said I am just surprised I managed not drool on myself. I was in the presence of an icon. How many people can actually say they came up close and personal to their childhood icon?

Motocyk

Last weekend, I decided I needed t o get out of the house. So I went to the local, Wonderbar, for a delicious pineapple pancake for breakfast (less than $1!) and asked the owner what she suggested I do with the day. Since it was sunny for the first time in weeks, she advised me to rent a motorcycle and head towards the waterfalls.

I rented a bike and headed out towards the open road. I was handed a map and given basic directions but within ten minutes of riding I realized I was way off course. So I continued to ride. I had no idea where I was going, in a foreign country, on the open road, and it felt so good. I just took off.

Two hours later and at least 50 Kilometers away from the city I live, I stumbled upon a beach. I walked along it and was stopped by a group of school girls, who in very broken English asked if they could take a picture with me. I expected them to take pictures with me as a group but they insisted on taking each one individually. After five plus photos were taken, I made it to a seafood restaurant that sat along the sand.

Delicious meal along beach

While waiting for my food, I realized how blessed I am to be here. This is an amazing experience that I am so grateful to have. This is something that will shape my outlook on the world and impact my daily life from here on out. I am so thankful to everyone and every experience that has helped me get to the point I am at.

And Blah blah blah….

Beached jellyfish

Sand thrown out of crab holes

Anyways, I spent the day driving carelessly around. No idea where I was going, with no destination in mind. I ended up driving at least 100 miles.  Saw so much of the Trang countryside, never finding the waterfall I set out for.  

Runnin' Around Farangless

I am living off the beaten path, in Trang, Thailand. The locals here have seen almost no other farangs (Thai word for foreigner).  Locals follow me down the street with their jaws on the ground, amazed to see a white person.

My students prod me, telling me how white I am. Their scrawny, germ-infested fingers poke my arm saying, “white” they then point themselves and say “black.” Like they have never seen someone who hadn’t seen the sun in half a year.

The irony of it is, most of the beauty products here contain whiteners. Thai’s try to bleach their skin like Michael Jackson every time they wash their face. Even their deodorant contains whiteners. After rubbing whitening lotion all over themselves: they go to the beach only to smoother themselves in coconut oil and lay out to work on their tan.

Being the minority is hard. I now know how a black person in Salt Lake feels. At least in Salt Lake they occasionally run into their kinfolk.

I never thought I would miss white people so much.

Okay, this sounds like a post about race. Let me clarify, I just miss English speakers. I could care less what color they are. For some reason, it is just easier to go with white. I would love to encounter an asian who speaks fluent English. What would be better is a black man who speaks fluent English. I don’t care; I just want to have an actual conversation, in English, above a 3^rd grade level.

I have always been made fun of for how slow I speak. Now, on a daily basis, I have people telling me that I am speaking too fast. I don’t know how much slower my speech can get without coming out as a low hum.

I even got desperate enough to try and find fellow English speakers within a 25-mile radius on the Internet. After several desperate emails to what I hoped were English speakers in the area, I have discovered that the only ones here are creepy men in their late 50’s. Not exactly my cup of tea.

So when my roommate and I went to a tourist island last weekend, we were overly excited to see so many English speakers. It was like we forgot there were so many people in the world like us. I couldn’t wait to talk to them all. Until I realized how intimidating speaking English again was.

I tried talking to several of them and it was like I forgot how to speak my own language. Butterflies flew up in my throat and my face flashed bright pink. I choked on all my words, probably leading the person I was trying to converse with to believe I was a recent male graduate receiving my degree in the field of engineering.

I made a friend or two on the trip. Only one spoke English. Somehow the friends I did make were Thais, living in a touristy area, they were blown away by a farang who spoke a little Thai. In a touristy area, my 15 Thai words I had learned, turned into me being close to fluent in the language. We really took the locals by storm with our in-depth knowledge of the Thai language.

We are back in Trang and I am not sure how long I am going to stay sane without other English speakers. So if you know of anyone passing through, please, dear god, send him or her my way. 

Against all odds, I am a teacher

I never liked kids.

I still face a daily struggle to resist the urge to stick my foot out when a kid is running towards me at full speed.

Kids to me have always been like a puppy with ring-worm: irresistibly cute until you pet them and they give you a parasite that climbs up your arm and leaves you with a hideous rash.

Somehow, after passing an intensive police background check, I am now an English teacher in Thailand. Teaching 3^rd to 9^th graders who have been trying to learn basic English phrases like, “How are you?” for the past six years.

Everyday the question runs through my head, “What the fuck did I get myself into?” I am no teacher and the little teaching training I have had in NO WAY prepared me for this.

Some days teaching gives me the biggest rush. I feel like a million bucks, like I am on top of the world. It is such an ego boost to have an entire class applaud you for writing down the simplest word in Thai.  But when a class goes wrong, it goes really wrong. Filling me with a need to rush home to a dark corner and a stiff drink.

When I walk to a class, kids rush up to me and fight over who gets to carry my books, insisting on walking me to class hand-in-hand. After class, they shove each other out of the way just to shake my hand.

During class is an entirely different story. They run around screaming, rushing the board to play tic-tack-toe while I am trying to teach. The older kids sit in groups and make fun of my awkward; I have no idea what the fuck I am doing, dance moves.

Fellow teachers have granted me permission to hit my students. Many students have told me to hit their classmates when they are acting out. One of my 5^th grade students brought me a beating stick they pulled out of the bamboo garden growing in their front yard.

Gift from my 5th grader.

The past week or so, I have had an internal struggle on whether or not it was appropriate to hit students. I have always believed that if a parent is paying a shit ton of money to send their kid to a private school, they are actually paying another adult to discipline their child, therefore it is the responsibility of the teacher to occasionally set an example and whack a kid.

I have been asking my American colleagues their opinion on the matter and every one of them makes me feel like I am a horrible person for even thinking that it is okay to hit a child. My co-worker almost brought me to tears, making me feel so guilty after flicking a kid in the head after he gave me the finger while screaming “FUCK YOU.”

I thought I would get some perspective on the matter and ask a woman who actually sent her child to a Catholic school, which would whack their students’ knuckles with a ruler, my grandma. After telling her the story about the kid who flashed me the bird she told me it was acceptable to hit the kids, suggesting, to hit the kids on the leg where it would sting the most.

I am still facing an internal struggle on whether hitting kids is appropriate for a teacher. I guess I will just have to play it by ear and see how much the kid aggravates me. What I do know is that somehow I have to establish my dominance and I am so grateful to the 5^th grade kid who brought me the stick that strikes fear into my students.