"Can you read minds?" my daughter asked a small girl in the playground.
"No, I'm only on the blue books!" replied her little friend.
Thursday, 25 March 2010
Sunday, 14 March 2010
I want to be a teacher when I grow up!
[This is true]
I have applied for a teacher training course at my local college. I want to qualify to teach people, who don't speak English, to speak English. There ought to be a shorter phrase for that. In fact there are several. "English as a foreign language" implies that you are going to teach only foreigners, i.e. people who live abroad. "English as a second language" implies that you are going to teach only people who already speak only one other language, which discriminates against polyglots. "English for speakers of other languages" is wordy but inclusive, as it includes immigrants, the Welsh, sign language users, polyglots and extraterrestrials. But not, presumably, the mute. "English for thinkers in other languages" might be the ideal phrase, although I suppose that would discriminate against the very stupid.
My application form had no spelling mistakes and so I was offered an interview with aptitude test. I carefully dressed like a teacher (corduroy trousers and dangly silver earrings) and went along.
Only two of the other five applicants appeared to be native English speakers. In fact we seemed quite a multi-ethnic bunch. Reflecting on the wording of the application criteria I realised that being an English native, or a native speaker of English, weren't actually requirements. Fair enough, I thought. People who have learned English as a speaker of another language ought to be well qualified to teach English to speakers of other languages. As long as they know their subjunctives from their semicolons, and the students don't mind learning English with an Indian or a Portugese accent.
In her introductory statements our interviewer explained that knowing English grammar was actually quite important and we would have to have lessons to make sure we understood it. She also explained that there would be homework and it would really be a terrific idea if we did it all and handed it in. She said she had to make that very clear at the interview because people often drop out of the course because that they had failed to realise they might have to write an essay or two. I nodded thoughfully and doodled a cup of tea.
We were then handed our aptitude tests. I had to read the questions several times. Were they trick questions cunningly disguised to look like they had been written by an eight year old? There was one spelling question, one punctuation question, one singular vs plural verb question, and one reported speech question. Surely it couldn't be that easy? I put a perfect subjunctive and a semicolon into my answers just for devilment. I hadn't come all that way not to show off a bit.
Then there was an essay on "Why I want to be a teacher" (200 words).
While we were sucking our pens and looking thoughtful, or in my case fantasising about pots of tea, we were called in for our interviews.
I had explained about my LingQ experiences at some length on my application form, which had clearly amazed and possibly dismayed my interviewer. She read out with obvious disbelief the list of languages I claimed to speak.
"What is the commonest problem you have encountered with people learning English?" she asked.
"Perfectionism!" I replied without hesitation. "Many of my students are professional people who have invested years of their free time in learning English, and they still aren't satisfied with their achievements. They set themselves unattainably high goals and it affects their self-confidence."
There followed a short silence.
"You won't get students like that here," responded my stunned interviewer. "Our students are the kind who don't do any work and they wonder why they find it hard. How will you get them to do their homework?"
I thought about this. "I think I will explain to them that they should do their homework if they want to be able to speak English," I ventured at last.
The interviewer nodded. This seemed to be the expected answer.
After a few more questions (clearly she was using the same questions for each interview) the interviewer asked me the Time Management Question.
"How much time do you spend on your studies?" she asked.
"About three hours a day," I answered.
Another thoughtful pause, with more reading of my application form.
"You have three small children....yet you find THREE HOURS A DAY for study?"
I shrugged. I pulled my mp3 player out of my pocket and my ebook reader out of my shoulder bag.
"Here are my learning materials," I said. "I have little quality time, but I'm good at making the most of odd minutes. I listened to 10 minutes of Harry Potter in Russian just waiting for this interview to start."
I have no idea whether I passed the selection proceedure. I may have been too cocky, and I think the jokes I put in my essay went a step too far. I think, however, I made an impression on my interviewer. She was looking pretty shell-shocked when I left. She's not going to forget the Woman From LingQ in a hurry.
I have applied for a teacher training course at my local college. I want to qualify to teach people, who don't speak English, to speak English. There ought to be a shorter phrase for that. In fact there are several. "English as a foreign language" implies that you are going to teach only foreigners, i.e. people who live abroad. "English as a second language" implies that you are going to teach only people who already speak only one other language, which discriminates against polyglots. "English for speakers of other languages" is wordy but inclusive, as it includes immigrants, the Welsh, sign language users, polyglots and extraterrestrials. But not, presumably, the mute. "English for thinkers in other languages" might be the ideal phrase, although I suppose that would discriminate against the very stupid.
My application form had no spelling mistakes and so I was offered an interview with aptitude test. I carefully dressed like a teacher (corduroy trousers and dangly silver earrings) and went along.
Only two of the other five applicants appeared to be native English speakers. In fact we seemed quite a multi-ethnic bunch. Reflecting on the wording of the application criteria I realised that being an English native, or a native speaker of English, weren't actually requirements. Fair enough, I thought. People who have learned English as a speaker of another language ought to be well qualified to teach English to speakers of other languages. As long as they know their subjunctives from their semicolons, and the students don't mind learning English with an Indian or a Portugese accent.
In her introductory statements our interviewer explained that knowing English grammar was actually quite important and we would have to have lessons to make sure we understood it. She also explained that there would be homework and it would really be a terrific idea if we did it all and handed it in. She said she had to make that very clear at the interview because people often drop out of the course because that they had failed to realise they might have to write an essay or two. I nodded thoughfully and doodled a cup of tea.
We were then handed our aptitude tests. I had to read the questions several times. Were they trick questions cunningly disguised to look like they had been written by an eight year old? There was one spelling question, one punctuation question, one singular vs plural verb question, and one reported speech question. Surely it couldn't be that easy? I put a perfect subjunctive and a semicolon into my answers just for devilment. I hadn't come all that way not to show off a bit.
Then there was an essay on "Why I want to be a teacher" (200 words).
While we were sucking our pens and looking thoughtful, or in my case fantasising about pots of tea, we were called in for our interviews.
I had explained about my LingQ experiences at some length on my application form, which had clearly amazed and possibly dismayed my interviewer. She read out with obvious disbelief the list of languages I claimed to speak.
"What is the commonest problem you have encountered with people learning English?" she asked.
"Perfectionism!" I replied without hesitation. "Many of my students are professional people who have invested years of their free time in learning English, and they still aren't satisfied with their achievements. They set themselves unattainably high goals and it affects their self-confidence."
There followed a short silence.
"You won't get students like that here," responded my stunned interviewer. "Our students are the kind who don't do any work and they wonder why they find it hard. How will you get them to do their homework?"
I thought about this. "I think I will explain to them that they should do their homework if they want to be able to speak English," I ventured at last.
The interviewer nodded. This seemed to be the expected answer.
After a few more questions (clearly she was using the same questions for each interview) the interviewer asked me the Time Management Question.
"How much time do you spend on your studies?" she asked.
"About three hours a day," I answered.
Another thoughtful pause, with more reading of my application form.
"You have three small children....yet you find THREE HOURS A DAY for study?"
I shrugged. I pulled my mp3 player out of my pocket and my ebook reader out of my shoulder bag.
"Here are my learning materials," I said. "I have little quality time, but I'm good at making the most of odd minutes. I listened to 10 minutes of Harry Potter in Russian just waiting for this interview to start."
I have no idea whether I passed the selection proceedure. I may have been too cocky, and I think the jokes I put in my essay went a step too far. I think, however, I made an impression on my interviewer. She was looking pretty shell-shocked when I left. She's not going to forget the Woman From LingQ in a hurry.
Friday, 12 March 2010
I've got a note from my kids excusing me from Parents Evening
[This is true]
I hate Parents Evening and I get out of going to it whenever I can. In theory, having three children in full-time education, I should attend three Parents Evenings per term. In practice James doesn’t seem to have them regularly and I suspect he has perfected the art of losing his letter on the walk home. That suits me just fine. Anything that spares me from hearing a teacher’s opinion on one of my kids is a bonus as far as I am concerned.
Don’t get me wrong, I have a lot of respect for teachers. It’s just that, after nine years of having school age kids, I have come to realise that anything a teacher says about your child, another teacher will say the exact opposite based on exactly the same observations, and neither one is going to listen to what Mum has to say about it.
James’ teachers have always divided evenly between those whose think he is gifted and those who think he is psychologically disturbed, and they only need to answer the simple question: “Will he get a Nobel prize or an ASBO?” to give me all the benefit of their professional opinion that I need.
Mim’s teachers split into those that think she is dim and lazy and those that think she is clever and hard-working. Presumably it depends on whether they like her, or whether she likes them. In any case, whichever I hear at Parents Evening, next term or next year I will hear the exact opposite.
Birdy’s teachers worry that he doesn’t talk very much. There are no two ways about it: he doesn’t talk very much. They can’t fix it; I can’t fix it. Either he will catch up with the others or he will remain silent. He’s not dim, he’s just not chatty. I can’t see any point in spending another 10 minutes discussing it when we could all be drinking a cup of tea and eating a chocolate biscuit instead. Which goes to show: whatever the cause of his taciturnity may be, it runs in the family.
Let’s be honest: any teacher who needs to sit the parent down for 10 minutes once a term to say “Little Jimmy stills chews gums in class and can’t do long division” is a teacher with poor communication skills. Anything that the parents really need to know should have already been communicated to them, via letter or e-mail or a “Could we have a word in the corridor?” meeting.
A really experienced teacher can convey to me all I need to know about my kids’ progress with a shrug and knowing smile. In James’ case, often glancing up towards Heaven and crossing themselves as well.
I hate Parents Evening and I get out of going to it whenever I can. In theory, having three children in full-time education, I should attend three Parents Evenings per term. In practice James doesn’t seem to have them regularly and I suspect he has perfected the art of losing his letter on the walk home. That suits me just fine. Anything that spares me from hearing a teacher’s opinion on one of my kids is a bonus as far as I am concerned.
Don’t get me wrong, I have a lot of respect for teachers. It’s just that, after nine years of having school age kids, I have come to realise that anything a teacher says about your child, another teacher will say the exact opposite based on exactly the same observations, and neither one is going to listen to what Mum has to say about it.
James’ teachers have always divided evenly between those whose think he is gifted and those who think he is psychologically disturbed, and they only need to answer the simple question: “Will he get a Nobel prize or an ASBO?” to give me all the benefit of their professional opinion that I need.
Mim’s teachers split into those that think she is dim and lazy and those that think she is clever and hard-working. Presumably it depends on whether they like her, or whether she likes them. In any case, whichever I hear at Parents Evening, next term or next year I will hear the exact opposite.
Birdy’s teachers worry that he doesn’t talk very much. There are no two ways about it: he doesn’t talk very much. They can’t fix it; I can’t fix it. Either he will catch up with the others or he will remain silent. He’s not dim, he’s just not chatty. I can’t see any point in spending another 10 minutes discussing it when we could all be drinking a cup of tea and eating a chocolate biscuit instead. Which goes to show: whatever the cause of his taciturnity may be, it runs in the family.
Let’s be honest: any teacher who needs to sit the parent down for 10 minutes once a term to say “Little Jimmy stills chews gums in class and can’t do long division” is a teacher with poor communication skills. Anything that the parents really need to know should have already been communicated to them, via letter or e-mail or a “Could we have a word in the corridor?” meeting.
A really experienced teacher can convey to me all I need to know about my kids’ progress with a shrug and knowing smile. In James’ case, often glancing up towards Heaven and crossing themselves as well.
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