The apple of Sti Fu's eye: Island/Ellen

Mrs. Stevo and I had dinner with a former student of mine and her parents this past weekend. Island, who has changed her name to Ellen, is starting Grade 3. She was/is the apple of Sti Fu’s once-calloused eye. Honestly, she was the only reason that kept me from quitting during my last term at the incredibly badly managed Chinese private school. Seeing her each afternoon gave me purpose.

I had grown accustom to seeing Island everyday. Mrs. Stevo called her parents and we met at a local and somewhat swanky restaurant. Island/Ellen jumped up and down upon seeing me. She handed me gifts: A stuffed animal (a red cow), a small plastic kangaroo in a box, and a sheet of lined paper plastered with stickers.

The father, a department head at an airline, ordered: Turtle soup served in a coconut shell, sea cucumber in a delightful sauce, steaks, and an assortment of other gastronomic delights (eat your heart out Donna).

Paying a restaurant bill in China isn’t an easy task. Who invited who dictates who settle the mai dan. They invited us, but I had wanted to see Island: A quandary. Mrs. Stevo thought I should pay.

I had 600 RMB in my pocket, more than enough to cover dinner for five. (The night I got engaged I bought dinner for eight, and the better part of a delivery truck full of beer, and that bill was less than 300). I knew the rare (and pretty) food we had consumed was out of my price range. Mrs. Stevo has a credit card but keeps it locked away in a drawer.

The bill came.

Mrs. Stevo: Pay the bill.

Stevo (whispering): I can’t.

Mrs. Stevo tried with verbal acrobatics to take the bill . I projected screams of “NO! NO! NO!” with my mental powers hoping to curb Mrs. Stevo’s generosity.  In the end the father brushed Mrs. Stevo aside and paid the bill. Of course, when we dine out again it will be my turn.

The good of this: I got to see Island/Ellen again. The bad? Not really anything. Perhaps a back-breaking dinner expense sometime down the road. But, Island/Ellen is worth it.

Want to see  the world and get paid to do so? English First, the international language training firm, has announced The Marco Polo Project. Two people will travel the world and video their adventures teaching English.

EF is seeking one male and one female, 18 or over, for this adventure. English First will pay for the pair’s flights and accomodations, and provide a generous stipend to cover expenses while on the road.

The project will last up to 12 months and include:

• Four months in Shanghai preparing and undergoing training.
• 2 sets of 4 months travel where you will:
• Visit 15 regions and explore 44 destinations.
• Script, shoot, edit, and submit one video per week.
• Write lesson plans and activities to accompany the videos.
• Write 2-3 blog posts per week.
• Conduct short interviews with local residents.
• Capture pictures of your surroundings.

For further information and applications see The Marco Polo Project Blog.

My first sunrise in China, unemployed.

As anyone who follows me on Twitter knows, as of June 30, 2009 at 10:19 am (GMT +8) I joined the ranks of the unemployed. My contract ended, they school paid me off and gave me the official release letters. No more will I be hailed with the moniker, “Teacher.”

No more students, no more books, no more boss’s dirty looks. For me, as Alice Cooper said, school is out forever. No more teaching English in China, no more being el instructor grande of English as a Second Language.

Okay, I’m only temporarily unemployed.  I have a job to start in a few weeks, after the return of Mrs. Stevo and perhaps a bit of travel. What is that job? A few of you have asked, in comments and by email. When all the i’s are dotted and the t’s crossed I’ll let the cat out of the bag.

Every day is a new beginning. It’s easy to get mired in what seems a daily grind, the proverbial rut. Sometimes you need to take a step back and see each day for what it is: A new start. Here’s to a fresh start and new beginnings. For today, it’s a 6:15 pm flight to Shanghai and the Interphoto & Digital Imaging Shanghai (Show) from July 2-5? Visit me at the Phottix booth at the Shanghai Everbright Convention & Exhibition Center. I’ll be easy to spot: The smiling white guy.

aside: I recent lamented to Norm that China has weak clouds. After last week’s typhoon the sky has been filled with big puffy monster clouds (see above). It’s a pleasant change.

Teaching English in China is difficult in more ways than one. My popularity with the preteen girl crowd waxed and waned this past term, much to my chagrin. In December I wrote about feeling uncomfortable with the touchy-feely Grade 5 girls. I thought I wouldn’t teach them this term. I was wrong.

Coming early to class, crowding me in the hall, hanging on my arm: Extremely uncomfortable. If I was in Grade 5 I’d be in heaven. Alas, I’m a long, long way from the fifth grade. I’m probably closer to fifth grade in my next life than I am in this one.

The touchy-feely crowd was strangely absent for most of June. After I cracked the whip and changed their seats, six of them from the same homeroom, remarkably, became ill. The air conditioner was blamed. With the H1N1 hysteria running through the school, they were sent home.

A few came back the next week. When they discovered they had to write the test they missed their fevers suddenly returned. Adios, muchachas. Six girls from the same class – all sick with the same illness? An illness that prevents them from attending only my class? Strange, indeed. Some might say it was a conspiracy… I didn’t shed a tear, it was one less thing to worry about.

Tuesday was the last day of classes, and four of the six returned for the party. It was business as usual teaching English in China. It was only one day. I used big arm movements to create a buffer zone when they weren’t busy scarfing down chips and chocolates.

The biggest offender, let’s call her PMHKG (Prematurely Mature Hong Kong Girl), wasn’t at the party.  She saw me the next afternoon as I left the campus. PMHKG charged and I hunched over in an attempt to ward off the incoming onslaught.

“Steve!” She called.

It was like a scene from a bad Korean Soap Opera (even the good ones are pretty bad). She hung on my arm as I eased towards the school gate. She looks about three years older than she is, standing a head taller than the other girls. She tried to explain her absence as we walked. A female teacher walked past and smiled. I cringed. It must have been a sight: Me with a preteen on my arm, her head on my shoulder. Ah, the live of a man teaching abroad.

I didn’t have time, the air conditioner repairman was due at my apartment. Trying to pull my arm free I discovered her grip was stronger than a bear trap. Gnawing off my arm would have taken too long and left an unsightly mess on the white tiles of the campus. With another pull I discovered the amazing lubricating qualities of perspiration. My addled mind formed a rudimentary plan. She tightened her grip, pouting.

Rice-fed Prematurely Mature Hong Kong Girls are strong. Because I sweat like a pig (and who doesn’t when it’s 110 degrees), with a mighty tug I was able to extricate myself from the crushing crush. A disappointed groan was uttered as I laughed and dashed for the gate.

My days as a big rock star are over. In his heyday David Cassidy had nothing on me. Now he’s on Broadway and I’ll be shooting photos professionally. Life is change.

I’ll miss PMHKG and her crew of touchy-feelys. As agonizing as our time together was I will remember them fondly.

Image: musicstack.com

Teaching English in China can lead to some situations that drive you to the brink of insanity. That’s not to say I don’t like China, quite the opposite. But, there are times….

1. I can’t seem to get in a fast moving line, be it at a supermarket or passport control station. If in a line with one person in front of me, the line of ten next to me will speed along. I’m cursed, I tells ya.

2. The check-out lines in Chinese supermarkets labeled “Cash only” or “10 items of less” actually except forms of payment other than cash and many more items than 10.

3. When searching for a gym in China try to find one with a non-smoking section.

4. Before boarding the Hong Kong bus to the mainland, my temperature was checked to ensure I wasn’t infected with swine flu. The Star Trek-like gun-thing would not give a reading when pointed at my forehead. The bus attendant looked perplexed and tried again and again. After four minutes I began to wonder if I was dead and had become a zombie. That’s not outside the realm of possibility.

5. Given my level of exhaustion, and after listening to the screams of small children for 18 consecutive weeks, I am seriously considering a DIY vasectomy.

6. While I am extremely buff at the moment, I think three hours of cardio will be needed each day to balance the amount of beer and I plan to consume. I don’t want Mrs. Stevo to return to a less-than-attractive Mr. Stevo.

7. My contract finishes (thank goodness) June 30. On July 1 I will fly to Shanghai for six days, another photography trade show (missing Mrs. Stevo’s return). Look for more photos of pretty Asian models.

Conversation of the Week:
Poo is a major source of conversation between foreign teachers in China. A former colleague referred to his leavings in terms of snakes. “Oh man, you should have seen that nest of vipers…” I present the following to you:

Teacher: I feel a diarrhea attack coming on. If that happens is it okay if I let my class go early?
Stevo: No.
Teacher: Really?
Stevo: You can’t send your class home because of your bowels.
Teacher: Why not?
Stevo: How would I explain that to the parents?
Teacher: Oh.

Teaching English in China occurs both inside and outside the classroom. I see many of my students around the campus or community. There are greetings, compliments, playful punches, and bizarre questions. When they move from the primary school section to the middle school I don’t see them as much. Those kids study hard.

After four year I’m not certain I can count the number of kids I have taught. A lot. My first term I had 960 students a week. Multiply that by four-and-a-half years…

At the start of the term I visited the middle school section. The Vice Principal, the teacher appointed to the section, and moi, walked through the corridors of the Grade 7 and 8 classes: My students from years before.

The VP said some words at the door of the first class. The students were more interested in the pretty American that would be their teacher than the aging, slightly uncool man with a title. They crowded their new teacher, boys and girls too huge to be in Grade 8. They looked like uni students.

One boy pushed through. He put out his hand and said, “Long time no see.”

Alex was in my class in 2006 when he was a smart but sullen Grade 5. His coolness gene had just starting to act up. He and his classmates did their best to push me. I would not be pushed. The eventual ceasefire led to detente, and then fun. Alex went from sullen to active. He was bright and he tried hard.

It was parents’ day that forged a bond between us. The parents sat in my classroom as their children performed songs and skits. The students, after weeks of rehearsal, acted out a section of the storybook we had been reading. Each student took a turn as narrator while the other acted the roles in costumes I had cobbled together from a dollar store (actually, a 2 yuan store, but the same thing.)

Alex stood at the front of the class, forty-plus parental eyes focusing on him. He had to read a brief paragraph, something he’d practiced a hundred times. After the first few words he started to stutter. Stress. A single syllable became three. His anger was as visible as his concentration. My stomach was as knotted as his.

I stepped up behind him and put my hand on his shoulder. I read him the lines in a slow, near whisper. He repeated, the stutter not gone but far less pronounced. He finished the paragraph and sat down. The next student picked up and the show continued.

I haven’t seen Alex much since then. Once or twice a term we would pass on campus. He remembered me, I remembered him.

“Long time no see.” He was six inches taller and fuller in the face, not the young man I knew. He was smiling, not something I remember him doing much as a Grade 5 student.

“Hello Steve,” he said, shaking my hand with a slight bow. “How are you?” Then he returned to his seat.

When I saw him the above remembrance flooded back. The fact he remembered me gave me unmeasurable joy. I felt like I was in a sappy Saturn commercial. I didn’t get choked up, but could have if the encounter had lasted longer.

History is littered with those who wanted to be immortal, who wanted to live forever, spanning the ages. Have I achieved that? No, but he will remember me when I’m no longer walking this planet. Maybe his son or daughter will be told to respect their English teacher when he has a dim remembrance of Grade 5.

No, not immortality, maybe something better.

s

And your heart beats so slow
Through the rain and fallen snow
Across the fields of mourning
Lights in the distance

Oh don’t sorrow, no don’t weep
For tonight, at last
I am coming home
I am coming home

U2 – A Sort of Homecoming