We all have doubts, those three-in-the-morning pangs that leave us wondering if we are doing the right thing with our lives. Should I? Shouldn’t I? Am I wasting my time? Is there something better?

I am not immune. I love my job, most of the time. Since stepping into management, my time in the classroom, those special joys and frustrations, has given way to budgets, battles, and politics. Save face, lose face, conspiratorial whispers, hard decisions, long hours, and dirty deeds done dirt cheap. Tangled in that web, it’s easy to forget why I’m here.

My students, the 500 primary school 学生 in my charge, celebrated Christmas on December 24. There was a party, with a skit performed by their international teachers, carols, a singing contest, and of course, gifts. I conceived of the concept, although a team carried it to term, and assisted with the delivery. Sometimes it takes a village to “birth a baby.”

I question my life, my career. Is there anyone that doesn’t? But not on Christmas Eve.

The last class of day: Grade 1 students left the large performance room after singing, dancing, and celebrating a holiday they know little about.  They queued before Santa (a 23-year-old, athletic American). He handed them a giant red stocking containing a pencil, a lollipop, and a class photo (most thought the stocking was a hat). I handed the gifts to Santa as he wished each student well.

“Merry Christmas.”

“Happy Holidays.”

“Seasons Greetings.”

“Happy Hanukkah.”

The little girl looked the same as her classmates: An energetic three feet topped with dark hair and eyes, body enclosed in a blue-and-white school uniform.  Her excitement was evident as she neared the front of the line. Santa needed a moment to prepare the little girl’s gift. The stockings were stuck together and took a minute to separate.

She watched, eyes open wide, and danced from foot to foot with anticipation. The longer he took the higher her steps became. Her enthusiasm was palpable. Santa, finally, handed her the folded stocking.  Her face lit up in a supernova smile.

I smiled.

She was happy, that youthful innocent Christmas happiness from the days when Santa is real and the world is still a mystery. She rejoined her friends, laughing.

I have doubts from time to time. Christmas Eve  reconfirmed that I am in the right line of work. My concept, my plan, carried out by a team of amazing people, made one little girl utterly happy.

That’s worth the headaches and sleepless nights.

Today in history: On July 31, 2006 a slightly bitter expat English teacher married a gentle Chinese lass. In the registry office he couldn’t read the form or make the appropriate pledge. The frustrated official eventually gave up and allowed him to sign his name, skipping the pledge.

The newlyweds ate dinner at KFC and spent their wedding night in an unlicensed hotel.

Things improved.

Wo ai ni, Mrs. Stevo.

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One of the best things about traveling, about teaching ESL, is the things I see and the students I meet. Summer camp is a misnomer compared with North American summer camp. There are no tents, campfires, marshmallows, or canoes. There are English lessons, games, and contests.

After a day in the classroom the ESL teachers and students go for broke in an Olympic-style relay. What was lost in grace and finesse was made up for with intensity.

Teaching ESL is not an easy job. But the rewards, like seeing (and capturing) the above, are immense.

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The constant rain, that had me wondering how to build an ark, has passed. The sky over Shenzhen is now a bright seasonal blue and full of fluffy clouds. There is that evil ball of flame some call the sun, it’s only purpose to burn me to a crisp, to contend with. Better that than rain.

My 美国人朋友 (American friends) will be celebrating the 4th of July this weekend. My Canadian brethren celebrated Canada Day on July 1st. I have nothing to celebrate. There are no July holidays in China. National Day is October 1st.

I could celebrate the end of school. The students and teachers have scattered, blown to the four corners of the earth by a powerful wind called Summer Holidays. I could celebrate the start of a summer off. I could, if that were true.

Let’s look at The Stevo’s next few days:

Friday:
Human Resources Meeting
Summer Camp Planning Meeting

Saturday:
Business Teacher Interviews
English Teacher Interviews
Marking Business Teacher applications tests

(The interviews will involve me trying to decipher Chinese resumes, being part of the management panel and asking a question or two. I will listen to rapid-fire questions in Chinese, attempt to understand, get bored, and doodle on the HR forms.)

Sunday:
Course Consultant Interviews

All I really want to do is get a massage. Maybe Sunday evening. After a few drinks.

On the plus side: I’m buying a new camera next week, if my resident permit is complete and the government returns my passport. It’s hard to leave the country without a passport.

Question: What would the border guards do if I brought 20 Grade 1 students to vouch for my identity instead of the traditional passport?

Enjoy your national days of independence. Have a barbecue, watch fireworks and play merry. I’ll be sitting in an overly hot room on an uncomfortable chair.

I’ve had an incredible run of bad luck. It happens every few years, like the leap year.

Case in Point: Yesterday.

I thought the text message was informing me of a meeting on Friday at 10 am. The “don’t be late” was prophetic. (I’m never late, some genetic quirk has me 15 minutes early for every event).

After hitting the gym (yes, I go to the gym) I returned home to shower the slimy, tropical sweat from my body. As I dried, my cell phone rang (Mirror in the Bathroom by The English Beat is my ringtone).

“Did you get my message?”

“Yes.”

“The meeting has started.”

“The meeting is tomorrow.”

“No.”

“No!”

Read the full story

Nancy is comically short.

Grade 1 students are small but Nancy’s proportions place her in a different visual class than her contemporaries. I nicknamed her “The Ewok” out of affection. If she was hairier she could easily be one of George Lucas’ Return of the Jedi characters.

I was standing on the stairs between classes. The classrooms are on the 4th floor and Grade 1 students need a little assistance getting to their lessons in a non-tardy manner. A cavalcade of things can distract a seven-year-old: A rowdy classmate, a puddle, or a nearly invisible piece of lint can cause the young ones to stray from a path a straight forward as a flight of stairs.

Nancy stopped beside me. I ceased my shepherding.

“What’s this?” Nancy asked. Read the full story