Tests of English (and Patience)

It's the last week of the month. This means I'm giving oral speaking tests.

In one of my elementary aged classes, we spent the month of November studying English feelings and the corresponding accompanying English actions...what they do when they feel certain ways. Example, you are hungry, cold, tired, sick. What do you do? Rest, eat, drink, go to the hospital.

On Monday, I found myself giving an accordingly themed speaking test to a particularly pugnacious youth who's English name is Michael. Michael's a weird kid, all in all. He has this kind of gangster way of looking sideways at a person, like he's considering whether or not he'd be better off killing you. It'd be pretty intimidating, except that he's eleven.

In any case, Michael is not a great English student. We'd been talking about feelings for a whole month but within the first two questions of my test, he made it abundantly clear, by virtue of making absolutely nothing clear, that he'd hadn't been overly attentive during the month of November.

First question. "How do you feel right now?"

I ask this carefully, smiling and eager as I always am during the first question of the first speaking test. I always feel so good at first, certain that I am going to have my teaching efforts rewarded and validated by each student in turn. When I ask the questions, I try to make my voice sound like a happy, bubbling brook.

Michael regards me dolefully. "Peel?"

"No, no," I am so gentle, like leaves going down river in a slow stream. "Feel. How do you feel?"

He shrugs, disdainfully.

"Michael." Now I'm a bit firmer. The stream with the leaves is now moving a little more rapidly, down hill maybe. "You remember feel. How do you feel? Like, 'how are you?' Remember?"

Michael straightens his head and meets my gaze head on only to tilt his neck towards his other shoulder. Then he asks, "Teacher?"

My breath and my hope catches in my throat a little. I've found that, as a teacher, I can never resist a question.

"Yes Michael?" The stream and the leaves are back on level ground, trickling sweetly.

"What is 'remember?'"

The leaves drown upon some unexpected rapids as I use Korean and some hand gestures to tell Michael what "remember" and "feel" mean. He nods sagely, as though he'd known all along.

Then he tells me, "Hungry, teacher."

Michael (and all my Korean students) are supposed to answer me in complete sentences. However, I've already wasted five minutes on one test question, there are nine more to go and ten other students to give speaking tests to. And there are only thirty minutes left for this. So I let it go.

Question Two. "And what do you do when you are hungry?"

I am all sweetness and light again, the leaves bob up, the rapids vanish and our slow, pleasant English stream journey continues, lolled by my voice.

Michael wrinkles his gangster brow skeptically. "Teacher. What?"

I breath through my nose and repeat myself, more slowly and more carefully.

"No." Michael tells me confidently. Way too confidently.

There are some rocks in the river, but the leaves stay steady, certain they will make it past them if they just stay calm and focused.

"Michael. You. Hungry....okay? What do? Do what?"

Michael brightens. "Drink a drink."

What? No. We've gone over this for a month. I've explained thirsty and hungry until my eyes crossed. Why? What is wrong with this child? And why is he looking at me like this?

Despite this, the river that is my voice goes into a tizzy and commences to get all Disney and unrealistic with glee at making itself understood. "That's right! Very good! Well done. Okay okay!

Question three. "Now, what do you do when you are tired?"

Michael looks at me like I'm asking him for a sizable donation of some kind.

I look back at him, narrowing one eye and raising the eyebrow of the other eye. In my head, I'm thinking, "Come on, come on! You've got this, kid! I know you do. This is easy. Sleep, rest, nap. I'll take jump or dance for Christ sake. Anything. Just please please say an English word."

After this standoff, Michael finally feels comfortable enough to mutter, "ouyu," which is Korean for milk. I assume he's trying to tell me the kind of drink he drinks when he's hungry.

"Michael. You. Tired...okay?"

Michael interrupts me. "No!" He says, a little snootily.

I laugh. "Okay, no tired jiggum (Korean: now) okay, aro (Korean: I know) but sometime, you tired?"

Michael looks downright fierce. "No teacher! Tired no!"

Jesus Christ. I try again. "Okay you friend tired. Do what?" (I am careful not to use "your" as this will only confuse him.)

"Teacher. 'Friend' what?"

The tickling sweet little Disney stream is suddenly being pumped with lava from a nearby volcano.

"Chingu. Friend is chingu! Come on! Chingu tired...okay? Do what!? What do?!"

"Teacher! Chingu tired no!!!"

Fine. Fine. This kid is never tired and none of his friends are tired and that's fine. That's a legitimate response to this test question, kinda, almost or not really not at all. But who gives a shit, really? Let's just get through this test before one of us is savagely killed.

Question number four.

"What do you do when you are sick?"

"Teacher. Sick what?"

"Apa." I am completely nonplussed and was ready with the response before he even finished asking the question. "Okay. You sick. Do what? What do?"

Michael folds both arms and adjusts his gangster stare. "Anapa, teacher." (Korean: I'm not sick.)

"Aro, aro (Korean: I know, I know) !!!! Now no! Chigum anapa (Korean: Not sick now). Some time? One time? Any time? Najuneh? (Korean: later) Goed? (Korean: soon)?"

My hands are aflutter. My tinkling sweet stream of a voice is trembling like all the destroyed leaves, which are now on fire from lava and unfettered frustration.

"Chultae anapa." The child smugly informs me. I'm pretty sure this is Korean for "I'm never sick."

I consider inquiring about the health of his friend again, but I realize that five questions of this test have taken ten minutes and that I've conclusively lost the will to live and thus the will to inquire about the physical well being of the acquaintances of this suspiciously vexing child.

Later, I'm going over the results of Michael's test with his Korean homeroom teacher Tina. Both of us are completely in awe of how little he knows or has learned this last month. I'm showing her the moments where he used Korean because he didn't remember or know or learn the vocabulary to respond in English.

My Canadian co-worker saunters up, as much as one can saunter when one is bald and pot bellied and a joyless jackass. As he often does, he bossily inserts himself in the middle of a conversation that is completely none of his business and which absolutely does not concern him in order to bossily inform me, "You know, you should make them use only English. They shouldn't use Korean during a speaking test."

As though this is news somehow. As though I don't already know this. I almost decked the Canadian mother fucker.

It would also be needless and petty of me to point out that this kid was one of my coworker's students who recently got moved into my class after complaints from his parents...so I won't do that.

Beyond that catastrophe of a test, most of my students did fairly well. Except for one other kid, James, who has been at my school for years and years but who's English vocabulary is still somehow smaller than my Korean vocabulary. He's a lot more fun then Michael though.

I'll ask him a question in English, "James, did you have for breakfast today?" And then he'll just look at me for a second like, "Are you kidding me, women? I have NO idea what you just said," and then he'll burst into laughter. And then I'll consider what I'm asking him and I'll recall just how bad his English is and I'll start laughing too and so we'll sit there and laugh and laugh.

After that, I'll ask him the question again using my terrible Korean ("James, mo...achim ...mokda?") and he will attempt to somehow convert his English vocabulary (which probably bottoms out at 50 words) into a working answer to the question.

Yesterday, after I asked him what he eats for breakfast, he told me, "Gogi teacher," which means "meat." When I can, I correct him and tell him the English word (actually I think this is the only time James retains anything) and so I told him, "James, gogi English is 'meat.'"

James brightened and said, "Oh teacher! Nice to MEET you!"

My mouth fell open at the connection he'd made and I laughed and laughed at the child. James is so good natured that he just laughed too. My god though. To have studied English for six years and not know the difference between "meet" and "meat."

I sincerely hope that Michael and Jame's parents have some healthy family businesses that these two can be foisted into. Most children who go to academies are pretty wealthy, so they probably will be fine. So that's alright.

Although, when I really stop and think about it, Michael's stare might be most cut out for a life of crime and James is so ridiculously upbeat about everything that I think a life of destitution might almost suit him.