Six weeks ago, I threw my life in a suitcase and headed south. I had no expectations of what I was getting into. I literally boarded a plane with a brand new passport and random sets of directions from Dian and Julia. Six weeks later, I feel like I am in a totally different frame of mind. I’m so relieved that I traveled here with an open mind because a lot of crazy things have come my way. I have been more independent, more culturally sensitive, and more extroverted than I ever imagined. I have never been away from home for so long, and I was terribly homesick at times. However, I knew that I had a family here to help me out. I sucked it up and used whatever Spanish I could to get some comfort from them. In terms of my independence, I learned how to navigate the regional bus system on my own. Heck, I learned how to flag down a bus and demand to get on or else (ask Marjorie and me about that sometime). I learned how to travel around a country and not spazz out that I’m about to get murdered everywhere I go. I learned to appreciate the quirky cultural norms that seem so different from my own- the clothes, the food, the lack of time management, the oddity that I am not married or pregnant by 23.
I learned how to roll with the punches and step out of my comfort zone in numerous aspects of my life. Look at my placement. A complete circus all the time. My carefully scripted lesson plans didn’t mesh with Dog Day, Sesame Street Day, Sports Week. I found out how I could adapt to meet the unique style of this particular school. I adapted in a similar way with my home life. Not understanding the language means that you have to develop a flexible schedule. Oh, we’re going away for the whole weekend? Missed that. Okay.
This experience has allowed me to become a much stronger teacher. I had to reflect daily on the individual needs of my students, as they are all in very different places in terms of second language acquisition. I tried to take their perspective with the texts and find overlying themes that would be relevant to their lives. This was entirely different from my American placements, where many of the students grew up with background similar to my own. I really had to look at Costa Rican laws, cultural norms, social movements, and the education system as a whole to develop my instruction. Although I will not be dealing with classes of eight students in the US, I hope that I will be able to continue to evaluate the needs of particular classes on an individualized basis in order to differentiate instruction.
In retrospect, there are things I could have done differently. The big one would be to take any sort of Spanish class/study on my own before my arrival. I don’t know where I would have fit that one in, but I should have taken the time to refresh on vocabulary. There are so many words that I know in Spanish, but just can’t remember off the top of my head. Even after I return, I think a Spanish class could allow me to advance my skills to a much greater degree.
Ultimately, the biggest thing to come out of this experience is my new love of travel. I have always been interested in Latin American and African cultures (see my degree), but now I want to go EVERYWHERE. It’s not hard to figure out where to go and what to do in a foreign country if you listen to people. And usually they are much friendlier than Americans, so that’s a perk! I want to go to South Africa. I want to travel the Middle East. I wouldn’t mind Greece or Spain. The beauty of being a teacher is that you get two months off every year for whatever. Hopefully, I can get another trip planned for next year!
I CANNOT WAIT TO SEE EVERYONE!!! SEE YOU SO SOON!!!!!!!!
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Required Post: Greatest Professional Disappointment
“Professor Katie. I don’t understand when you change sentences to passive tense.” “Teacher, what is a past participle?” “When do you use has and have?” “How do you say ‘cheap’, ‘sheep’, ‘sheet’, and ‘cheat’ so they don’t sound like you are saying ‘s—t’?”
The last question was real, in case you were wondering.
English grammar is the worst. I know if it’s wrong, I know if it’s right, but why… I have no idea. It’s been the bane of my existence in my time here. I dread grammar lessons. Even with fun activities and review games, there are questions thrown at me constantly that baffle me completely. Just one time, can someone come up to me and ask “What is your stance on the new Arizona legislation?” or “What were the causes of World War II?” or “How would you define substantive due process?” I mean, in case we all forgot, my certification is Secondary Social Studies. Not English grammar.
I don’t even like planning for it, to be honest. We’re half a unit behind in a few of my classes (not terrible) because I would rather read than pull out the workbook. Shockingly, the kids agree with me. They’d rather find out how Gatsby and Daisy are faring than work on present perfect. As a professional, the big girl thing for me to do would be to find ways to make the grammar more engaging, to spend hours finding out all of the rules. In real life, I do not have the time or patience. Yeah, I spice up grammar whenever possible by giving writing reflections that secretly practice the grammar unit assigned, or through fun around the world games, or by relay races outside. In the end, though, I am the worst at explaining grammar rules. And I think my students can pick up on it. Whomp whomp.
This is my first shout out post. If you are an English wizard and have some fun engaging grammar games, hit me up. I still have three days. And don’t just copy and paste online stuff… trust me. I’ve been there.
Thanks friends!
PS Also, do not send me all of the grammatical errors in this blog. I know some of you would SO do that.
The last question was real, in case you were wondering.
English grammar is the worst. I know if it’s wrong, I know if it’s right, but why… I have no idea. It’s been the bane of my existence in my time here. I dread grammar lessons. Even with fun activities and review games, there are questions thrown at me constantly that baffle me completely. Just one time, can someone come up to me and ask “What is your stance on the new Arizona legislation?” or “What were the causes of World War II?” or “How would you define substantive due process?” I mean, in case we all forgot, my certification is Secondary Social Studies. Not English grammar.
I don’t even like planning for it, to be honest. We’re half a unit behind in a few of my classes (not terrible) because I would rather read than pull out the workbook. Shockingly, the kids agree with me. They’d rather find out how Gatsby and Daisy are faring than work on present perfect. As a professional, the big girl thing for me to do would be to find ways to make the grammar more engaging, to spend hours finding out all of the rules. In real life, I do not have the time or patience. Yeah, I spice up grammar whenever possible by giving writing reflections that secretly practice the grammar unit assigned, or through fun around the world games, or by relay races outside. In the end, though, I am the worst at explaining grammar rules. And I think my students can pick up on it. Whomp whomp.
This is my first shout out post. If you are an English wizard and have some fun engaging grammar games, hit me up. I still have three days. And don’t just copy and paste online stuff… trust me. I’ve been there.
Thanks friends!
PS Also, do not send me all of the grammatical errors in this blog. I know some of you would SO do that.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Classroom Management
May 4, 2010
Seven fifteen.
I climb off the bus, eyeing the adorable little boy in the front row. I am going to steal him before I leave this country. Not sure how, but it’s going to happen. I meander to my classroom and unlock the door. Erase the chalkboard. Set up my computer and try to connect to the completely unreliable internet. Straighten the desks. Satisfied with the way things are set up, I plop into my chair and review my first period lesson plan. Tenth grade means we’re reading Gatsby. I open up the jazz piece I plan on opening with. I write the lyrics out across the board. I check to make sure the song will stream decently. I write out my opening questions about the Jazz Age.
Seven thirty.
The bell rings, indicating that the school day has started. I look up at the clock, but not much else happens. I size up my handwriting on the board. It’s written with some sidewalk chalk I found in my craft box, so it’s not my best work. However, it’ll do for this morning. Marjorie walks by to check in on our social schedule for the rest of the week. We talk briefly, and then she moves onto her class.
Seven forty-five.
Two kids wander in. The other five students eventually make their way through the courtyard into the classroom. Around seven fifty, I start class.
Right, I can see that anyone knowing the basics of classroom management is going into cardiac arrest right now. How can you start class twenty minutes late? What are you thinking? Well, my friends, welcome to Tico Time. Time does not exist in this country. I’m pretty positive that’s why I have eleven periods every day. It makes up for the fact we waste so much time! Ironically, students are graded on their arrival time to class. I saw the grades of my eleventh graders- big fat E’s. They don’t care, it’s not like that’s going to keep them from passing on to the next grade. I think this is the point that really made me realize I wasn’t in America. Yeah, the textbooks are the same, the lesson strategies I use are comparable, but the classroom management, whoaaaa boy.
The first week I almost lost my mind. The eighth graders were rocking their desks back until they fell over on my second day. I didn’t have a mentor teacher so I couldn’t say “IS THIS NORMAL?” So, I dealt with the issue in the best manner I know- Sue Sylvester style.
“SIT DOWN NOW. SIT. YOU. SIT. DOWN. YOU ALL NEED TO GET QUIET RIGHT NOW. I AM SO SERIOUS. DO I LOOK LIKE I’M JOKING? NO. I DON’T KNOW HOW YOU NORMALLY ACT IN HERE BUT THIS IS MY CLASSROOM NOW AND I WILL NOT TOLERATE THE WAY YOU ARE ACTING.” (Pause to slam down a desk that is hovering mid-air) “I WOULD NOT ACCEPT THIS BEHAVIOR IN MY CLASSROOM IN THE UNITED STATES. AND GUESS WHAT? YOU ARE JUST AS SMART AS THEY ARE. YOU ARE JUST AS CAPABLE OF FOLLOWING DIRECTIONS. SO I’M NOT PUTTING UP WITH THIS FOR ANOTHER MINUTE. YOU WILL BE HELD TO MY STANDARDS BECAUSE I KNOW STUDENTS YOUR AGE ARE CAPABLE OF MEETING THEM.”
I pause. The students are taken aback completely for two reasons. One- teachers don’t DO that. Teachers aren’t big on classroom management here and never really use grown up voices. Two- half of the kids have no idea what I said because their English isn’t great. They just stopped talking because they could tell I was piiiiiiissed. One kid finally piped up, “Uh, what?” Brilliant. Inside, I’m semi-horrified that I pulled the “I’m American and I’m doing this my way” card (way to be tolerant of cultural differences) and completely relieved that everyone shut up. Five weeks later, they still know I mean business. That doesn’t mean they shut up on the first try. Dian observed me last week, and by the time the students actually came into the classroom and calmed down, we were about thirty minutes into the forty-five minute block. However, I do recognize something slightly resembling respect from them. To work on peer editing and modals, I had the tenth and eleventh graders write me letters of advice. “I like that you don’t let us be lazy.” “I like that you make us listen.” Hey, cool. They actually think it’s positive for me to call kids out for doodling. Of course, anyone reading this who observed me in our Thursday 5-9 class knows that I do not practice what I preach. But keep that on the DL.
Now that I look like a raging jerk, I will say that I adore the students here. They work SO HARD. I cannot imagine reading Don Quixote in Spanish and Macbeth in English at the same time. But somehow they truck through it all. They listen to what I have to say, and they are engaged in the material. Also- I hate to say this, but they are so darn cute! Not the eleventh graders, chill out. I mean the little ones wandering around.
Oh right, that brings me back to classroom management. Now that it’s rainy season, we get horrific storms every afternoon. You know when a storm hits, because you hear blood-curling screams from the preschool. There are usually one or two stranglers that just run aimlessly by my room screaming. Of course, they aren’t really scared at the thunder and lightning. It’s just an excuse to be SO LOUD. The first time it happened, I pretty much wet my pants. Imagine pouring rain through the courtyard and children flailing around like the world is about to end. Total and utter chaos. Classroom management. Gotta love it.
Seven fifteen.
I climb off the bus, eyeing the adorable little boy in the front row. I am going to steal him before I leave this country. Not sure how, but it’s going to happen. I meander to my classroom and unlock the door. Erase the chalkboard. Set up my computer and try to connect to the completely unreliable internet. Straighten the desks. Satisfied with the way things are set up, I plop into my chair and review my first period lesson plan. Tenth grade means we’re reading Gatsby. I open up the jazz piece I plan on opening with. I write the lyrics out across the board. I check to make sure the song will stream decently. I write out my opening questions about the Jazz Age.
Seven thirty.
The bell rings, indicating that the school day has started. I look up at the clock, but not much else happens. I size up my handwriting on the board. It’s written with some sidewalk chalk I found in my craft box, so it’s not my best work. However, it’ll do for this morning. Marjorie walks by to check in on our social schedule for the rest of the week. We talk briefly, and then she moves onto her class.
Seven forty-five.
Two kids wander in. The other five students eventually make their way through the courtyard into the classroom. Around seven fifty, I start class.
Right, I can see that anyone knowing the basics of classroom management is going into cardiac arrest right now. How can you start class twenty minutes late? What are you thinking? Well, my friends, welcome to Tico Time. Time does not exist in this country. I’m pretty positive that’s why I have eleven periods every day. It makes up for the fact we waste so much time! Ironically, students are graded on their arrival time to class. I saw the grades of my eleventh graders- big fat E’s. They don’t care, it’s not like that’s going to keep them from passing on to the next grade. I think this is the point that really made me realize I wasn’t in America. Yeah, the textbooks are the same, the lesson strategies I use are comparable, but the classroom management, whoaaaa boy.
The first week I almost lost my mind. The eighth graders were rocking their desks back until they fell over on my second day. I didn’t have a mentor teacher so I couldn’t say “IS THIS NORMAL?” So, I dealt with the issue in the best manner I know- Sue Sylvester style.
“SIT DOWN NOW. SIT. YOU. SIT. DOWN. YOU ALL NEED TO GET QUIET RIGHT NOW. I AM SO SERIOUS. DO I LOOK LIKE I’M JOKING? NO. I DON’T KNOW HOW YOU NORMALLY ACT IN HERE BUT THIS IS MY CLASSROOM NOW AND I WILL NOT TOLERATE THE WAY YOU ARE ACTING.” (Pause to slam down a desk that is hovering mid-air) “I WOULD NOT ACCEPT THIS BEHAVIOR IN MY CLASSROOM IN THE UNITED STATES. AND GUESS WHAT? YOU ARE JUST AS SMART AS THEY ARE. YOU ARE JUST AS CAPABLE OF FOLLOWING DIRECTIONS. SO I’M NOT PUTTING UP WITH THIS FOR ANOTHER MINUTE. YOU WILL BE HELD TO MY STANDARDS BECAUSE I KNOW STUDENTS YOUR AGE ARE CAPABLE OF MEETING THEM.”
I pause. The students are taken aback completely for two reasons. One- teachers don’t DO that. Teachers aren’t big on classroom management here and never really use grown up voices. Two- half of the kids have no idea what I said because their English isn’t great. They just stopped talking because they could tell I was piiiiiiissed. One kid finally piped up, “Uh, what?” Brilliant. Inside, I’m semi-horrified that I pulled the “I’m American and I’m doing this my way” card (way to be tolerant of cultural differences) and completely relieved that everyone shut up. Five weeks later, they still know I mean business. That doesn’t mean they shut up on the first try. Dian observed me last week, and by the time the students actually came into the classroom and calmed down, we were about thirty minutes into the forty-five minute block. However, I do recognize something slightly resembling respect from them. To work on peer editing and modals, I had the tenth and eleventh graders write me letters of advice. “I like that you don’t let us be lazy.” “I like that you make us listen.” Hey, cool. They actually think it’s positive for me to call kids out for doodling. Of course, anyone reading this who observed me in our Thursday 5-9 class knows that I do not practice what I preach. But keep that on the DL.
Now that I look like a raging jerk, I will say that I adore the students here. They work SO HARD. I cannot imagine reading Don Quixote in Spanish and Macbeth in English at the same time. But somehow they truck through it all. They listen to what I have to say, and they are engaged in the material. Also- I hate to say this, but they are so darn cute! Not the eleventh graders, chill out. I mean the little ones wandering around.
Oh right, that brings me back to classroom management. Now that it’s rainy season, we get horrific storms every afternoon. You know when a storm hits, because you hear blood-curling screams from the preschool. There are usually one or two stranglers that just run aimlessly by my room screaming. Of course, they aren’t really scared at the thunder and lightning. It’s just an excuse to be SO LOUD. The first time it happened, I pretty much wet my pants. Imagine pouring rain through the courtyard and children flailing around like the world is about to end. Total and utter chaos. Classroom management. Gotta love it.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
y'all speak English real good
I’m actually combining two assignments with this post—for one teacher I’m supposed to write about the English Language teaching I’ve seen at my placement, and for the other I’m supposed to write about my relationship with my mentor. I have enough work due between planning for eleven periods a day and the evil pre-post test assignment that I feel this small compromise shouldn’t kill anyone.
Let’s start with the English Language at my school. Teaching the upper grades at a bilingual school has its perks. Namely, the fact that the students essentially are fluent in English. Now, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about what ‘fluent’ entails. My students can talk to me in English, watch Glee in English, and write expressive and comical responses to assigned prompts. The problems arise when they are assigned random American literature texts. They either don’t understand the context (see like seven of my other posts) or they do not understand the flowery language of authors (I’m pointing at you, F. Scott Fitzgerald). However, I have to hand it to these kids- they power through the texts despite their language limitations. I actually have students that ENJOYED The Great Gatsby and Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. They thought the books were INTERESTING. Wild.
The English teaching routine goes like this—teachers are given an Annual Plan of objectives to meet throughout the year. Kind of like a curriculum, but it’s more like, “by the end of the trimester read Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde and go through chapters 1-7 of the Grammar Sense 4 book.” With those guidelines, English teachers march into the classroom and spend the day alternating between grammar activities and the text. Not exactly a party, but it apparently gets the job done. These kids know their modals and present perfect better than I do.
I can’t say that I spent a lot of time here in the observing position. We were told that we would have up to two weeks to observe before we started teaching. Apparently, ‘observation’ translates loosely to take over all instruction with no mentor present and no texts and no guiding Annual Plan (I finally was able to get hold of that Holy Grail document about a week ago). I think this is pretty standard fare for abroad, but it makes my whole post on ‘my relationship with my mentor’ a little interesting. Eventually we met and have interacted regularly since about the second week. I’m going to pretty much limit what I have to say on that topic to two main points. 1. She is very open to my ideas about how to run the classroom. She has provided no negative feedback towards any of my lessons, and supports my actions when I take disciplinary measures with students. She respects my space, but I know that she will back me up if I advocate for resources (um, the school said the books would be in over a month ago, where are they), and she’ll do weird errands for me like finding speakers. She also loves Glee and thinks it’s brilliant that I’ve decided to use Glee to work on conversational skills. I also indicate to students that GLEE IS JUST LIKE REAL AMERICAN HIGH SCHOOL and as my mentor attended an American high school… well she thinks I’m pretty awesome for saying that. Main Point 2. She completely undermines what I am saying sometimes. I know she doesn’t mean to at all, but it happens. She is rarely in the room for a long period of time, but when she is, she will often engage in side Spanish conversations with students. My big thing is that this is English class, we’re supposed to speak English (unless you need help translating words or something), and also side conversations are just rude. I can’t really clear my throat or anything obvious, so I normally just tune it out. It bothers me though. Alright, enough of being a Negative Nancy. Point is, the students are in my class speaking English. Someone is doing something right.
Let’s start with the English Language at my school. Teaching the upper grades at a bilingual school has its perks. Namely, the fact that the students essentially are fluent in English. Now, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about what ‘fluent’ entails. My students can talk to me in English, watch Glee in English, and write expressive and comical responses to assigned prompts. The problems arise when they are assigned random American literature texts. They either don’t understand the context (see like seven of my other posts) or they do not understand the flowery language of authors (I’m pointing at you, F. Scott Fitzgerald). However, I have to hand it to these kids- they power through the texts despite their language limitations. I actually have students that ENJOYED The Great Gatsby and Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. They thought the books were INTERESTING. Wild.
The English teaching routine goes like this—teachers are given an Annual Plan of objectives to meet throughout the year. Kind of like a curriculum, but it’s more like, “by the end of the trimester read Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde and go through chapters 1-7 of the Grammar Sense 4 book.” With those guidelines, English teachers march into the classroom and spend the day alternating between grammar activities and the text. Not exactly a party, but it apparently gets the job done. These kids know their modals and present perfect better than I do.
I can’t say that I spent a lot of time here in the observing position. We were told that we would have up to two weeks to observe before we started teaching. Apparently, ‘observation’ translates loosely to take over all instruction with no mentor present and no texts and no guiding Annual Plan (I finally was able to get hold of that Holy Grail document about a week ago). I think this is pretty standard fare for abroad, but it makes my whole post on ‘my relationship with my mentor’ a little interesting. Eventually we met and have interacted regularly since about the second week. I’m going to pretty much limit what I have to say on that topic to two main points. 1. She is very open to my ideas about how to run the classroom. She has provided no negative feedback towards any of my lessons, and supports my actions when I take disciplinary measures with students. She respects my space, but I know that she will back me up if I advocate for resources (um, the school said the books would be in over a month ago, where are they), and she’ll do weird errands for me like finding speakers. She also loves Glee and thinks it’s brilliant that I’ve decided to use Glee to work on conversational skills. I also indicate to students that GLEE IS JUST LIKE REAL AMERICAN HIGH SCHOOL and as my mentor attended an American high school… well she thinks I’m pretty awesome for saying that. Main Point 2. She completely undermines what I am saying sometimes. I know she doesn’t mean to at all, but it happens. She is rarely in the room for a long period of time, but when she is, she will often engage in side Spanish conversations with students. My big thing is that this is English class, we’re supposed to speak English (unless you need help translating words or something), and also side conversations are just rude. I can’t really clear my throat or anything obvious, so I normally just tune it out. It bothers me though. Alright, enough of being a Negative Nancy. Point is, the students are in my class speaking English. Someone is doing something right.
It's like he's trying to speak to me, I know it.
I’m staring at her, and it’s like that scene in Finding Nemo- “Look, you're really cute, but I can't understand what you're saying. Say the first thing again.” My host mother looks concerned and is TRYING to explain something to me, but I can’t make out a word of what she is saying. I had expressed to her that I was not feeling well and needed to take a day off to recuperate. Was she trying to take me to the hospital? Quarantine me? Telling me to go to bed? I finally turned to Merlyn for clarification. “She is, how to say, ah, ask if you want to go to Washington.” I turned back to mom and quickly assured her in Spanish that I did not want to go home and pointed to my sinuses. Not serious, I said. Just the weather and plants and my nose. She nodded and seemed relieved. As Katey, Marge and I have been saying- language fail.
My heads hurts at night from trying so hard to think and speak Spanish. As a veteran student of the process of second language acquisition, I know I’m technically in the ‘silent period’ when you understand a significant portion but cannot spit out the words. However, I’ve taken it upon myself to try and use the Spanish and just sound like an idiot. It’s the only way I’ll really learn the language. Of course, the fact that my family speaks virtually no English makes my Spanish usage somewhat mandatory. For example, after school today I am going to Atenas to work on my pre- and post-test data with Katey. I needed to explain to Merlyn that I would not be on the bus this afternoon, but would return later in the evening. Fortunately, most of my Spanish is centered upon the theme of home—how I survived the day, food we eat, when I am leaving home, when I will be back, where I am going, etc. The repetition of these words helps out a lot. I still don’t know what mom is saying sometimes (she speaks very quickly) but I am able to figure out from her tone that she is asking if I want more food (the answer is always yes).
I am learning, but it’s a slow process. I look forward to my run every day because it’s the only time when I can literally think to myself and listen to English music and just space out in my English bubble. Yeah, I know I teach English at school, but a lot of the day is dedicated to deciphering the word the student is looking for in Spanish or informing my students that I UNDERSTAND WHAT THEY ARE SAYING AND I KNOW THEY DO NOT WANT TO READ BUT IT IS GOING TO HAPPEN. Cough eighth grade.
This may sound stupid, but I think some of my language struggle comes from the fact I look somewhat native. People assume that I know Spanish because I look generally like someone that knows Spanish. I know that sounds like blatant stereotyping, but I was out with Merlyn (she has a fairer complexion than I do) and she asked someone at a store to repeat what they had said. The salesperson sighed and turned to me to explain the second time since my silly friend apparently did not understand Spanish. I didn’t even try to nod appropriately or fake understanding. Merlyn and I just started laughing. I think the most humbling part is the fact that Katey understands and speaks way more Spanish than I do. When we were out on Saturday, I wanted to say, look. I may look like all of you, but the blonde chick is the only one that’s going to get what you’re saying so talk to her. Haha.
Well actually let’s look at Saturday. We were out in Atenas at some crazy town-wide party where people ride horses through the streets and apparently bottles of Bacardi can be bought for four dollars. A pair of running shorts is fifty dollars, alcohol four. Well THAT makes sense. Anyways, the point is the town was crazy. Horses and people everywhere, pouring rain, dancing in the streets. Typical Costa Rican scene. Katey, Marge and I joined the revelers after a late dinner. Shockingly, we were approached by some young gentlemen from San Jose. They had just graduated from university and were on their way to a party. Were we interested? Well, let’s think. Random guys, walking to a random party, we barely understand them and they barely understand us… yeah, let’s go! Well, we walked in the rain up a massive hill in the middle of nowhere, and I was starting to get concerned. Not only were we with some random guys, but my language skills were impairing my ability to find out much about where we were going. On the bright side, if we were murdered I hadn’t spent all weekend doing the pre- and post-test assignment for Katy Arnett. I hadn’t even started the paper. So I mean, at least I’d had fun prior to my demise.
So we get to the top of the hill and I’m sure all is lost. However, once we get over the hill I’m realizing that this is no random house party- a field is covered with thousands of people. There are cotton candy machines, merry-go-rounds, you name it. At eleven pm in the rain. Kids everywhere. Totally normal. Before too long, we found some of the Indiana University girls (random) and headed towards the dance party. Quite the experience.
Right, so I was talking about my language skills. Although they fail me at times (illness, navigation, etc.) if I end up at a dance party with thousands of new friends, I must be doing something right. And that’s my posting on language. The end.
My heads hurts at night from trying so hard to think and speak Spanish. As a veteran student of the process of second language acquisition, I know I’m technically in the ‘silent period’ when you understand a significant portion but cannot spit out the words. However, I’ve taken it upon myself to try and use the Spanish and just sound like an idiot. It’s the only way I’ll really learn the language. Of course, the fact that my family speaks virtually no English makes my Spanish usage somewhat mandatory. For example, after school today I am going to Atenas to work on my pre- and post-test data with Katey. I needed to explain to Merlyn that I would not be on the bus this afternoon, but would return later in the evening. Fortunately, most of my Spanish is centered upon the theme of home—how I survived the day, food we eat, when I am leaving home, when I will be back, where I am going, etc. The repetition of these words helps out a lot. I still don’t know what mom is saying sometimes (she speaks very quickly) but I am able to figure out from her tone that she is asking if I want more food (the answer is always yes).
I am learning, but it’s a slow process. I look forward to my run every day because it’s the only time when I can literally think to myself and listen to English music and just space out in my English bubble. Yeah, I know I teach English at school, but a lot of the day is dedicated to deciphering the word the student is looking for in Spanish or informing my students that I UNDERSTAND WHAT THEY ARE SAYING AND I KNOW THEY DO NOT WANT TO READ BUT IT IS GOING TO HAPPEN. Cough eighth grade.
This may sound stupid, but I think some of my language struggle comes from the fact I look somewhat native. People assume that I know Spanish because I look generally like someone that knows Spanish. I know that sounds like blatant stereotyping, but I was out with Merlyn (she has a fairer complexion than I do) and she asked someone at a store to repeat what they had said. The salesperson sighed and turned to me to explain the second time since my silly friend apparently did not understand Spanish. I didn’t even try to nod appropriately or fake understanding. Merlyn and I just started laughing. I think the most humbling part is the fact that Katey understands and speaks way more Spanish than I do. When we were out on Saturday, I wanted to say, look. I may look like all of you, but the blonde chick is the only one that’s going to get what you’re saying so talk to her. Haha.
Well actually let’s look at Saturday. We were out in Atenas at some crazy town-wide party where people ride horses through the streets and apparently bottles of Bacardi can be bought for four dollars. A pair of running shorts is fifty dollars, alcohol four. Well THAT makes sense. Anyways, the point is the town was crazy. Horses and people everywhere, pouring rain, dancing in the streets. Typical Costa Rican scene. Katey, Marge and I joined the revelers after a late dinner. Shockingly, we were approached by some young gentlemen from San Jose. They had just graduated from university and were on their way to a party. Were we interested? Well, let’s think. Random guys, walking to a random party, we barely understand them and they barely understand us… yeah, let’s go! Well, we walked in the rain up a massive hill in the middle of nowhere, and I was starting to get concerned. Not only were we with some random guys, but my language skills were impairing my ability to find out much about where we were going. On the bright side, if we were murdered I hadn’t spent all weekend doing the pre- and post-test assignment for Katy Arnett. I hadn’t even started the paper. So I mean, at least I’d had fun prior to my demise.
So we get to the top of the hill and I’m sure all is lost. However, once we get over the hill I’m realizing that this is no random house party- a field is covered with thousands of people. There are cotton candy machines, merry-go-rounds, you name it. At eleven pm in the rain. Kids everywhere. Totally normal. Before too long, we found some of the Indiana University girls (random) and headed towards the dance party. Quite the experience.
Right, so I was talking about my language skills. Although they fail me at times (illness, navigation, etc.) if I end up at a dance party with thousands of new friends, I must be doing something right. And that’s my posting on language. The end.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
The Post I Should Have Posted A While Ago
When I wrote about breaking into the house, I realized I haven’t really told you about my living conditions. Maybe that’s something I should explain. I think I covered the basics on the family- mom, dad, Merlyn (19), and Christopher (11). Maybe I didn’t. Well here’s the quick run-down: Merlyn is my best friend here. She’s 19, but she could easily pass for mid-20s. She’s gorgeous. She’s studying business at the local university. She’s taken me on a few adventures down here- the zoo, shopping, the grocery store. It’s great to have her around. Especially when you do stupid stuff like leave all of your makeup at Marjorie’s before some important event. It’s nice to have someone with your skin tone in the house to help you out. Merlyn’s English is about the same level as my Spanish- we can choke out what we need to say in order to get by. Haha. It works though! Christopher is 11. He seriously cracks me up. He does typical boy things (eats about seven bowls of Frosted Flakes hourly), and he loves to play with Rocky and the chickens. Just this morning he somehow covertly snuck the majority of breakfast to Rocky and Blanket the Chicken outside the window. Skills. I think he knows more English than he lets on, but it’s cool. I just make a fool out of myself using Spanish instead. Mom and Dad are so chill. I think she starts working on my dinner around 8 am. When I show up for breakfast around 5:45, she’s already done like four loads of laundry and made an extensive meal. It’s really insane. Dad works on the farm (see past post) a few days a week, and sits around watching soccer the rest of the time. He thinks I’m hilarious because I obviously don’t know what the blazes is going on about eighty percent of the time. Every time I start looking particularly puzzled he giggles.
With that being said, they are an adorable family. It’s apparent that mom and dad are obsessed with each other which is soooo cute. Merlyn and Chris get along pretty well too, considering their age difference. She’s always howling at him for doing stuff, but in an endearing way.
The house itself is awesome. We have a pool, indoor gardens, pool house with a full bar and kitchen, mango trees, coconut trees, chickens, dog, it’s amazing. I have my own room (Merlyn’s room) and bathroom. Only complaint—haven’t taken a warm shower since I left Maryland. That sucks. It’s my motivation to go running, though. If I’m sweating bullets when I get home, the cold shower feels refreshing. At any other hour, it just makes me want to die.
It’s nice staying with a family. It seems like you aren’t really a zillion miles away in a place where you don’t know anyone or the language if you get to come home to a family every day. I worry when Chris isn’t getting to the bus fast enough in the afternoon, and I like watching soccer with dad when I get tired of schoolwork. It’s cute. I’m going to miss them to pieces when I get back to the US. Hopefully, Merlyn and/or Chris can come up to the US at some point. I know they would love my crazy life at home!
With that being said, they are an adorable family. It’s apparent that mom and dad are obsessed with each other which is soooo cute. Merlyn and Chris get along pretty well too, considering their age difference. She’s always howling at him for doing stuff, but in an endearing way.
The house itself is awesome. We have a pool, indoor gardens, pool house with a full bar and kitchen, mango trees, coconut trees, chickens, dog, it’s amazing. I have my own room (Merlyn’s room) and bathroom. Only complaint—haven’t taken a warm shower since I left Maryland. That sucks. It’s my motivation to go running, though. If I’m sweating bullets when I get home, the cold shower feels refreshing. At any other hour, it just makes me want to die.
It’s nice staying with a family. It seems like you aren’t really a zillion miles away in a place where you don’t know anyone or the language if you get to come home to a family every day. I worry when Chris isn’t getting to the bus fast enough in the afternoon, and I like watching soccer with dad when I get tired of schoolwork. It’s cute. I’m going to miss them to pieces when I get back to the US. Hopefully, Merlyn and/or Chris can come up to the US at some point. I know they would love my crazy life at home!
I'm growing as a person.
During my time in Costa Rica, I have had to make some cultural adjustments. One, the language isn’t the same. That’s been a problem once in a while. Two, everyone is overly affectionate here. I will need to break the habit of kissing everyone I meet asap when I get back to the states. Three, I’m used to running around random dogs, chickens, roosters, children in the streets. It’s going to be strange to not see that anymore. Four, the food. I was always a carb queen, but this is unreal. I eat rice about six times a day and a piece of bread for lunch. A little excessive but it’s good stuff. Finally, five: I had to learn how to dance.
I know what you are thinking. Katie, you’ve always been an amazingly graceful and inspiring dancer. I know. Well, dancing here is different. People here know how to merengue. I mean everyone—children, old people, people out in clubs, people in the kitchen, they know how to do it. Which is amazing, because it’s basically a partner dance where you are improvising the whole time. How you manage to stay in sync with your partner is beyond me. Anyways, when we went out on Friday night, I decided this was a cultural hurdle I was going to overcome. And I did.
Well let me back up. It all started after the zoo when we decided to go out dancing. Marge and I headed to her house so we could get ready to go out. She wasn't joking, she does live in a mansion. Her mom's closet is like the size of my bedroom in Frederick. She gave us whatever we wanted to wear. I opted for a semi-conservative black strapless dress. Marge wore a skirt and pink top. Katey wore a skirt and heels. We drank a lot of coffee and danced to glee for a while, and then Marge's cousin came to pick us up. He's an awkward fellow. Decent English for a Costa Rican, but just kind of awkward. He's probably upper twenties. Anyways he was somehow in charge of taking us out. We decided upon the Costa Rican equivalent of Tiki bar... it's been closed all season and it was the big reopening that night. Parking was insane. I was terrified I would be over/under dressed, but I was fine. Hispanic women like to show a lot of skin... my skirt was far more conservative. I didn't stand out or anything though.
So the dancing. The bands were LEGIT. Imagine big bands, full brass, guys singing are not only good, but dance 1950s style the whole time. It was unbelievable. Of course, everyone was dancing merengue. Seriously, if you don't know how it looks, look it up. Obviously, I really wanted to learn. However, you need a partner. That was kind of a problem. Everyone seems to arrive with said partner, and I arrived with two white chicks. To make matters worse, cousin dude was starting to hit on the guy next to me. I mean really. So typical. Anyways, eventually some guy walks up and asks me to dance. Now, let's be for real. I am not usually too forgiving to random guys that try to talk to me. I'm barely nice to guys I know that try to talk to me. However, for some reason I decided to give this guy a chance. He was far from my normal standards: at least one article of jcrew/banana republic, shaved in the last 24 hours, unbearably left-wing (why I always bring not-so-straight guys home), and yet, I was like, whatever. Let's dance. I passed my drink off to Marge and headed to the dance floor.
It was the most fun I've ever had. He was a remarkably good dancer, and I picked up the steps pretty fast. It involves a lot of turns, and I love turns when I'm in a skirt. I was cracking up with sub-par standards guy. He didn't really speak English, but he could kick me in the right direction. It worked out. We danced all night.
FORTUNATELY sub-par guy peaced out with his friends, because it didn't look like gay cousin was going to save me if things got awkward. We piled into the car and headed home around 3. I banged on the door (I knew Merlyn was the only one home) and of course the alarm system goes off. I muttered some choice words to myself. Fortunately she came pretty quickly to the door. She was laughing and yelling at me for coming in so late at the same time. I was hysterical and speaking Spanglish a million miles an hour. Fail.
The next day (time check: 3 hours later) Merlyn and I went to meet the family for a Quinceñera. It was on a farm out in the end of the world and it was FANTASTIC. The service was in a church with no air conditioning and way too many dogs. Afterwards, the service moved to a big open farmhouse thing for the party. Imagine-- lights, fog machines, lavender plastic figurines everywhere... it was awesome. The food was great, Dad and I laughed about me breaking into the house, and we all danced. Fortunately I had some skills from the night before, so Dad and I could jam out to merengue. Eventually we were pooped. Back at the farm, I settled down and dreamt of the last time I showered (Friday morning). Around 6 am, I woke up and played around the farm. I heard a sad sounding animal nearby, and soon discovered it's head on the kitchen table. Considering I'm basically vegetarian in the real world, I was so proud of myself when I calmly ate pig for lunch. As I sat there eating, the head was still on the table. And other organs. Lordy.
After lunch, Michael and I went for a long horseback adventure. Shockingly, I have never ridden a horse extensively before. It's really not a hard skill. You hold on and turn the horse one way or another. We went to see a new calf that had been born earlier in the day, and we meandered through coffee and pineapple fields. It was unreal. No worries- there are pictures. I look nothing short of rustic.
Eventually we headed back to the house. I was SO HAPPY when I saw that fish was on the menu for dinner. I could not do pig again. I wasn't feeling great later in the evening... I think it was semi-stress paired with no allergy medicine on the farm. My shower helped, and then I was too distracted by work to notice any more sneezes.
Obviously, I’ve made cultural adjustments. By the end of this post, it’s apparent that I’m not the same person I was in the states. I mean, merengue, horses?!?!?!?, eating meat? I know. It’s been a learning experience. I think my greatest accomplishment is merengue, though. It makes me feel native. I WILL NEED A PARTNER WHEN I RETURN. SUBMIT YOUR APPLICATIONS VIA EMAIL.
Alright, that’s all, time to teach. Adios.
I know what you are thinking. Katie, you’ve always been an amazingly graceful and inspiring dancer. I know. Well, dancing here is different. People here know how to merengue. I mean everyone—children, old people, people out in clubs, people in the kitchen, they know how to do it. Which is amazing, because it’s basically a partner dance where you are improvising the whole time. How you manage to stay in sync with your partner is beyond me. Anyways, when we went out on Friday night, I decided this was a cultural hurdle I was going to overcome. And I did.
Well let me back up. It all started after the zoo when we decided to go out dancing. Marge and I headed to her house so we could get ready to go out. She wasn't joking, she does live in a mansion. Her mom's closet is like the size of my bedroom in Frederick. She gave us whatever we wanted to wear. I opted for a semi-conservative black strapless dress. Marge wore a skirt and pink top. Katey wore a skirt and heels. We drank a lot of coffee and danced to glee for a while, and then Marge's cousin came to pick us up. He's an awkward fellow. Decent English for a Costa Rican, but just kind of awkward. He's probably upper twenties. Anyways he was somehow in charge of taking us out. We decided upon the Costa Rican equivalent of Tiki bar... it's been closed all season and it was the big reopening that night. Parking was insane. I was terrified I would be over/under dressed, but I was fine. Hispanic women like to show a lot of skin... my skirt was far more conservative. I didn't stand out or anything though.
So the dancing. The bands were LEGIT. Imagine big bands, full brass, guys singing are not only good, but dance 1950s style the whole time. It was unbelievable. Of course, everyone was dancing merengue. Seriously, if you don't know how it looks, look it up. Obviously, I really wanted to learn. However, you need a partner. That was kind of a problem. Everyone seems to arrive with said partner, and I arrived with two white chicks. To make matters worse, cousin dude was starting to hit on the guy next to me. I mean really. So typical. Anyways, eventually some guy walks up and asks me to dance. Now, let's be for real. I am not usually too forgiving to random guys that try to talk to me. I'm barely nice to guys I know that try to talk to me. However, for some reason I decided to give this guy a chance. He was far from my normal standards: at least one article of jcrew/banana republic, shaved in the last 24 hours, unbearably left-wing (why I always bring not-so-straight guys home), and yet, I was like, whatever. Let's dance. I passed my drink off to Marge and headed to the dance floor.
It was the most fun I've ever had. He was a remarkably good dancer, and I picked up the steps pretty fast. It involves a lot of turns, and I love turns when I'm in a skirt. I was cracking up with sub-par standards guy. He didn't really speak English, but he could kick me in the right direction. It worked out. We danced all night.
FORTUNATELY sub-par guy peaced out with his friends, because it didn't look like gay cousin was going to save me if things got awkward. We piled into the car and headed home around 3. I banged on the door (I knew Merlyn was the only one home) and of course the alarm system goes off. I muttered some choice words to myself. Fortunately she came pretty quickly to the door. She was laughing and yelling at me for coming in so late at the same time. I was hysterical and speaking Spanglish a million miles an hour. Fail.
The next day (time check: 3 hours later) Merlyn and I went to meet the family for a Quinceñera. It was on a farm out in the end of the world and it was FANTASTIC. The service was in a church with no air conditioning and way too many dogs. Afterwards, the service moved to a big open farmhouse thing for the party. Imagine-- lights, fog machines, lavender plastic figurines everywhere... it was awesome. The food was great, Dad and I laughed about me breaking into the house, and we all danced. Fortunately I had some skills from the night before, so Dad and I could jam out to merengue. Eventually we were pooped. Back at the farm, I settled down and dreamt of the last time I showered (Friday morning). Around 6 am, I woke up and played around the farm. I heard a sad sounding animal nearby, and soon discovered it's head on the kitchen table. Considering I'm basically vegetarian in the real world, I was so proud of myself when I calmly ate pig for lunch. As I sat there eating, the head was still on the table. And other organs. Lordy.
After lunch, Michael and I went for a long horseback adventure. Shockingly, I have never ridden a horse extensively before. It's really not a hard skill. You hold on and turn the horse one way or another. We went to see a new calf that had been born earlier in the day, and we meandered through coffee and pineapple fields. It was unreal. No worries- there are pictures. I look nothing short of rustic.
Eventually we headed back to the house. I was SO HAPPY when I saw that fish was on the menu for dinner. I could not do pig again. I wasn't feeling great later in the evening... I think it was semi-stress paired with no allergy medicine on the farm. My shower helped, and then I was too distracted by work to notice any more sneezes.
Obviously, I’ve made cultural adjustments. By the end of this post, it’s apparent that I’m not the same person I was in the states. I mean, merengue, horses?!?!?!?, eating meat? I know. It’s been a learning experience. I think my greatest accomplishment is merengue, though. It makes me feel native. I WILL NEED A PARTNER WHEN I RETURN. SUBMIT YOUR APPLICATIONS VIA EMAIL.
Alright, that’s all, time to teach. Adios.
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