Impressions

I keep wondering what my monks think of me? I know they must have some impression about me. I wish I could know, just out of curiosity. This whole experience has really made me appreciate my teachers in the past. I have had a sudden urge to write a long letter to Mr. Siegel, my 8th grade teacher. I also, have had the urge, to write long, heartfelt letters to all the teachers I have ever been a brat to, and apologize. Maybe I will. It is hard to explain this new found appreciation, it is also a tinge sad that I had to be stationed on a hill side monastery above a tiny Nepalese village to realize what heroes my teachers have been. Its not even that I remember anything, or most things, I have learned through my 15 years of school. To be quite honest, I couldn't tell you too much about European History, economic policy, or polynomials. But now, I am starting to realize that my teachers have been something more than just facts and books. They are long lasting impressions, they are role models, heroes really. I can't remember too many facts about the great wars in European history from Mr. Lickey's class, but what I remember much clearer is Mr. Lickey himself. I remember wanted to be just like him, so someday have just a little of his poise, quirky character, and intelligence. What did I learn in eighth grade English? I faintly remember reading a snatch of "Metamorphosis" by Franz Kafka and watching the Lonesome Dove. A whole year of my life. But what I really remember was Mr. Siegel, looking forward to his class, how engaged he got his students, me. He expected alot of us and I always strived to do my best in his class, because it would be a horrible thing to let him down. He was a teacher, a friend, a hero, a role model. Its not what I learned along the way, it was my teachers who I now recognize as the most miraculous people. I stand in fron of my classroom, in front of my monks, I try to teach them and try to keep the impression that I know what I'm doing. This can't be too hard, I thought before I started. I mean, come on, I have been in school since I was 5, speaking English my whole life. It's not like I can't figure it out. I rack my brain before class to try and remember how I learned Japanese, how did the teacher teach it so we all managed to learn a second language? Hmm... I am still trying to figure this one out. I find it a wonder that I actually know Japanese. Thank you, teachers, thank you! Yes, teaching is not as easy as it seems to be when you are the student, absolutely not. As a student, you have the impression that the teacher just waltzes in, spouts off some of their knowledge to you, and waltzes off. But, this is not the case as I have found. Also, mind you, I have been teaching for, lets see here, 9 days... (sheepish laughing...) By the time I get into bed at night I am out like a light. Teaching is exhausting. All my monks constantly looking at me with bright eager eyes. Rows of plum robes with round faces, excited eyes. Rows of buzzed black heads on the floor. I repeat, repeat, repeat, and repeat some more. Also, mind you, it must be acknowledged that I am teaching monks, probably the most well behaved and attentive lot of young fellows you have ever laid eyes on. If 9 days of teaching well mannered (usually....) monks, I can only wonder how tired my teachers were after teaching us! What horrors! Oh dear! What horrors we were sometimes, the whole lot of us, especially when all the students felt the urge to rally against the teacher! Oh dear! An apology really is in order. But besides the exhaustion, which is also contributed to by my long afternoon hikes, teaching is an amazing experience. It's sort of difficult to comprehend my position though, for myself to think about. As I think through on all the heroic teachers in my past, and the lasting impressions they have made on my entire life, it is difficult to comprehend that I am now in this position. Is it possible that I could have a life long impression on some of my students? Could it truly be possible that even on of my monks may some day look back on his childhood, and remember that one American teacher who taught him some English? Well, if that did happen, which I can only hope it will, then that would be an amazing thing. Even if one monk remembers me, that would be fantastic.
I know how to teach... I try to embody this idea to my boys. But really... how do you teach English? I came to this monstery, was given two dry erase markers, and was told I would be teaching English to all the monks. So I teach myself how to teach, as I teach them. Everyday, hour, and minute I teach myself a bit more about teaching. I suppose thats the way to do it. I wonder if Mr. Lickey and Mr. Siegel were ever like this? I suppose one day they must have been. But despite my teaching inexperience, this opportunity is so wonderful. To be put in this position, in charge of teaching all the little (and some big) monks. Sometimes I don't know if I am getting through to them. But when one student, or a few students finally understand the difference between singular and plural, what an adjective is, or which pronoun to put where, I feel like jumping for joy!
Another thing about teachers that I have realized... they have lives. Well, I sort of vaguely recognized this in school. But now that I am a teacher, I know that I have a life, a very great one at that. In elementary school, middle school, even high school.. I may have been vaguely aware that a teacher had a family, but hardly. Now that I am a teacher, it has made me realize that my teachers have all been much more three dimensional people then I ever thought before.