El Gringo and los Angeles
In that moment, I've never wished more that I had paid attention in high school Spanish. Because no one in the whole room spoke English. And I was supposed to teach them.
High school Spanish...was kind of a joke to me. To the constant annoyance of my teachers, I persisted in saying every Spanish word as dry, white, and gringo-y as possible and barely put in enough effort to pass. What I did expend effort on, however, was learning Spanish cuss words and inappropriate phrases, which I even slipped into class presentations from time to time. So even though I was shocked when my teacher finally kicked me and my friend Derek out of her class halfway through my senior year, probably no one else was. We had it coming.
Fast forward x number of years, all the way to last Friday. I took a sub job for a "Spanish" class. No big deal--I've subbed for dozens of high school Spanish classes. They're full of kids that are mostly like I was (perhaps slightly more motivated), and usually my job is to simply watch them as they complete a worksheet or watch Jennifer Lopez play Selena on the screen.
When I walked into the classroom, though, the first thing I noticed was that the "sub note" was not one paper, like usual, but a folder full of papers. Uh oh. In fact, the directions for the day were so thorough that some paragraphs referenced me to pages in a textbook that were then littered with sticky notes with more directions that then pointed me towards other worksheets with even MORE directions. It was like a maze of instructions for the day. Sweat started to form on my forehead as I glanced at the time. 8:05.
But the biggest surprise came after a few minutes of reading the teacher's notes. It turns out that this class was not a Spanish class at all. It was a unique 6-month immersion class for immigrants. I found out later in the day that these students had just moved to California this past summer from Mexico, El Salvador, Costa Rica, and more. And to my utter dismay, I was not given a movie or a YouTube video to show them to pass time, but an in-depth lesson plan so as to not miss one day of their American education.
To increase the irony of the situation, just minutes before I entered the classroom that day, I saw my friend Mike Young on campus. Like me, he works at Radiant Church, and like me, he also subs part of the time. Walking towards our classes for a moment together, I remember saying to him these exact words: "Yeah, the job online had a little note that said they prefer someone who speaks Spanish for this job." Then laughing carefreely, I added, "But I've subbed for tons of Spanish classes! How hard could it be?!"
Twenty minutes later I was standing in front of eighteen students who knew about as much English as I knew of Spanish. Quite impressively, I opened with the following words: "Entiendo un poquito espanol. Uh, I mean--mi Espanol es muy mal." They all laughed heartily (with me? or at me?).
So let me cut to the chase. After all, this is a blog, not a book, or a daily journal. Why am I writing about this frustatingly humiliating experience? Because the day only started out that way. As the hours passed, my heart was oddly warmed by that small group of students, and I began to think that I was learning much, much more from them than they from me. Here are some takeaways.
Our mutual need to learn created a healthy and compassionate atmosphere. There were no experts in the classroom that day. I only had poquito Espanol at my disposal, and they needed to learn the ins and outs of English. It was humbling to be in that position, instead of the usual confident sense of being in control and in command of the discipline or lesson. Obviously a good teacher does have a grasp of the material and should function as the leader of the classroom, but I noticed that the awareness of my need that day caused me to approach the kids with more respect. I was impressed by how quickly some of them were learning English (especially compared to my high school Spanish class days). As newcomers to our country struggling to find their way, I think it was refreshing to have a teacher who was struggling as much as them! A camaraderie, of sorts.
I was blown away by the level of respect they showed me. Following my last point, you'd think these students might have taken advantage of me. As a substitute teacher, that is what I'm used to. Almost without exception, every high school class I visit for the day is loud, mostly off-task, and does not take kindly to me exercising any kind of discipline. That's partly because I'm not their normal teacher, and to be frank, it's also because they are self-centered, arrogant 16-year olds. I don't fault them--I was too at their age (see second paragraph from top of this blog). So it shocked me when these particular students paid me the utmost respect, were quiet when I spoke (in faltering Spanglesh), and even rebuked one another when they felt a fellow student was being disruptive! This leads me to my next observation...
They were grateful just to be there. One section of the day was online math. To my relief, they simply logged on to a program and a YouTube video gave them instructions in Spanish about their lesson, which they then completed on the computer. I took a breather behind my desk for a few moments. Minutes later, I made my rounds to make sure they were on task. Now, you would have to be me for a month to know how absurdly unique it was that every single student was on task. No exceptions. They were quietly, diligently, working on their math. Some of them were earnestly helping each other with their problems. With a sub, no less. Honestly, in any other class in that situation, there is at least 3-4 students trying to sneak a videogame in behind my back. Sometimes 50% of the class is doing that--no joke. What world had I passed into? Apparently, a world where even self-centered 16 year-olds still care about their education and respect their teachers.
To the rest of the school, they were outsiders; to each other, they were family. The (extensive) teacher note informed me that they loved to show up early to class to eat breakfast and hang out with one another, and that they also ate lunch in that classroom. I had to lock up and leave the classroom because I didn't bring a lunch. When I returned, I found all eighteen of them camped outside the classroom with their lunches, laughing and speaking in their native tongue. At one point in the day I noticed that one girl was continually out of her seat asking another girl for help. I was slightly suspicious of excuses to not do work, but wanting to treat it lightly, I went over to them and said in my gringo accent, "Mejor amigas?" In English, one replied, "No--sisters!" Taking them literally, I raised my eyebrows. Quickly clarifying, the other smiled and said, "Like sisters."
I found my self wondering again and again, "What would it be like to be in a brand new country with a completely different culture and language?" Not knowing each other's language created a sort of wall between us. By the end of the day I believe we had made some decent cracks and holes in that wall through our efforts, but nonetheless, a barrier remained. I had a revelation about language. Learning another language is key if we are to love beyond our borders (literally and metaphorically). Without it, relationship will always be hindered. Language is love in many ways. I felt ashamed at my previous lack of interest in Spanish, and found myself longing to be able to shoot the breeze with a group of amazingly kind, earnest, and humble individuals.
Look, I'm not saying they were complete angels. I'm saying that last Friday morning I was perspiring with frustation because I suddenly discovered I was "trapped" with a group of students I felt I had no way of teaching, and that as the day progressed I was surprised at how much learning still took place, and even more shocked at the love and honor I felt from these teenagers--and at the love I felt towards them.
Not angels, not saints, but on the other hand... Angels in the Bible always carried a message from God. The Greek word for angels actually means "messengers." In that sense, I did indeed encounter angels that day--messengers through whom God was speaking to me.
One of the keenest students in my class that day was a sweet and hard-working girl named Angeles--meaning, "angels," coincidentally. She was so bright, in fact, that at one point I dubbed her my "interpreter" to serve as a mediator between me and the other students to help explain assignments (at first she vigorously protested to this, but finally acquiesced with some more pleading on my part). We ended one period with an activity where the students would get up and walk around, interviewing each other in English with the question, "What are you thankful for?"
I listened with interest to their answers, but most especially to Angeles'. Each time someone asked her the question, she replied with something different, which was more than the assignment required. Either she was challenging herself to use the English language with creativity--or she just felt thankful for a lot of things. As we neared the end of the alotted time, one final student approached Angeles: "What are you thankful for?" She paused for a moment to reflect once again, and brightened at her idea.
With a heavy acccent and a slight smile, she answered, "All the opportunities here." At that moment, I knew she had something that I needed. I think it was gratitude.
High school Spanish...was kind of a joke to me. To the constant annoyance of my teachers, I persisted in saying every Spanish word as dry, white, and gringo-y as possible and barely put in enough effort to pass. What I did expend effort on, however, was learning Spanish cuss words and inappropriate phrases, which I even slipped into class presentations from time to time. So even though I was shocked when my teacher finally kicked me and my friend Derek out of her class halfway through my senior year, probably no one else was. We had it coming.
Fast forward x number of years, all the way to last Friday. I took a sub job for a "Spanish" class. No big deal--I've subbed for dozens of high school Spanish classes. They're full of kids that are mostly like I was (perhaps slightly more motivated), and usually my job is to simply watch them as they complete a worksheet or watch Jennifer Lopez play Selena on the screen.
When I walked into the classroom, though, the first thing I noticed was that the "sub note" was not one paper, like usual, but a folder full of papers. Uh oh. In fact, the directions for the day were so thorough that some paragraphs referenced me to pages in a textbook that were then littered with sticky notes with more directions that then pointed me towards other worksheets with even MORE directions. It was like a maze of instructions for the day. Sweat started to form on my forehead as I glanced at the time. 8:05.
But the biggest surprise came after a few minutes of reading the teacher's notes. It turns out that this class was not a Spanish class at all. It was a unique 6-month immersion class for immigrants. I found out later in the day that these students had just moved to California this past summer from Mexico, El Salvador, Costa Rica, and more. And to my utter dismay, I was not given a movie or a YouTube video to show them to pass time, but an in-depth lesson plan so as to not miss one day of their American education.
To increase the irony of the situation, just minutes before I entered the classroom that day, I saw my friend Mike Young on campus. Like me, he works at Radiant Church, and like me, he also subs part of the time. Walking towards our classes for a moment together, I remember saying to him these exact words: "Yeah, the job online had a little note that said they prefer someone who speaks Spanish for this job." Then laughing carefreely, I added, "But I've subbed for tons of Spanish classes! How hard could it be?!"
Twenty minutes later I was standing in front of eighteen students who knew about as much English as I knew of Spanish. Quite impressively, I opened with the following words: "Entiendo un poquito espanol. Uh, I mean--mi Espanol es muy mal." They all laughed heartily (with me? or at me?).
So let me cut to the chase. After all, this is a blog, not a book, or a daily journal. Why am I writing about this frustatingly humiliating experience? Because the day only started out that way. As the hours passed, my heart was oddly warmed by that small group of students, and I began to think that I was learning much, much more from them than they from me. Here are some takeaways.
Our mutual need to learn created a healthy and compassionate atmosphere. There were no experts in the classroom that day. I only had poquito Espanol at my disposal, and they needed to learn the ins and outs of English. It was humbling to be in that position, instead of the usual confident sense of being in control and in command of the discipline or lesson. Obviously a good teacher does have a grasp of the material and should function as the leader of the classroom, but I noticed that the awareness of my need that day caused me to approach the kids with more respect. I was impressed by how quickly some of them were learning English (especially compared to my high school Spanish class days). As newcomers to our country struggling to find their way, I think it was refreshing to have a teacher who was struggling as much as them! A camaraderie, of sorts.
I was blown away by the level of respect they showed me. Following my last point, you'd think these students might have taken advantage of me. As a substitute teacher, that is what I'm used to. Almost without exception, every high school class I visit for the day is loud, mostly off-task, and does not take kindly to me exercising any kind of discipline. That's partly because I'm not their normal teacher, and to be frank, it's also because they are self-centered, arrogant 16-year olds. I don't fault them--I was too at their age (see second paragraph from top of this blog). So it shocked me when these particular students paid me the utmost respect, were quiet when I spoke (in faltering Spanglesh), and even rebuked one another when they felt a fellow student was being disruptive! This leads me to my next observation...
They were grateful just to be there. One section of the day was online math. To my relief, they simply logged on to a program and a YouTube video gave them instructions in Spanish about their lesson, which they then completed on the computer. I took a breather behind my desk for a few moments. Minutes later, I made my rounds to make sure they were on task. Now, you would have to be me for a month to know how absurdly unique it was that every single student was on task. No exceptions. They were quietly, diligently, working on their math. Some of them were earnestly helping each other with their problems. With a sub, no less. Honestly, in any other class in that situation, there is at least 3-4 students trying to sneak a videogame in behind my back. Sometimes 50% of the class is doing that--no joke. What world had I passed into? Apparently, a world where even self-centered 16 year-olds still care about their education and respect their teachers.
To the rest of the school, they were outsiders; to each other, they were family. The (extensive) teacher note informed me that they loved to show up early to class to eat breakfast and hang out with one another, and that they also ate lunch in that classroom. I had to lock up and leave the classroom because I didn't bring a lunch. When I returned, I found all eighteen of them camped outside the classroom with their lunches, laughing and speaking in their native tongue. At one point in the day I noticed that one girl was continually out of her seat asking another girl for help. I was slightly suspicious of excuses to not do work, but wanting to treat it lightly, I went over to them and said in my gringo accent, "Mejor amigas?" In English, one replied, "No--sisters!" Taking them literally, I raised my eyebrows. Quickly clarifying, the other smiled and said, "Like sisters."
I found my self wondering again and again, "What would it be like to be in a brand new country with a completely different culture and language?" Not knowing each other's language created a sort of wall between us. By the end of the day I believe we had made some decent cracks and holes in that wall through our efforts, but nonetheless, a barrier remained. I had a revelation about language. Learning another language is key if we are to love beyond our borders (literally and metaphorically). Without it, relationship will always be hindered. Language is love in many ways. I felt ashamed at my previous lack of interest in Spanish, and found myself longing to be able to shoot the breeze with a group of amazingly kind, earnest, and humble individuals.
Look, I'm not saying they were complete angels. I'm saying that last Friday morning I was perspiring with frustation because I suddenly discovered I was "trapped" with a group of students I felt I had no way of teaching, and that as the day progressed I was surprised at how much learning still took place, and even more shocked at the love and honor I felt from these teenagers--and at the love I felt towards them.
Not angels, not saints, but on the other hand... Angels in the Bible always carried a message from God. The Greek word for angels actually means "messengers." In that sense, I did indeed encounter angels that day--messengers through whom God was speaking to me.
One of the keenest students in my class that day was a sweet and hard-working girl named Angeles--meaning, "angels," coincidentally. She was so bright, in fact, that at one point I dubbed her my "interpreter" to serve as a mediator between me and the other students to help explain assignments (at first she vigorously protested to this, but finally acquiesced with some more pleading on my part). We ended one period with an activity where the students would get up and walk around, interviewing each other in English with the question, "What are you thankful for?"
I listened with interest to their answers, but most especially to Angeles'. Each time someone asked her the question, she replied with something different, which was more than the assignment required. Either she was challenging herself to use the English language with creativity--or she just felt thankful for a lot of things. As we neared the end of the alotted time, one final student approached Angeles: "What are you thankful for?" She paused for a moment to reflect once again, and brightened at her idea.
With a heavy acccent and a slight smile, she answered, "All the opportunities here." At that moment, I knew she had something that I needed. I think it was gratitude.
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