Monthly Archives: May 2011

Daily Life, Teaching

Korean math warriors

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As an EAL teacher, I spend a lot of time in the elementary classrooms helping kids who speak English as an Additional Language. Recently, I visited third grade, where students were writing narratives. The teacher had provided a framework, which students copied into their writing books: introduction, beginning event, resolution, conclusion. Next, children sketched an illustration next to each step in their stories in preparation for writing.

I sat down with a Korean boy (I’ll call him Ji-Hun here), who started at our school mid-year with no English. He had scribbled a bunch of Korean notes, which of course I couldn’t check, to clarify what each section of his story should include. My usual M.O. is to have the kid describe the pictures to me, and I dictate the story back to him in accurate English. Then he tries to recreate the story in his own words with some help from me, first verbally and then in writing.

Ji-Hun had drawn this picture first. After a lot of gestures and random nouns, I realized it was a Korean mountain range, and those two guys were having a sword fight. We spent a lot of time trying to figure out “mountain” because he kept insisting “berry cold, berry cold,” which made me think he was describing a glacier or Antarctica or something. So, OK, we had a setting.

His next drawings show the fight sequence. The first warrior asks, “What is 1 X 100?” The other clearly less intelligent warrior answers, “One?”

Hmmm… well. Not sure what to make of that.

The smart warrior simply wasn’t going to tolerate such poor math skills, so he plunges his sword into the dumb warrior’s belly.

Ji-Hun described it to me basically just as I have written it. Was the second fighter trying to solve a riddle to cross the mountain pass? I acted this out, but he denied that was the purpose of the math battle. I couldn’t think of any other reason for a sword fight to ensue over multiplication. He tried to explain in Korean, while tugging on his hair with exasperation.

I just couldn’t let it go. Finally, we went next door to a different third grade class, where I asked another Korean student (with stronger English skills) to discuss the story with Ji-Hun. After a couple minutes of chatting, the student erupted in laughter. “He understands that every narrative has to have a problem and a resolution,” he said. “But he thinks the ‘problem’ has to be a MATH problem.”

Mystery solved! We all had a good chuckle.

Then I sat down with Ji-Hun and made up short stories off the top of my head for him to identify the problem. “The little cat is so hungry. She looks everywhere for food, but she can’t find any. Then Miss Sharon gives it some milk. The end.” What’s the problem? Yes, the cat is hungry. What’s the resolution? Yes, Miss Sharon gives it some milk. And so on.

Eventually, the light bulb went off and Ji-Hun revamped his story. In the new version, he and his family are hiking in the aforementioned mountains. He gets distracted and falls behind. Soon he loses them completely and can’t find his way home. He walks and walks, crying out for help. Finally, a friend finds him and points out that his house is only a few meters away. It won’t win any prizes, but at least he gets the idea.

Today’s English lesson: When you write a narrative, math is optional.

Daily Life, Laos

Dancing through a decade – an ode to my shoes

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At the turn of the century, the global panic was all about how our digital world was unprepared for Y2K. Servers were going to crash, all our personal data would be up for grabs, hackers would have a field day. But none of that mattered because I had the most amazing black velvet-patterned platform strappy sandals for the New Year’s Eve party. When you’re wearing smokin’ hot shoes, you can take on the world.

Here’s a shot of 32-year-old me and my sexy date, Tony, in his stylin’ vest at a Y2K party we attended with our friends Kelly and Dale. I still have that dress (black velvet with maribou trim is timeless, people). And those shoes have served me well.

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Here’s a shot of 43-year-old me at our school’s end-of-year party last year. The more things change, the more they stay the same. I know you can’t see the shoe very well, but trust me, it’s stunning.

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Last weekend, I got a call around 5 p.m. from my friend Paula (pictured above, middle). She had two tickets to the Women’s International Group Ball, a swanky affair that raises money to support underprivileged women and children in Laos. The tickets cost $100 each, which explains why none of my teacher friends were attending (unless they were married to non-teacher spouses who earned notably non-teacher salaries). Paula’s husband, Justin (who is a doctor), was sick and couldn’t attend the soiree that evening, so she was going to give Tony and me both her tickets. I knew Tony would rather poke out his eyeballs with the heel of my awesome shoe rather than attend a ball, so I suggested that we go together. “I’ll pick you up at 6:15!” she said.

That gave me about an hour to look fabulous, which of course, was no problem.

And then disaster struck. I rummaged through a closet to find the box containing my gorgeous Chinese Laundry shoes, but when I pulled one out, the whole sole detached from the strappy upper! My only other shoe option was a pair of black Steve Madden stiletto pumps with a big button on the rounded toe, which obviously was too casual for my low-back spaghetti-strap black crepe dress. Super Glue was the only answer.

I glued the hell out of those shoes and then tentatively buckled them on. I had visions of getting wild on the dance floor and having a shoe snap in half, sending me ass over tea kettle. Broken ankles. Exposed panties. Oh Lord, what was I thinking? But seriously, I didn’t have another pair of shoes quite that hot. So I decided to risk it.

I did get a little wild on the dance floor. But just a little. And miraculously, my old Chinese Laundry platforms went the distance. When I got home, I yanked them off in the kitchen and stumbled to bed. In the morning, I prepared to pack them safely away until another rich person needed a date to a ball, but when I grabbed the strap, the whole shoe split in half. It was a sign from God, the end of an era. Sadly, I took them outside and snapped a photo for posterity and then dropped them in the trash with a little prayer of thanks for so many years of loyal service.

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Looks like someone will be doing a little shoe shopping this summer.