Counting On My Fingers

September 23, 2008

The national exam for the 7th graders is coming up, it’s worth 50% of their final grade and the principal told me that if their scores don’t meet the projected targets there may be something wrong going on in my class. But wait, all the burden cannot fall on me. There were many teachers for many years before me who may have “covered” the syllabus but did not stop to consider whether or not the learners had absorbed it. Now you want to pin all of your hopes on me because I’m supposed to be the American miracle worker? I’m doing my best but this world still does not make sense to me. The things that have gotten through to them are odd little phrases that pop up in essays or words that have been memorized and astound me when coming out of their mouths.
Still in this 3rd term I thought they’d have learned more. I’m giving my life here so I’m trying to make it count. I’ve been measuring success in grades because that seems to be what everyone else is counting. Though the way things are moving, that isn’t going to be enough. I also have to count that my host mom now eats more vegetables and loves spinach. I have to count that instead of saying “give me”, children have begun to ask “may I”. As they say, sometimes it’s just our being here that helps.