Teaching

Teaching is easy and fun here. I’ve got 5 classes of about 38 students each, teaching Oral English and Writing. Four of my classes are for English majors, women for the most part who want to be interpreters. The students are funny, and the most challenging comment I’ve gotten so far was a request that I talk about American cosmetics more. Then again, these are college kids, not 12-year-old New Yorkers.

I made the whole class hold their breath for 30 seconds today, when the topic of SCUBA diving came up. I’m not sure what my teaching objective was at that moment, but it was fun, and I think I’m doing a good job, evidenced by the fact that more and more students are showing up to my classes. I have them repeat phrases after me many times, and then I slip in a sneeze, to test whether they can temporarily adopt the Western “bless you” custom. I fake-sneezed loudly when there were only two people left holding their breath and then called the two of them “rude” when they didn’t say “bless you.” Easy to make the class laugh here. My students in East Harlem would have rolled their eyes and called me corny.
Yesterday, students acted out a commercial they’d written, in which a husband is cheating on his wife, until she buys a whitening cream to make her look younger, and then the husband stops taking the other woman’s calls. It’s not easy to explain why you can’t just say, “Suffered pressure from her family from many years, she left.” Participles are harder than having everyone hold their breath, but I tackled it. One kid, Fay, complained when I grew back my beard, just as my students in New York had when I shaved off a goatee. Students don’t like change.



Monday in my writing class, I had them warm up by journal-writing about their weekend, and a student named Jeff wrote that because I had talked about the fear surrounding Friday the 13th, (to share some American culture with them), he had stayed in his dorm room all day Friday, which was the 13th. I felt bad about scaring him until I read another student named Charlotte’s in the same row, who wrote that a man had come to her apartment building on Friday with a bottle of gas, to burn it down, and when a family on the 1st floor tried to stop him, he killed three of them. When she finished reading hers to the class, I raised my eyebrows, and said, “Told you.”

Today I made two students, who were being lazy and speaking Chinese in class, get up and sing a song in front of everybody, a mild but effective deterrent.

My hands were covered in chalk from writing scenarios on the board explaining why “I got stolen” and “Could you borrow me some money” are not correct. I had them stand and practice the expression, “Would you mind...” Lanny, with his spiky hair and flashy cream sport coat--since the weather had gotten cooler-- thankfully volunteered. He asked his friend with the delicate voice and red flannel shirt, “Jackie Su, would you mind asking Sarah to dance?” The class laughed, loving embarrassment. Sarah stood. Jackie Su said to Lanny, “I need music. Would you mind singing?” The class laughed.
Lanny called his bluff, and began clapping a simple beat. Jackie walked over to the tall, poised, and smiling Sarah, who said she would be willing to dance but, “I haven’t prepared anything.”
Jackie Su, the flannelled gentleman, said, “Perhaps I should give you some time to prepare?” Lanny shook his head in disappointment. Had Mr. Du enabled some matchmaking today? Jackie was one of three obviously gay boys in that class, though the boys joked about gay people like they had no idea they were surrounded; I told them I didn't allow that joking because I had gay family members, which works much better than lamely saying it's wrong. It's part of the theater of teaching. For instance, my mom points out it's classist to make fun of mullets, but I'm going to continue to do so, unless I know I'm offending someone in the room at that moment. Anyway in his almost-dance with Sarah, Jackie Su may have just been an innocent proxy for rich-kid Lanny, late to class every day, with his white Puma sneakers and green Adidas shoulder bag. “Perpetrating” is what NYC students called that mixing of name brands back in 2001, when I last knew such things.



(That's the way you hide a trash can)

My cab driver had no front teeth and drove against oncoming traffic half the time to get me there quickly, which I appreciated. Tango lessons tonight with Erika, my Argentinian lawyer gal who would be leaving in a month. I am better when I am dating, though I still felt close to my ex. Would I ever feel comfortable dating someone who didn't have an expiration date?

After a big dinner of fantastic little mushrooms and pork, Erika told me that taking a doggie bag from a restaurant in Argentina is impolite. I got defensive cause she’d pushed my “cheap” button, and told her the Chinese believed it was offensive to waste food, and I felt the same. I told her it was like saying “I’m so rich, I can throw this fresh delicious food away.” Culture could be annoying. People are different enough from each other, without introducing different languages and beliefs.
I wouldn’t shed a tear if we all spoke the same language across this little neighborhood of a planet. I don’t meant to sound German, but all this variety is not quaint; it’s inefficient. And it makes you feel cheap. Still, I was considerably more pro- the idea of culture later, when Erika and I got the free tango lesson from her Argentinian singer friend. It would be unfortunate if we were stuck with just the waltz or techno to dance to. Who comes to China to learn tango?

That night, I dreamt I had eaten a leather wallet and gloves, and asked my friends Jeff and Jonathan if that were bad for me. They said no. I woke up without my mouthguard in, that protects me from grinding my teeth into chewy pulp, and which Erika said made me look like a "Boxeador". It did make me talk like Rocky. I threw in the towel on the idea of dating her for her last month in China, but pledged to remain her dance partner. I just didn't want to, and it felt good to tell her, nicely.

(May I always eat the parsley garnish, wherever life takes me)

On my way back from a lively class in which yes, I talked about American cosmetics, the doorman gave me a care package from a good old friend at home--a glorious box filled with Triscuits and Cheez-its. My parents told me another was on the way. Having Swedish fish in my cabinet made me feel whole. My saliva achieved that sublime consistency that only 40 Cheez-its can achieve, after a good full day of public speaking, and a night of telling the truth.