patience is a virtue. i don't have it so much.

Such a frustrating day. Carmen and Suzanne, Georgia Middle School teachers and Hartwell friends, had both contacted me about doing things with their students. As has Giselle from Cobb County and Amy Eaves in Hartwell (I have not forgotten). Carmen and Suzanne and I finally got something together. We decided that my students would write to their students. A visitor is here from America and is leaving tomorrow. I have sent the letters with him. Suzanne’s students will email me and Carmen’s are going to send PowerPoint presentations about themselves! So I had the task of having my students put pen to paper and to actually write a letter. Something I don’t think any of them had ever done before. I don’t even think any of them had even ever seen a letter before. I am forever just blown away about the things about which they have not a clue. Yet they have endured so much. They’ve seen death and hunger and poverty, but not a letter. I am telling you all of this to vent my frustrations with myself and teaching skills, not with them. 

I began the lesson by asking them what questions they would have for another student from America, if they were here with us. I get blank stares. I ask in Portuguese and I call on someone. He answers, “My name is Anselmo”. Great start. Ok. Next? No one. I call on someone. No answer. They stare at the blank chalk board. I say for the millionth time this week, “How ‘bout” and I add” ‘I have __brothers and __ sisters.’” They nod. “What else?” I ask in English, then Portuguese. Stares. And these are my intermediate and advanced level students. After 15 minutes I give up. I write out the entire letter myself, leaving blanks for them to fill in about themselves. They copy the entire letter complete with the blanks. One of my most prized students even signed his letter with MY name as I had done in the example on the board. Oh my. I go around to each student and help them fill in the blanks. I had gone over every word, giving them the vocabulary in their own language and still they remained confused. I did give them some tough questions about what they dream about and what they fear. Many left those blank. They take the meaning of dreams literally. Many fear cholera and malaria and AIDS. Nothing that our kids in America do. 

After those letters I was so utterly disappointed. I thought we were making huge strides. But I have to remember that this culture doesn’t really write. Their heart language is not really a written one. This culture doesn’t read thick novels at the breakfast table. Their daddy’s didn’t take them to the library before dinner and carry them on their shoulders. He didn’t tuck them in and recite Greek Mythology. I have compete sympathy for them but I don’t know where to begin. 

In the afternoon class I taught the beginner class. Half of them could not read. They won’t tell me that but I can tell. They stare at the board or look at what they’ve copied but I can tell that they cannot read it. How in the world can I teach a third language to a child who cannot read? I learned to “speak” Portuguese based on reading and building sentences from learning verbs. All written. All charts of conjugated verbs. Flash cards. I can’t just hear it and know it, I have to see it written down. Say it 100 times. Use it in a sentence another 100 and then maybe I can get it. So my empathy for foreign language is real. And I know they learn orally. But how to teach it orally is beyond me. I began teaching the beginner class the way I have been for a year now. But these are all new faces. I got blank stares. I get the occasional know-it-all, who completely messes everything up and I have to silence him. Adele starts to do vocabulary with the intermediate group and pulls out the dictionaries. We only have 6 of them. I wave my students over there to look. 6 students or more all around 1 picture dictionary. I have a teachers guide that is only in English. I am following along. Felismina is sitting alone beside me. A nonreader. I cannot even begin to tell you about her life and the things I know. I will save her story for when I see you. It’s horrible. I love her smile. She sits so close. I open the book and it is showing me pictures of large and small, soft and hard, big and little.. A hand, a chair, a book. I speak each word and she repeats. I go over and over and over 3 nouns. Hand, Book, Chair. Hand. Book.  Chair. “an”. “bookee”. “shurrr”. “an”. “buukee”. “shaarrr”. Oh my. Confident that my pronunciation of m˜ao, livro and cadeira is way off, I understand. But I don’t know how I can ever get her to grasp it all. Daily my patience is tried just by living here, but throw in teaching English as a Second Language and I am drowning in it.

Every time I am reminded about the time Catherine, my gorgeous niece at about age 10 was spending the night with me. We were lying in bed in the dark talking about life. I summarized our musings with “We all have our strengths and weaknesses”. Trying to encourage her not to compare herself to others. She replies with, “Yea, like everybody knows you’re not patient”. I stifled a laugh. Everybody? Really? 

So as I sat on that narrow wooden bench today, looking into those precious big brown eyes, reciting, “hand. book. chair”. I kept thinking, “I am patient. I am patient. I am patient. I am flippin’ patient, dangit”. And then I laugh. And she does too. And we hug. And I sweat. And I come home and read a fat paperback at the dinner table and eat cold cucumbers and I thank God that I had time with Felismina today, that I get to encourage her and celebrate those moments when I wave my fingers and she exclaims, “Fingerershes”. So glad she was with me this day and I call her friend. 

But Lord I need some revelation and yes, a little more patience. 

So Suzanne and Carmen, I hope your students enjoy our letters. “We are looking forward to hearing from you”. I was asked 56 times today what this means and 56 times I explained it. Help me, Jesus. 

XO