Thursday, December 21, 2006
Saturday, December 09, 2006
A Response to the Pessimism/Optimism -- Why Americans Need Therapy.
I've had some interesting conversations regarding a previous blog, entitled "I shun you pessimists", there's not too much writing here, so just scroll down... it's there.
One student/client, in particular, emphasized that the pessimism of the Slovaks isn't really pessimism, it is deemed honesty, caring, real advice. By virtue of the fact that often warnings are safeguarding against the negative future, it seems pessimistic; but, it is actually a reflection of reality. It is the cultural difference that makes it be perceived as pessimism.
Wow. See? Taking off my cultural goggles, I see that this could really be the case. It is true that there are many difficulties accompanying a business license. So, it isn't about pessimism or optimism, it is about encouragement or warning -- an issue of reinforcement or caring.
This is a constant in my business English lessons -- how we communicate differently. Americans hedge, buffer, give good news and bad news using business jargon/double speak to express negative activity. If you don't believe me, try to remember the beginning of your superior subordinate life -- the way your teachers graded your papers, or the way that a superior would say "there is some room for improvement" rather than saying "there are weaknesses". Everything is phrased positively -- this doesn't mean optimistically. "This paper/report is very thought provoking, HOWEVER... The underlying message is the same. We have become wizards at reading between the lines and knowing a compliment when we see it, or a veiled criticism when we see it. This is very hard for someone to grasp from a culture with less context or as a non-native speaker.
I've definitely experienced this in the classroom, when mid-term grades astonished my students. They thought that they were doing well, as in A+ well, because of my constant positive exclamations. Even today, I find it difficult not to compliment first before criticizing. One of my very well known criticisms is: What a very good answer! It is very logical, but wrong. This would never be said in a Slovak classroom. No wrong answer has value. It's wrong and wrong isn't "good" for any reason.
My client suggested in class that it is a result of our superficiality. I'm not so sure. When I compliment a student on their logic, it is a real compliment. He regarded these statements as false, fake, untruths and questioned the idea of whether or not one can get a straight answer from anyone. I thought about this. If anyone can get a straight answer it is from a friend... Experiment: remember the last time you asked if your clothes looked flattering?
Is this why we are a culture of therapy and self-help books? That we've skewed our self-perception to such an extent that we can't admit weakness -- its all room for improvement; it isn't that I'm fat -- it's that my clothes aren't chosen well; it isn't that I'm stupid -- it's that I have a different learning style; it isn't that I've been fired -- I've been redeployed outside the company?
Does our language enable us to avoid facing reality?
Or are we such linguistic technicians that we have the ability to encourage, let down or evade what might be considered blunt, tactless criticism?
hmmmmmmmm...
One student/client, in particular, emphasized that the pessimism of the Slovaks isn't really pessimism, it is deemed honesty, caring, real advice. By virtue of the fact that often warnings are safeguarding against the negative future, it seems pessimistic; but, it is actually a reflection of reality. It is the cultural difference that makes it be perceived as pessimism.
Wow. See? Taking off my cultural goggles, I see that this could really be the case. It is true that there are many difficulties accompanying a business license. So, it isn't about pessimism or optimism, it is about encouragement or warning -- an issue of reinforcement or caring.
This is a constant in my business English lessons -- how we communicate differently. Americans hedge, buffer, give good news and bad news using business jargon/double speak to express negative activity. If you don't believe me, try to remember the beginning of your superior subordinate life -- the way your teachers graded your papers, or the way that a superior would say "there is some room for improvement" rather than saying "there are weaknesses". Everything is phrased positively -- this doesn't mean optimistically. "This paper/report is very thought provoking, HOWEVER... The underlying message is the same. We have become wizards at reading between the lines and knowing a compliment when we see it, or a veiled criticism when we see it. This is very hard for someone to grasp from a culture with less context or as a non-native speaker.
I've definitely experienced this in the classroom, when mid-term grades astonished my students. They thought that they were doing well, as in A+ well, because of my constant positive exclamations. Even today, I find it difficult not to compliment first before criticizing. One of my very well known criticisms is: What a very good answer! It is very logical, but wrong. This would never be said in a Slovak classroom. No wrong answer has value. It's wrong and wrong isn't "good" for any reason.
My client suggested in class that it is a result of our superficiality. I'm not so sure. When I compliment a student on their logic, it is a real compliment. He regarded these statements as false, fake, untruths and questioned the idea of whether or not one can get a straight answer from anyone. I thought about this. If anyone can get a straight answer it is from a friend... Experiment: remember the last time you asked if your clothes looked flattering?
Is this why we are a culture of therapy and self-help books? That we've skewed our self-perception to such an extent that we can't admit weakness -- its all room for improvement; it isn't that I'm fat -- it's that my clothes aren't chosen well; it isn't that I'm stupid -- it's that I have a different learning style; it isn't that I've been fired -- I've been redeployed outside the company?
Does our language enable us to avoid facing reality?
Or are we such linguistic technicians that we have the ability to encourage, let down or evade what might be considered blunt, tactless criticism?
hmmmmmmmm...
The Pillars of Hercules
I am just finishing a book entitled, The Pillars of Hercules by Paul Theroux. It is a true story of his journey through the Mediterranean in 1994. Thanks to Bennett Witt for the book.
As a public transportation user in Bratislava, I find that it is abundantly important to find some sort of escapism in reading. It is my belief that there are many ways in which we waste time during the day -- watching tv, sleeping, gazing out the window -- but if we are reading, learning, exploring the thoughts of someone or ourselves for that matter, it is no longer a commute to or through town, it is an adventure and a mind-opening experience. Of course, sometimes it is also the most beneficial to simply observe the people around you. They are the real Slovakia -- or insert your town name, and to pay attention to the stories they admit on their faces.
Anyway, back to the book. I teach all over town, sometimes even going outside of the town center into the territories known as the druhy pasmo (second zone), a veritable belt of panalaky (apartment buildings) in various conditions and village suburbs still touched by BA public transport -- the venerable MHD. This means that I spend hours on buses and trams daily. I counted last Wednesday, a busy day with lots of lessons, and I was on 7 different buses in one day.
And I read.
And I read.
And I read some more.
A particular part of this particular book brought me into a pensive mood, which, by the way, I like. The writer/traveler, Mr.Theroux, boards a boat in Italy that disembarks in Durres, Albania. He descibes a melee of begging and desparation upon leaving the ship. I had this in my head as I put my book under my arm and walked to school. I have never known this hardship. I have never been hungry, in wont of food/clothes/shelter, I have never been desperate. My hardships are related to energy and trying to prepare for lessons. This is so very trivial in the end. Imagine:
-- They fastened themselves to me, pleading. I could not brush them aside -- they were truly ruined. They looked hysterical, they were poor, ravaged, bumpy faced with pox scars -- mothers with children, blind men with boys, old hctoring crones, all of them plucking at me. 'Give me theeese!' (p. 259)
-- That vandalism was the salient aspect of Albania that I notices so far; that it was not merely poor -- I had seen poor countries and deprived people elsewhere -- it was brutalized, as though a nasty-minded army had swept through, kicking it to bits. It was not the poverty of neglect or penury... This was not melancholic, it was shocking. And this was violent. (p.263)
I tell my university students, "Don't float quotes". You have to introduce them, close them, make them your argument. I let this one float. I have no other words to weave it to my own, because I don't know this scene. I am not present. I am the priveledged representative reader, who has never had to "be" there.
I don't wish for this desperation. I don't want pain to make me stronger. I don't want to experience lows so that I can be happy with my high-points. I am happy in what some would consider my gluttony; but, I want a place to put this vast feeling of gratitude. Those who believe in a higher power, perhaps say thanks to it/him/she/them. But, I find this inadequate.
Perhaps the message here is didactic and I'm afraid that I am not one to talk. But, I feel we must walk with eyes open, read and learn of other's experiences. For they make us recognize our own graces. Find compassion. It doesn't matter if you find it in Biblical prose, a folk tale, or a modern travel log. Find it and spread it.
As a public transportation user in Bratislava, I find that it is abundantly important to find some sort of escapism in reading. It is my belief that there are many ways in which we waste time during the day -- watching tv, sleeping, gazing out the window -- but if we are reading, learning, exploring the thoughts of someone or ourselves for that matter, it is no longer a commute to or through town, it is an adventure and a mind-opening experience. Of course, sometimes it is also the most beneficial to simply observe the people around you. They are the real Slovakia -- or insert your town name, and to pay attention to the stories they admit on their faces.
Anyway, back to the book. I teach all over town, sometimes even going outside of the town center into the territories known as the druhy pasmo (second zone), a veritable belt of panalaky (apartment buildings) in various conditions and village suburbs still touched by BA public transport -- the venerable MHD. This means that I spend hours on buses and trams daily. I counted last Wednesday, a busy day with lots of lessons, and I was on 7 different buses in one day.
And I read.
And I read.
And I read some more.
A particular part of this particular book brought me into a pensive mood, which, by the way, I like. The writer/traveler, Mr.Theroux, boards a boat in Italy that disembarks in Durres, Albania. He descibes a melee of begging and desparation upon leaving the ship. I had this in my head as I put my book under my arm and walked to school. I have never known this hardship. I have never been hungry, in wont of food/clothes/shelter, I have never been desperate. My hardships are related to energy and trying to prepare for lessons. This is so very trivial in the end. Imagine:
-- They fastened themselves to me, pleading. I could not brush them aside -- they were truly ruined. They looked hysterical, they were poor, ravaged, bumpy faced with pox scars -- mothers with children, blind men with boys, old hctoring crones, all of them plucking at me. 'Give me theeese!' (p. 259)
-- That vandalism was the salient aspect of Albania that I notices so far; that it was not merely poor -- I had seen poor countries and deprived people elsewhere -- it was brutalized, as though a nasty-minded army had swept through, kicking it to bits. It was not the poverty of neglect or penury... This was not melancholic, it was shocking. And this was violent. (p.263)
I tell my university students, "Don't float quotes". You have to introduce them, close them, make them your argument. I let this one float. I have no other words to weave it to my own, because I don't know this scene. I am not present. I am the priveledged representative reader, who has never had to "be" there.
I don't wish for this desperation. I don't want pain to make me stronger. I don't want to experience lows so that I can be happy with my high-points. I am happy in what some would consider my gluttony; but, I want a place to put this vast feeling of gratitude. Those who believe in a higher power, perhaps say thanks to it/him/she/them. But, I find this inadequate.
Perhaps the message here is didactic and I'm afraid that I am not one to talk. But, I feel we must walk with eyes open, read and learn of other's experiences. For they make us recognize our own graces. Find compassion. It doesn't matter if you find it in Biblical prose, a folk tale, or a modern travel log. Find it and spread it.
Friday, December 01, 2006
Teaching Children
I have found myself in the midst of the weekly stuggle to teach 4 children. And not just any children, but 4 siblings of odd ages (11, 9, 7, and the youngest 5). There is an old saying that children say the oddest things and in fact it is true. Somehow I feel that these things come out often during English lessons. Here is an example from this week:
Samo (age 11): I want to go to Harvard. Why is Harvard so expensive?
Me: Because it can be.
Samo: Oh. (pause) No really?
Me: Because the teachers who write the books, teach the classes.
Samo: Oh.
Same day -- different activity.
Samo: What is volunteering? (questioning a vocabulary word)
Me: It is when you work for a good cause, for free. You give them your time.
Samo: That's stupid. Why would anyone work for free?
Me: Because it is a good thing to do.
Samo: No, it is dumb to work for free.
Me: You need to volunteer and put it on your application to get into Harvard.
Samo: Oh.
Meanwhile, Kubo, age 9, has drawn an entire set of cars and weaponry on his worksheets, waiting patiently for me to give him my undivided attention.
The next day, I travel to their school where I teach one hour with the girls (age 7 and 5) and then one hour with Kubo again.
I arrive. Place my stuff in the classroom that we use. I take a super deep breath and go to Ema's kindergarten classroom to collect her for our lesson. I go there first because her teacher is the only nice person in the whole building as far as I can tell.
Ema sees me and smiles a big excited smile and then proceeds to hide from me around every corner. Her hiding is not so much hiding, but rather a duck and cover sort of half-game. I am not offended, I know that she likes English.
Then Ema and I go to collect her older sister. This trip up the stairs could take hours if I let it, because there are so many things to talk about. I knock lightly, peek my head in the door, the teacher gives me an "oh it's you again look" and tells Daniela, "Máš Angličtinu". Daniela dances to the door the other children stare in awe as she is singled out.
Class with the girls is a three-ring-circus. I give them mints to make them happy. They think they are candy -- can something that is sugar-free be candy? Daniela is sharp as nails, at age 7 she is reading in English and can write anything you tell her to. Her sister, again age 5, wants to go slow and color. It is hard to manage these two levels at the same time.
The last lesson Ema thought it would be funny to answer every one of my questions with the word "kovačik", after which she would burst out laughing and then hide under the table. Daniela wants my attention and screams at the top of her lungs, "Emma!!!", which Ema thinks is her name, because officially I am Miss Emily to her.
There lesson ends when their brother, Kubo, saunters in and tries to shoo them out. Ema cries and Daniela whines, while Kubo pushes them both out the door. I keep my cool and become more and more calm in the face of this chaos... I only wonder what those outside the door think.
Samo (age 11): I want to go to Harvard. Why is Harvard so expensive?
Me: Because it can be.
Samo: Oh. (pause) No really?
Me: Because the teachers who write the books, teach the classes.
Samo: Oh.
Same day -- different activity.
Samo: What is volunteering? (questioning a vocabulary word)
Me: It is when you work for a good cause, for free. You give them your time.
Samo: That's stupid. Why would anyone work for free?
Me: Because it is a good thing to do.
Samo: No, it is dumb to work for free.
Me: You need to volunteer and put it on your application to get into Harvard.
Samo: Oh.
Meanwhile, Kubo, age 9, has drawn an entire set of cars and weaponry on his worksheets, waiting patiently for me to give him my undivided attention.
The next day, I travel to their school where I teach one hour with the girls (age 7 and 5) and then one hour with Kubo again.
I arrive. Place my stuff in the classroom that we use. I take a super deep breath and go to Ema's kindergarten classroom to collect her for our lesson. I go there first because her teacher is the only nice person in the whole building as far as I can tell.
Ema sees me and smiles a big excited smile and then proceeds to hide from me around every corner. Her hiding is not so much hiding, but rather a duck and cover sort of half-game. I am not offended, I know that she likes English.
Then Ema and I go to collect her older sister. This trip up the stairs could take hours if I let it, because there are so many things to talk about. I knock lightly, peek my head in the door, the teacher gives me an "oh it's you again look" and tells Daniela, "Máš Angličtinu". Daniela dances to the door the other children stare in awe as she is singled out.
Class with the girls is a three-ring-circus. I give them mints to make them happy. They think they are candy -- can something that is sugar-free be candy? Daniela is sharp as nails, at age 7 she is reading in English and can write anything you tell her to. Her sister, again age 5, wants to go slow and color. It is hard to manage these two levels at the same time.
The last lesson Ema thought it would be funny to answer every one of my questions with the word "kovačik", after which she would burst out laughing and then hide under the table. Daniela wants my attention and screams at the top of her lungs, "Emma!!!", which Ema thinks is her name, because officially I am Miss Emily to her.
There lesson ends when their brother, Kubo, saunters in and tries to shoo them out. Ema cries and Daniela whines, while Kubo pushes them both out the door. I keep my cool and become more and more calm in the face of this chaos... I only wonder what those outside the door think.
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