It’s in their hands now

I don’t teach children. I don’t have children and don’t play with them either. I know that’s a clear indictment of being a brutishly cold human, but that’s really the way it is.

I can’t even remember how it happened. I have an informal contract now with the provincial government to improve English education at the elementary school level. People don’t even now if that’s 1,200 schools or a few hundred more. How do you count? How do you define “school”? Some schools are building with no students. Some have students with no teachers.

I’ve already visited a half-dozen elementary schools and could easily use up all the memory on my camera. Trainers are doing the sign language now so I have a chance to video the children. Children are high maintenance when they’re unhappy, but when they’re happy, they are undeniably delightful. Sign language makes them happy. And they’re speaking English too.

I’m trying to think how this all happened so quickly. I just finished a 4-day training for 30 elementary school teachers using sign language. The four assistant trainers assigned to me switched from being sceptics to advocates within days. We’re planning on introducing it to the high schools and training college. I’ll have a workshop in Vientiane and they say they’ll set up workshops for any province that catches word and asks for help.

We can all easily choke to death on teaching methodology and second language learning theory.  We can drown ourselves in our own drool in curriculum planning meetings and I won’t add comments about TESOL conventions. With sign language, you don’t even need to explain. Just show them. Let the children show them.

I watched how children worked their magic on the trainers. The teachers come from old school thinking and should have been the last people to be convinced, but once with the children, they were moving around the room helping children make proper bunny ears. The teachers who had come to train were impressed, but their big day came when they tried it themselves in the classrooms. The came back to the workshop thrilled by the experience.

Now, please imagine. You’re a singer, but have gotten only tepid applause at the best. Most are looking at their watches. No, suddenly you’re a rock star. Your audience is literally waving their hands at you and screaming at every chance.

That’s what’s happening with the teachers. They’re thrilled to see every single child in their class looking at them with big eyes of anticipation. They’re thrilled when they teach 20 new words and by the end of twenty minutes, the children can remember them all. They must feel pretty good about themselves.

The workshop went well, but I wanted to reach the final mile on the last day. Some teachers still felt that being a teacher meant holding a stick. Finally, one grandma-like teacher who showed the delight of an 8 year old from the first day came to the front of the room. I couldn’t understand what she was saying, but someone told me she was basically saying, “Take that stick out of your ass. Wiggle your butt, make bunny ears. For chrissakes, these are children!”

Note: I’m not a brutishly cold human as I find these children unbearably delightful.