Chuseok!

So this weekend is Chuseok. Harvest festival. Korean Thanksgiving. What ever you want to call it, we have off until Wednesday the 30th. That's five days if you count the few precious hours left to us after work on Friday (and I do count them -- every second). I'll be celebrating the reap-time by visiting Ullueng, an island in the East Sea (or Sea of Japan depending on your politics).

Assuming I don't get eaten by a dinosaur, I should have a lot more to say about this place when I get back. 

But all of that is still 8 hours away (!!!!!!) and in the meantime, as we count down the hours, minutes, seconds until

Chuseok in the teacher's workroom this Friday in the Republic of Korea, let me tell you a few stories.

Today, being the kid's last day in school before the Chuseok break, all of our students are decked out in hanboks (those sweet, colorful robes). It's pretty adorable. I feel like all these Korean kids have a keen awareness of how cute they are. You can tell by the way they take pictures. Very practiced.

After class, we took a group of them in to the library to make Songpyeon (a traditional Chuseok rice cake/bean treat). I'm not the biggest fan of rice cakes, but the kids love them, and they seemed to be having a good time. With a little luck and a few well placed stiff arms, I was able to dodge the hands'd up songpyeon the kids were offering. Sorry, kids.

Boystown

Gift giving is big here. Victoria (one of the Swans) gave me a huge box this morning when I came into the room. Inside were around nine packages of crackers, which was a TON of crackers. I don't think there was a racial pun intended. Later in the day, one of my homework class (like study hall) students gave me a wrapped present. No idea what it is, but I'm pumped!

Victoria making (wearing) songpyeon

I haven't said much about the past two weekends that Maria and I have spent in Seoul, which is a shame because they've been pretty sweet. I wouldn't feel good leaving the past two weeks unsaid, and next week I know I'll be preoccupied with whatever new species of pirate I discover on the aforementioned volcanic island.

Let's start with Karaoke.

That should clear up most of the details. Putting that diagram together also cleared out about an hour of my time.

We found ourselves at Karaoke under pretty much the same circumstances as in the states. Maria, Lauren, Andrew, Daniel and I went to an "American buffet" (there were tacos, so I guess that earns them the title. Tacos are pretty rare here) a couple weeks ago on a Friday, and went looking for trouble afterwards. As the diagram shows, Korean karaoke is pretty different than the way it goes down back home. There's no bar. You go to a special karaoke business (I think it's called a nor-ay-bong, but don't quote me), and they give you a private room (with bottle service or food if you pay for it).

I had heard about this before coming over, and was initially pretty apprehensive. I'm one of those who like karaoke. I don't even need the liquid-confidence runway that a lot of other folks seem to want. Not because I have a great voice, mind you. I just like singing on stage. If you don't have a performing art to your name, karaoke is one of the few times you might find yourself on a stage in front of people (some of who are even singing along!). I dig it. So when I heard that there were no crowds of strangers waiting to stamp their feet along to "Friends in Low Places" (the part of the atmosphere that I like the best), I was concerned it might be a little weird. And the idea of it does sound weird. You and four friends sitting in a dark room the size of a large closet with a flatscreen rolling lyrics while the in-wall speakers blare out Queen. But it's cool. A lot like road-trip singing, I would say.

Then last weekend, Maria and I hunted down a dog cafe that we'd been reading about for some time. It was either that or the Seoul Kimchi Museum. I love kimchi, but I'm pretty sure we made the right call. And yeah, you read that right. Dog cafe. A cafe where you can drink coffee, while being surrounded by 20-30 dogs. In Charlotte there are a lot of "dog-friendly" places -- restaurants and bars and cafes. I thought this was really cool when I moved there. "Take your dog to the cafe with you! What a great idea!" This is on a whole nother level.

The Malamute

You go to the cafe (called Bau House), buy a coffee (it's a rule that you buy something to stay longer than five minutes), and then drink it/hang out in a room packed with dogs. All kinds of dogs. Big dogs, medium sized dogs (there's another room for small breeds, but who cares). There were two Alaskan Malamutes there that were E-NOR-MOUS!







There were dogs lying on couches next to cafe patrons, dogs chasing other dogs around, dogs lying on table tops trying to steal licks from your coffee. I loved it. We spent most of the time hanging out with a German Shepard named something Korean. "The Biter", I called him. The café sells treats that you can give the dogs, and when someone buys a bag all the dogs flock to them. Of course, we bought a few bags to feed our favorites. The German Shepard had a habit of taking semi-serious nips at your butt/chest/leg/head if he felt like you weren’t giving him his due. One of the big Malamute dogs was about 13-years-old, and looked to have had a stroke at some point. He seemed like he was enjoying his golden years though. Guy looked like a dire wolf. You couldn’t help but stare.

Malamute Dramatization (sort of)

You don’t really see a lot of big dogs in Seoul, and so I feel like for many of the Koreans who come to Bau House (and I’m assuming here), it’s a real novelty to be around so many. Heck, I love big dogs and it was a novelty for me. We left after a few hours, covered in hair and slobber, happy as could be. The Bau House is around one of the many universities, so the area was pretty awesome. Lots of art. Lots of shops. Colorful.

Biter

Our Saturdays we always try to get out and explore someplace. Even on the slow weekends when we stay in town there’s a lot to do. We’ve still got a good many places in Seoul to check out. Temples, museums, parks, all of which are just a subway ride away.

I hope it doesn’t reflect too much in this post, but pretty much all I can think about right now is getting out to Ulleung. This week has been pretty killer at work, what with the grind to break and end of the month testing going on. I had a parent call in to tell the administrator that my class was "using too many games for a private academy," which I guess, in her estimation, is supposed to be as drudgerous as it sounds for our kids. Can't please them all. 

Looking forward to some R and R, and seeing that thin blue line over the Pacific.

Still don't know what he wanted...

Spicy Booty Chicks

It's actually Budae Jjigae, or "Budy Jigs" for short. Military Soup in English. All the same, when Daniel asked across the office if we wanted to pick up (what sounded a lot like) "Booty Chicks" after work, I didn't say no.

"It's like your college ramen grew up and got its life together."

Mmmmmmm.

No joke. This stuff was everything you wanted your college ramen to be, you just didn't know it. And being as most of my college ramen experiences were spent gnawing on squares of plain, dry noodles over the kitchen trashcan -- it was a definite upgrade.

I'm told that Budy Jigs is the product of the Korean war, when (mostly US) soldiers where trying to feed a lot of guys with whatever was on hand. Daniel has told me stories of soldiers going to to villages, picking up "whatever was red" and mixing it with their K-rations in water. The Koreans saw what they were doing, and thought it wise to perfect the dish and sell it. What you wind up with is pretty interesting.

Hot dogs, SPAM, bean sprouts, potato noodles, onions, pork dumplings, tofu, and a handful of other small veggies swim in a light, milky white starch broth made stain-your-shirt-forever red by chili sauce. You simmer all that over a burner on your table for a few minutes before you add the ramen. Stir. Then ladle the soup (I guess we'll call it soup) into bowls with rice in the bottom of them. It's hard for me to judge how that sounds to you, but I can tell you that the end result is filling and delicious. And cheap! For three of us to eat our fill it cost maybe $6 USD a person. The rice and ramen were free so when you finish one bowl you just re-up on rice and ladle out seconds -- family style. 

This place is right across the street from my apartment. I could literally hit it, along with a bakery, grocery store, and 10 other restaurants with a rock (or rocks). Growing up a 20 minute drive from town, this is a world apart. Some parts of city living still don't really appeal to me, but being able to walk to places like this is definitely awesome. 

And if I haven't made this clear enough already, I'm loving Korean food. It's cheap, filling, flavorful -- I'm all about it. Going to start fermenting Kimchi in the toilet cistern -- a la Korean prison (presumably). 

Hi, Moms!

"Are you nervous?" The head teacher asked me yesterday.

"No way!"

"It's a really big deal, so we all have to be perfect."

"It'll be great!"(my best winning smile, what my grandmother would call a "shit-eating-grin")

"I'm really nervous."

"Hm."


PTC's. Parent Teacher Conferences. In the states that might mean that Little Johnny's mother is coming in to talk about a low test or a behavior issue. I had one in Charlotte after I caught a kid crushing a half-eaten Tootsie-Pop into the cover of his textbook. That one went well. He didn't have to lick it off the book's spine like I (psychically) suggested, but I was able to explain the situation to the parent. By the end of the meeting she was on my side of the table and asking me what "corrective action" might be appropriate (5 page essay).

Lolz

At Korea's Center for Talented Youth (KCTY), a PTC is very different. I think P/BSDSTI/SDS might be a more appropriate acronym, because what happened today was less like what I experienced in Charlotte, a Parent Teacher Conference, and more like a Parents/Boss Stare-Down and Subsequent Teacher Interrogation/Speed-Dating Session. See, P/BSDSTI/SDS isn't such a mouthful when you see the long version.

And it's a good thing I wasn't nervous, because I would have found myself in a smoking kill-zone if things had gone south.

I hope you caught the "s" in Parents, because I want to be clear that all of them were there. All of the moms anyway. That's right, all the moms in Korea. And my school director (which sounds decidedly more intense than principal).

The PTC comes in two stages and the first is a parent observation of our class in session. Luckily, I only have one of these things and it's for my kindergarten reading class.

So the scene is this: My ten kindergartners (the Swans), their ten mothers, my school director, and I are crammed into my tiny classroom. Then I teach my lesson while the parents and my boss watch. The teachers reading this probably won't think much of all that. It's weird to have outsiders in your classroom, and it can make the tenuous order you've worked the past few months to create a little wonky, but most teachers get observed all the time -- especially rookie teachers. I've been observed countless times over the past two years in Charlotte by admins, peers and parents all, although I will admit that I've never had quite this many eyeballs on my lesson at once, or so close together.

The kids know the drill. I had a few minutes to go over my schedule with them. Even had time to write an agenda on the board with a timetable. It was a real locker-room pep talk moment. And really, our goals are pretty much the same. I want to look competent. They want to look competent. For me, that means having a sense of showmanship and control throughout a well-planned lesson that's fun and that the kid's respond to -- showing that the classroom I'm running is one that is facilitating growth and excitement. The moms are looking for all that, don't forget: these are paying customers. I've been told many times that Bundang is the second wealthiest region in Korea, and that these are demanding, educated, wealthy folk. For the kids, competent means not being surprised or overexcited by the lesson and acting the fool in front of mom. So I wrote the agenda for both of us, and went over it twice.

Part one went well. It was a lot like putting on a play. The kids are great -- that helped a lot. They were weird, but pretty calm when they needed to be. The second half of my lesson was a game, and they were equal parts cute and adept, which is what photo snapping moms in the back of the room wanted to see.

Part two was a little more difficult.

Next the moms, some who spoke English and many who did not, came in to have more traditional conferences. All of them. Back to back to ten. With only ten kids, and having taught the class for two months or so now, it wasn't hard to give the details that they asked for, or even suggest improvement plans. A Korean teacher at the school translated during the conferences. It was pretty intense having all the meetings in row (it took around two hours to get through them all), and I know I've been playing all this up, but it wasn't bad. Truthfully, it was really nice to get to know the kids' moms.

I've heard a lot about the parents in Korea, or more specifically the moms. And that's how they (the powers that be at my school) refer to them: "the moms". "The moms" will want to see this. "The moms" have asked about this homework assignment. Before coming over I read blogs about "the moms" screaming spit-fly into English teachers' faces. My moms were nothing like that. They were all reasonable, concerned parents. Cool folk. Now given, I gave a good lesson, the kids behaved well and seem to like me, this is the first time the parents have met me, and I had nothing but good things to say about their kids. Maybe I just got lucky. Maybe they'll turn on me. Maybe I'll get another class, and have the observation from hell one day, but as for today, it went well.

Of course at KCTY every day is an observation.

Still getting used to that

Working at a private academy, and in consumer-education in general, continues to be an eye-opening experience and there are a lot of differences between this and public ed (obviously), but the parents are the same. They want the best. These folks may be able to pay a little more for the best than some of my parents in Charlotte, but the motivation is the same.

A Day at the Beach

"An-young-ha-say-oh, Two tickets for the Gang-nee-young bus departing at eight, please." I asked the woman behind the counter and glass of the inter-city bus terminal, holding up first two fingers, then eight.

"Gangnueng? Two tickets?" She replied, putting emphasis on my mangling of the town name.

"Please."

"Something-something-in-fast-Korean"

"Yes. Nay (means yes in Korean, I think)." Please take my money. She reaches out for my card, and swipes it for two "excellent" class tickets to the east-coast beach town (a little more expensive than the "normal" class tickets I had intended to buy, but they would do).

And that was how our day began.

We had been meaning to go to a beach while the weather was warm, and it has been warm. August was a sweltering soup, though just recently it's been cooler, and drafty. Almost like October in Georgia. Worried we were missing our window, we made for the coast and the beach town of Gangnueng, packed for a day in the sun.

I went in trunks and a tee (Maria had the good sense to travel in a long-sleeved shirt), and we each packed dry clothes along with an old duvet cover turned beach blanket, and sliced apples for "snack.'' Not for a snack, but for "snack". I got a kick out of that. Maria taught K-8 before coming over, so "snack" is more or less one of the square meals for her. You know, breakfast, lunch, snack and dinner.

We were up around 6 AM that morning, and it took us just a few subway trains to reach the bus station we needed. I've said it before, but the public transit here is just awesome. So easy. Having never lived in a big city, it's super cool to me to not have a car and still be able to get wherever I need to go, and with ease. I think I understand a little better all the griping I've heard about MARTA now from my enlightened, worldly Atlanta friends.

When the bus came, we found our "excellent" seats in the back of the Greyhound style transport. They were nice. The views on the way to the beach were nicer. Korea is a very mountainous country. Mountainous and green. We kept looking out at the misty rises and slopes and thinking of the Blue Ridge Parkway and the Smokies, but there's a lusher, greener quality to these mountains. For one, they're mostly covered in pines. Literally, the Korean Pine.

Pinus koraiensis

The beach was on the other side of the country. On the eastern coast. We'd read that the beaches to the south (by Busan) and the east were much nicer than those on the western side of the country (closer to us). I was excited for the long ride, as I've really been itching to get out of the city and see more of the country. Seoul is wonderful, and wholly Korean, but I'm very interested to see how the rest of Korea lives and looks. We got a taste on this trip. 

Bus station bathroom. There are urinals and these... So when you #2...

The bus ride was scheduled to take 2.5 hours, but we hit traffic and it wound up taking closer to 4. Not a big deal. Like I said, my eyeballs were glued to the windows most of the ride, and we both had our books. I'm on book five of King's Dark Tower series, and am totally hooked. Great books. 

Shortly after the mountains shrunk and eventually ceased, we arrived in Gangnueng at an inter-city bus station not so unlike the one we had departed from in Seoul, if a little less glamorous. The city remind me a bit of a blown up Tybee. It's a beach town, yeah, but there are still scaled down versions of the tall, clone-ish buildings that are so prevalent in the Seoul area. I'll talk more on those later. It's very strange to an outsider, and certainly one not used to the city, but there's a definite trend in Korea to building many identical skyscrapers right next to each other. Entire groves of them, rising to the exact same height, painted the exact same color. Sometimes you'll see new buildings rising at the end of a long line of clone-buildings, maybe two new buildings at the end of two lines of clones, AND THEY'RE BEING BUILT AT THE EXACT SAME SPEED. It reminds me of an assembly line. I'll take pictures of this soon. You just have to see it. 

Sidebar: In Korea, it's a thing for couples to dress exactly the same. On the beach bus a guy and girl had the exact same pair of shoes. 

Anyway, there was a similar vibe in Gangneung, although the buildings were smaller and a deal shabbier. This seems to be a town where the chief attraction is the beach (although it's called the Pine City), and tourism isn't doing so hot. The weather was also bad. It had been sunny all week. Friday, in particular, was an eye-squinting sundance of a day. But that was Friday. And this was Saturday. And there are some folk that say we're still on the edge of monsoon season here in sometimes-sunny Korea. 

Still, it was only a dreary, overcast when we arrived in Gangneung, one that might break up at any moment. After some scuttling around and chatter with some locals in a tourist info building, we found the city bus that would take us to the beach, and got on board. In Seoul, you have a transit card (looks like a hotel key-card) that you scan to use the bus/subway/whatever. We were pleased to find that the same card worked in Gangneung! 

The bus rattled through the town, making a good many stops before reaching the end of its line at Gyeongpo Beach. This place really looked like Tybee, though with a few more beach condos, so maybe more like a small, slightly shoddier Destin. We didn't come to judge the condos though, just the beach, and the beach was awesome. 

The way to the beach was festooned with the Korean Pines that the city is nicknamed for, and the smell of them mingled with the salt air very nicely. It reminded me of home in a way that is hard to find in the bustle of Seoul. 

The water was a deep aqua-marine, the shade of which I've only seen in Greece. On on overcast day like Saturday it looked more of a steely-green, though when a big wave would tunnel up to the shore you could see the hard, aqua color in the roll of it. Gorgeous. I have always loved the beach on days like that, when it looks so angry. The waves were kicking up pretty good. The wind was whipping. At first, I was wishing I hadn't dressed so lightly (you know, as if I were going to the beach at the tail of August), but I got used to the draft about the time it started raining. Just a spare drizzle at first. 

Maria and I walked down the coarse, orange-ish beach, headed for some far-away jetties where the waves were breaking dramatically. There were several rocky outcroppings poking up through the waves, most of them within 50 yards of the beach. If the water hadn't been so chopping I might have swam out to them, though I noticed colored floats placed intermittently some 20 yards away from the beach (probably to keep people from swimming out into a riptide). Still, no lifeguards. Not really much of anyone. There were a few families walking around. I saw one guy wind-surfing (awesome). 

When we finally arrived at the big jetties (which turned out to be more of a single micro-mountain), we climbed on top of them to watch the ocean. There were some spent fireworks up there. The customary empty beer bottle. Some stuff spray painted on the rocks. That kind of thing. The view was something, though. Roiling, heavy-handed grey-green-blue waves slamming on irongrey rocks. Nothing like an angry ocean just before a storm. And then the rain picked up. Slowly, at first. 

I pulled out the duvet cover and we used it as a makeshift tent for a while, not wanting to abandon the mountain-jetty yet. But the rain and the wind kept building, the duvet cover made a pretty poor rainfly, and before we knew it we found ourselves in the middle of a pretty serious rainstorm and without much cover in sight. 

Check out the first picture in this post for a wider shot of this

We scrabbled down the rocks, and made for where we'd ditched our shoes for the climb. That was when we found one of the coolest things I've seen in Korea thus far. Etched into the side of the mountain-jetty were several lines of Chinese characters. I've never been one to really go for them. The calligraphy is amazing, but still, I never really gave them much thought. But here, carved into the jetty with the wind and rain whipping and the grey sea pounding on the grey rocks -- they were incredible. Elegant and stoic. They may well say. "Joanie loves Chachi," but, then, if you can't read the characters, it doesn't much matter. They were beautiful. 

Don't ruin this for me if you can read Chinese

While I was staring open mouthed at the carvings, and Maria took pictures, we were getting pummeled by the rising storm. We slipped on our shoes and ran up the beach to a nearby shop (I think it was a fish market of some kind) with a short awning. We were still getting rained on, but it was something. Some place we could re-adjust the backpack, moving all the electronics to the center pocket and wrapping them in our dry clothes. Leaving Maria under the sort-of-dry awning, I jogged down the street looking for a dryer place for us to wait out the storm. People gawked as they drove by in cars. People eating in restaurants craned their heads to look out in to the rain at the waygook (foreigner, and in this case idiot-foreigner) running around barefoot in the rain. I wasn't finding much. No bigger awnings. Mostly just restaurants full of dry people. I was soaked. 

I stopped in the doorway of a laundry mat to get my bearings. There were a few old women inside talking. I felt like I was intruding a little, but the door was open and I was drenched to the bone running down the street like a jilted lover in a lifetime movie-- it was a very "what-the-hell" moment. I smiled at them and pointed out at the rain, as if to say, "Can you believe that?!" They laughed and one of the women handed me an umbrella. I must have looked pretty pitiful, because when I gesticulated that I would go and come back with it, she waved me off laughing. Telling me, I knew, to "keep it (you idiot)." Nice lady. All of the grandmother aged women in Korea have been very forthcoming and nice -- grandmotherly, you might say. I thanked the woman, "Gam-sah-ham-nee-dah," and went out back in to the rain to show Mara my find. 

Armed with our new umbrella, we trudged out in to the rain. Where, we didn't know, but we were starting to get looks from the fish mongers who's shop were were taking refuge under. Maybe 20 seconds later the rain stopped. Damn. I tried to return the umbrella, but the ladies in the shop waved me off. There's a boardwalk that stretches the length of the beach, and we took to it. Pines are planted all along the way. I've never seen pines like that on the beach, and it was quite pretty -- the smell I've already told you about, but I'll re-emphasize now that it was fantastic. We passed a few building facing the ocean with sandbag fortifications on their concrete porches. There was a tank behind a rusting fence, covered in a rotting nylon sheet and dripping in the post-rain. There are plenty of reminders around Korea of the war. I think often about what kind of memories the older people I meet must have of those times. 

The waves had calmed a bit, and we decided that we shouldn't travel 4 hours to the beach and not swim. The water had been bitter cold when we walked the beach earlier, but it just wouldn't feel right to leave without getting in. I'm glad we did. The water wasn't cold at all, and next to the dreary, yet still somewhat humid air, it was very refreshing. I have always loved salt water. It feels so clean. I think it stems back to when I was small, and my parents would tell me to get in the ocean when I had some cut or scrape (which was often). "Just get in to the water," they would say. Nature's Neosporin. Whatever the reason, I always feel healthier in the salt water. 

We got out feeling revived (it had been a fairly long day already), and made our way back up the beach and through the pines to the beach bus station. We tried for a shower. I asked a shop-keep along the way where we could find one (we'd seen signs, but no building). 

"Shhhhhh," I said, miming a shower head with one hand while the other worked imaginary shampoo in my hair. 

"You want a shower?" He said in perfect English. Damn. 

"Yes."

"4,000 won. Just over there." Next time I'll lead with English. 

Drowning

We wound up not going for the shower, and just heading back to the station. After changing in to our spare clothes, we felt fine. I bought a chocolate bar and a tiny bottle of Jameson at a mini-stop (Korea has a very loose open-container policy), so I was feeling dry and toasty by the time the bus arrived to take us back to Seoul. 

The ride back was three hours this time, and I read for most of it while Maria slept. When we finally got home, we washed the salt out of our hair, and had breakfast for dinner. A really wonderful day, and a great chance to see more of this green-mountained country and its steely sea. 

 

Tom and Jerry

Wear a cape. Like a boss.

Tom chases Jerry. Jerry runs between the teeth of a metal garden rake. Tom steps on the rake, flipping it up and braining himself. Korean kids lose their minds. I'm talking earsplitting peels of laughter. Kids are hanging like ragdolls from their bus seats. If not for the seatbelts, they'd be rolling on the floor. Did I ever love Tom and Jerry this much? Or anything?

Classic

KCTY takes the kids on a monthly field trip, and August's was to the Children's Museum. I got the school at the normal time (9 AM), and helped load munchkins into their assigned bus. We're a private academy, but, as far I can tell, we still operate a shuttle service of some kind. I'm already in the building when the kids get here, so I'm unsure if they ride the bus everyday or if it's a special thing. At any rate, we rode a fleet of swanked-out KCTY buses to the Museum. These things had tasseled, velvet curtains hanging in front of the windows. Looked more like a hooka bar than a school bus. It also had a TV/DVD system, operated by a battle hardened and savvy man who knew exactly how to handle a 45 min ride with 12 kindergartners -- that being copious amounts of Tom and Jerry. 

We sit by class, and as I'm the Swan's (all the kindy classes have bird names) designated foreign teacher, it was with the Swans that I rode -- all geared up with my child sized KCTY packback full of first aid supplies and a giant foldout snack-mat (pad for the kids to eat on). We piled in, snapped up, the doors closed, Tom started chasing Jerry and we took off for the museum. 

Dramatization

The ride went well. Silent, save explosive bouts of ogre laughter. "Do you have a schedule?" My Korean teacher asked me (she teaches the Swans when I'm working with the Doves or planning). I did not have a schedule. Band-aids, yes. Snackmat, check. Authentic, first edition Swans nametag, of course. But a clue? Never.

Turns out the schedule was pretty simple. Kayla (Korean teacher) tells me that for the first few minutes we'll be letting the kids run wild in an open concrete area, then we'll eat snack, and then we'll just follow the Doves class around, "because they're smart." Easy enough. 

When we got the museum I briefed the kids on the buddy-system. "Find your buddy!" I said. The kids where already in a line, and "found" their buddy by putting their arms on the shoulders of the kid in front of them -- a la choo-choo train. I did not get a picture of this, but it was pretty hilarious/cute. Whatever we did for the rest of the day, no matter how crazy the kids were or who may or may not have been crying or bleeding, when I yelled "buddy up!" the kids would run, and I mean run, back to their line and form the train. And then they rolled out -- train style. So everyone elses kids are walking in columns, lines or clumps, and my squad is linked up and looking like the conga line that forms at the end of some wedding receptions, everybody's hanging on the everybody else and falling all over the place. 

Like this, but more violent

The museum was pretty cool. I would compare it to most of the science-based museums I've seen. You know, the ones with the Tesla balls and stuff. There was a water room, where the kids got to play with a lot of Rube Goldbergish water wheels and stuff.

If you were teaching about currents, or hydroenergy, or density, you could have done a lot with it. I felt more like I was giving a lesson in cat-herding, or perhaps receiving a lesson in futility.

Our school was there in force. Maybe 100 kids, give or take. They're all wearing the same shirt for the most part. Then there are like 4 different schools, all with different t-shirts, sure, but still, that's a lot of little bodies running around. 

Dramatization, sort of

Kids were having a blast. I was too. There was another room where they could all dress up in fairly elaborate costumes and get on a stage. Pretty hilarious to dress up your ninos in squid and shark costumes and then set them on each other. 

I've never taught kids this young, and even though I've only worked with them for a month, we're bonded pretty closely. It's just a different kind of relationship building than my high schoolers, obviously. The little kids open up to you a lot. No holds barred. Day one you're swabbing bloody noses and consoling criers in the hallway. It's a lot like being a designated driver. 

All day my kids hung on me. Hung on me. They share their lunches with me when we eat together. Two little girls brought me a coffee, two boys gave me fruit snacks, and one kid's mom sent him with an entire fruit tray (fruit is worth its weight in gold here. Much more expensive than at home). I had a little dude pulling me around the museum all day. I had a line of kids waiting to be firemen's carried. They all wrestle. It's a good group of kids. I was thinking at first that walking the kids around all day felt a bit dad-ish, but on second thought it's probably more like being a cool uncle. I get to hold them by their ankles and pendulum them over the ball pit, I get to count their ribs until they scream and fall down, and then I get to send them back to their parents. Being an uncle is sweet. 

I really love the kids here. The curriculum, even for the kindies, is pretty nuts. These kids are doing 2-8 worksheets a day, creative writing assignments -- working at productivity levels that it would take me 3 months of "culture building" (getting to where the kids don't hate me, my class, and/or each other) to get my high schoolers to meet. That said, it can feel like we're just crushing them with paperwork sometimes. Days like the museum trip, days when the kids can spend more time being kids, really makes me want to work harder planning their classes so that they're meaningful and fun, and not just busy. It seems like a lot of the worksheets and curriculum is non-negotiable (this is a thing in my older classes too), but that's the status quo here. Everybody wants the kids working all the time. It's expected that you give 20-40 minutes of homework for every class. Most kids take 2-3 classes, and for the older ones, they come here after regular school. Some might even go to other academies after ours. So we're talking whatever homework they have from their regular school, maybe an hour or two from my academy, maybe some more from another academy, and ALL of this to be done when they get home (assuming they don't have an extracurricular sport/art) around, what? 7? 8? Later? 

These kids work like whoa, and they're able to do it because that's been the expectation since they were kindergartners. But they work well. And they all speak at least two languages. Many play instruments and sports. Still, busy busy ninos. Makes me all the more glad to have a fun day with them. 

This was before tag. Note the intact knees.