Singing (and Dancing) for our Supper

The first snow has fallen. The sidewalks are coated with ice some mornings. The air comes with a bite. Winter’s arrived in the ROK. The winters here come down from Siberia, and while I’ve certainly been colder, the dry-cold is something new. Before coming to Korea, I’d never had a nosebleed. Not from southern winters or Colorado elevation or anything else. I’ve had several over the past few weeks. I guess just from the walk to work in the morning. Strange.

Christmas is also getting closer, which means that soon I’ll see my mom and sister, which is exciting! I’ve been planning a good bit for that. It’s Mom’s first time out of the country, so I want to do it big.

Christmas also means that KCTY is gearing up for our annual Christmas celebration. This is something that most private academies do, it seems. When I was researching schools to work at, most of the blogs and forum rants/raves were concerning Christmas celebrations. I’m not planning on tearing off a rant, but I can see why there are so many to be found. It’s a stressful time.

This is where I work right now.

Private academies (hagwans, as they’re called here) work on a monthly basis. We have semesters, yeah, but every student pays tuition on a monthly basis, so they can choose to stay or go at pretty much any point. That being the case, anything that our parents (our clients) see, like homework, is extremely important. This is also true for the kind of feedback our students give their parents, and it is doubly true for anytime parents come into the school – that’s pretty much mission-critical, danger-close, crunch time. And on top of these facts, the Christmas celebration has a history of expectation.

It’s a big deal.

The smallest kindergartners recite a poem and sing a Christmas song (complete with a choreographed dance). My kids -- the older kindergartners (around age 7) each have to stand in front of their parents/school staff and give a “Christmas speech”, before they also sing and dance. And when I say sing and dance, I mean my Korean teacher has choreographed a full routine (involving jazz hands and imaginary top hats) to Frosty the Snowman. Eat your heart out Brittany Spears. 

As if their day wasn’t going to be hard enough, I’m also required to sing and dance with them.

When you put the celebration in the context of a client quality control check (which it most certainly is), it feels a little less like putting on a goofy, kindergarten Christmas show, and more like (literally) singing and dancing for your supper. My senses tell me that my class of seven-year-olds’ performance at the celebration (and my own performance) will have a substantial impact on how the administration views my professional standing.

And that’s pretty funny, when you think about it. Sort of.

Like I said, it’s a high tension time. I’m drilling the kids on their speeches incessantly. I made them write three drafts (this thing is 1-2 pages in their slightly oversized child-scrawl), which I edited at each step. After that, I’ve typed them all up and spot-cleaned them.

My Korean teacher (the woman who minds the kids while I’m planning or at lunch) asked me today to work with the kids more on their speeches as “their pronunciations still sound Korean.”

It amazes me how much these kids do. They’re six, and they’re fluent in two languages, writing more (with fewer complaints), and editing at a higher level than a good many high schoolers that I’ve taught. Still, I’ll be damned if a few of these six-year-olds who are reciting pages of Christmas speech from memory in their second language don’t have a bit of an accent. A few say hot cocoa like “hot co-co-ah”.

I don’t know why they even bother trying, honestly. Amateurs.

A few of the kids are having trouble memorizing all of the speech, on account of they only have my two 40 minute blocks a day to practice. And that’s not even really the case because we still have our normal workload of reading and writing to attend to. I suggested that the kids take copies of their speeches home to practice, but that was vetoed on grounds that it would ruin their parent’s surprise at the celebration.

But we make do. It’s a little tense, but we’re hanging in there. The admins and Korean teachers prod a lot and try to play up the celebration’s importance, and why wouldn’t they? It’s essentially an audit.

The kids don’t really seem phased by all that’s getting thrown at them (which is comforting seeing as how much their temerity affects my relationship with the administration). I guess they’re just used to it all.

At sound point I have to learn our dance routine. Hoping my mom doesn't make it here in time to watch all of this, though given that she would be standing beside the parents of my kindergartners, that would be pretty funny. 

So, in the end, maybe I ranted a little bit. Thanks to those of you who stuck with this past the nosebleed part. The work is busy, but that’s a good thing.