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From spring to early summer, 2009, I taught after-school English classes in a middle school. That was my first and last teaching experience.
I was in charge of second- and third-grade classes. Inserting my students' names in my handouts, I wanted to do my best to make classes fun.
A girl in my class said that she liked autumn. So in the next class, remembering that, I included an English sentence with her name, "I like autumn better than summer" in the handout. After the class, when I was walking the corridor, she said loudly to me, "I love you."
I was embarrassed at her unexpected confession and I just smiled.
Nevertheless, most students became tired with after-school classes. A boy wanted to go home so badly that he insisted on sitting with his book bag already strapped to his shoulders. I pretended to be a teacher with authority, but due to my poor acting, the audience ― my students ― completely ignored me.
Having once been a student, I could understand the children. Who wants to study after school?
During class, the boys chattered endlessly. One of them suddenly stood up and danced, and some of them began to sing or play a game. They had to find joy somehow in their boring school life.
All those things looked like chaos during class. Deep down, however, I wanted to help the children strive for their full potential. I wanted to help them know how beautiful they were, how much power they had in themselves.
The students were confined in the classroom from morning till night at a time they should learn about themselves and the world.
Therefore, they couldn't help shouting or tussling with one another and, inevitably, being forced to write an essay about their misbehavior. My heart ached at what they were experiencing.
The children looked vulnerable but had infinite possibilities and were going through transformations every day.
I was looking at the growth of the beings that were changing and would disappear some day. I was grateful that I could be at their side in the moment that would come only once, that of which was passing, and quickly.
I was happy, sad and thankful to meet them. I thought about how they could live more happily, and what I could do to help. It was the first time I hoped so much that other people would be happy. I truly wished for each child's full life.
Few students would know that many teachers are also passing through the soul's adolescence. How many students will know that teachers are still making numerous mistakes and maturing?
During that season of deep love and bitter trial and error, I fell countless times and hoped countless times that I might have a good influence on them, even a little.
I confess that I was not a good teacher. I loved the children but did not know how to show it. After all, I was just an inexperienced teacher.
But being with the students, I learned many things. I realized that students' and teachers' lives are harder than I thought, and that there was much greater love inside me than I imagined.
After the teaching experience, all students I passed on the street looked like the children with whom I shared that short time. The teenage boys and girls I taught are 20-somethings by now. They must be learning how to love this life that is mysterious, challenging and wonderful, all at the same time.
I hope they will meet good teachers and friends in the path of learning.
The writer is a translator who lives in Seoul. Her email address is dancing―life@daum.net and her blog address is http://blog.naver.com/dancinglf.
