Ten Dollars for Three Tries

We just wrapped up our annual Walk-a-thon and Fall Festival fundraiser. The big excitement was that we had a T-8 typhoon bearing down on Hong Kong. So 48 hours before the big day, administration had to make the call. They decided to postpone the Walk-a-thon and FallFest. Naturally, just after the decision was made, the typhoon hung a right and veered away from Hong Kong. The whether on the day that things were scheduled turned out to be a beautiful day.

The Walk-a-thon and FallFest were pushed back one week which put them on the same weekend as the secondary parent teacher conference. So after meeting one-on-one with parents all Friday afternoon and evening and all Saturday morning, I swapped out my shirt and tie for my yellow walk-a-thon t-shirt and helped sell ice cream bars and man the 8th grade fingernail painting booth for the rest of the afternoon.

Occasionally I think that relations between students and teachers in the States has gotten too casual. There is certain level of respect that is missing. I occasionally have to remind my students in Chicago that I am their teacher not there camp counselor.

Hey Jimmy, I'll make you a deal. I'll teach you about verb tenses and you can save the high fives for your youth group leader at church.

But if the informality of teacher-student relation in the States is one our weakness, it is also one of our greatest strengths. It foster accessibility. At it's best, it creates an attitude of true collaboration in a joint educational endeavor.

Attitudes in Hong Kong are of course informed by Chinese ideas of education as much as they are by British and American ideals. Teaching in an American school that is dominated by Chinese nationals, we are right in the nexus.

The women who oversaw the planning for last weekend's Walk-a-thon passed along all the email comments she received from parents and staff. I thought the following comment was pretty telling. I am fairly confident that it was written by one of our Chinese staff members.

"I wore the yellow tee and it gave me great identity....The worship time was great..... So surprised when principals allowed themselves to be sponged at by students and parents...... great relationship reflected between teachers and students....... not like other schools at all.." (from a staff member)

I guess its fair to assume then that when the local schools when they have their Fall fun days, the teachers aren't volunteering to put their face in the clown cut out and allowing students to throw sponges at them. Nice to know that our efforts are appreciated.

images of FallFest 2010

Another Pair of Boot-dals

of Tablas and Sitars part 3 of 3

I slowly glanced over to see if Mike was taking pictures of Sandip now that he had switched over from the sitar to the tablas. I managed to catch Mike’s eye. I lifted my arm and pantomimed pushing the button on a camera to indicate that he should take a few more pictures.

Suddenly, I realized the music had stopped. The magic spell had been broken and was replaced by a room-sized electric tension. The hair on the back of my neck stood up as my fight/flight/freeze response kicked in.

I slowly turned my head to face front and center. My worst fears were realized. Sandip was staring directly at me. He did not look happy. None of the kids dared to turn their heads, but if it is possible to have a room full of middle schoolers staring at me without actually looking at me, that is exactly what was happening.

I opened my mouth as if to . . . what? Apologize? Explain? I shut my mouth.

Please, please, I prayed silently, Just start playing again. Please.

Finally, after what seemed like an interminable period, Sandip said –while looking directly at me “We shall start from the top. This time without interruption.”

Ouch.

In the past I've struggled with what it means to fear God. I have been told that -yes- it includes regular old fear but it also contains a healthy dose of respect. And then to make it all the more complex, we are supposed to fear and love him at the same time. Kind of a hard concept to wrap your head around. But last Thursday in the first floor music room, I think I came just a little bit closer to understanding The Fear of the Lord.

The performance ended. The students finally exhaled, and I got caught up in the flow of students heading back upstairs for third period.

And now comes the worst part. I absolutely positively know that my students are not going to let me live this one down.

of Tablas and Sitars part 2 of 3

After Sandip, locked eyes with a student for the third time, I started to suspect that these glances might not be so random. I think that when he felt that someone was paying less than full attention, he would hone in on them and bring them back into the performance with his hypnotic stare. Not only was this guy the master of the sitar, he was the master of crowd control. If only I had this kind of control in my classroom.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Mike the music teacher slowly lifting his camera to get a picture. Was that a twitch or did Sandip just nod in Mike’s direction giving him permission to take a picture? Mike quietly squeezed off two pictures and then slowly lowered his camera.

I wanted to close my eyes and allow myself to get lost in the music but I couldn’t take my eyes off of Sandip. There was something visceral –almost dangerous- in his performance.

Sandip set aside his sitar and took out his two tabla drums. In very measured and precise language he explained the tabla to the students. Then he led them through some of the basic rhythms he would be playing.

Deet, tikka, tikka, deet.

Tikka, tikka, deet, deet.

Then he started in. It was mesmerizing. For those of us who grew up on western rhythms where a 6/8 is a complex time signature, Indian rhythms are layered and complex and beguiling. It was awesome. I was ten feet from this master musician listening to rhythms that I could only dream of. The students were equally captivated.

of Tablas and Sitars part 1 of 3

I love music from India. Okay, not really. But I love the idea of me loving music from India. Especially in small doses. Especially live. So I was pretty excited when I found out that our middle school music teacher Mike Ross had invited Sandip Burman to our school to put on a presentation for our middle schoolers.

I think that it is important for us teachers to get out of our little grottos and let our kids see that we are truly interested in the things we want them to be interested in. I could enjoy myself and do Mike and this visiting musician a favor by supporting their efforts with my presence.

I cajoled my team of eighth-grade teachers into cutting short our weekly meeting so that those of us who were interested could go check out Sandip Burman. (Turns out, I was the only one. Go figure.)

Because of my meeting, I got to the music room a few minutes late. I quietly slipped in so as not to disturbed the performance in progress. Sandip was playing the sitar; the room was in a trance. I have never seen fifty middle schoolers so rapt. Sandip sat on a rug and had all the students sitting on the floor gathered around him in a tight circle. Nobody moved. All eyes and ears were on Sandip and his sitar.

As unobtrusively as possible, I slipped into the classroom and quiet stood at the back of the circle of students.

It was amazing. The haunting Indian music flowed from the sitar. Seriously, it sounded like a person weeping. Sandip looked as if the music was being extricated from someplace deep within him. He would close his eyes, grimace, and then suddenly he would open his eyes and lift his face heaven-ward. He would look down at his instrument and suddenly thrust his wide-eyed glance at a student and momentarily lock eyes. It was incredibly intimate. But it was also intense bordering on intimidating. This is what they mean by the power of music.

Trick-or-Treating on the 7th Floor

Ernest Tse

Ernest Tse has been sitting in my classroom every morning for the last two months, so I have no idea why today was the day that his name caught my eye. I was quickly skimming over my seating chart in order to take attendance when his name jumped off the page at me.

I said –more to myself than to any one in particular- but loud enough for the first few rows of kids to hear.

“Oh my goodness, this is so cool. Look at Ernest Tse’s name. The last three letters of his first name –reversed, are his last name.”

This was too awesome. I decided that everyone needed to know that Earnest just won the Who’s-got-the-coolest-name-in-Mr. VanNoord’s-morning-homeroom contest. So I repeated my observation. Louder. For the whole class. I was expecting oohs and aahs of wonder and agreement. Instead I got stares and silence.

I waited.

I pointed to my clip board by way of explanation.

Nothing.

Come on people, work with me here.

I don’t care what a bunch of eighth graders think at 7:50 in the morning. Having your last name imbedded in your first name –in reverse none-the-less- is just too enviably awesome.

In fact, inspired by Ernest Tse, I’m changing my name to Jack Caj.

Then again, maybe not.

-Jack

A Peek Behind the Curtain

It doesn’t happen often, but occassionally the curtain gets pulled back and I get a glimpse into the daily life of Hong Kong.

Julie and I work at and the girls attend an international school so the kids at our school aren’t exactly a representative cross section of Hong Kong. But right next door to our school is a local school. The public footpath to get to Park n Shop and the MTR runs right past this school and affords a good view into the school yard. Normally, when this local school is in session, I am busy teaching my own classes. But the other day, our school had a day off while our neighbors were in session.

As I walked past, I could see a class of middle schoolers practicing their drumming on big red Chinese drums.

They were pretty good.