An Open Letter to My Students
My school year is rapidly coming to a close – simultaneously speeding and dragging towards November 16th. I’m trying to conclude chapters and concepts while the kids have thrown all discipline out the window in favor of not shutting up ever. I was asked to write something about my experience at GMSB this year for the school newspaper, and it didn’t seem right to just list a bunch of clichés about my life being changed, inspiration, culture, molding minds and making a difference. So, without further ado, and leaving out the parts about the frustration and emotional drain: a reflection, directed towards those who ultimately shaped my experience.
An Open Letter to My Students
Carito me habla en inglés, qué me dice yo no sé…
I guess Carlos Vives didn’t understand his English teacher. Can you believe that? He probably wasn’t listening to her. Crazy, right guys? That’s guys, not gays, so don’t start unless you want to get me on my soapbox again. (Don’t try to translate soapbox with Google. I am not literally talking about jabón here, and definitely not a box of soup.)
Where were we? Something about listening, and English. Remember when you thought I didn’t speak Spanish, and you all freaked out? Funny thing is, you understand my alien language now, even if you don’t know it or don’t believe it. At the very least you know “sit” and “open your notebooks,” though there seem to be a lot of different interpretations on your end. Speaking is still a struggle because it is so darn EMBARRASSING!!! Or so you say.
Nine months ago, I showed up and terrified or intrigued you with my weird accent and exotic green eyes. I talked to you in a language that most of you only heard regularly from music or TV, and I ssstrongly ssscolded you for trying to put an “e” before words like school and stop. I was probably as curious and confused by all of you as you were by me.
Learning a new language is hard. Ten years later I’m still botching conditional tenses in Spanish and I can never remember the word for “needle.” That’s why I don’t expect you to be fluent English speakers after this year, and why I get so excited when you get the littlest things right. Seriously, when I hear someone say, “Hoy te entendí, profe!” I know I made the right choice by teaching.
I came to Colombia to teach English. I suppose I’ve accomplished that, more or less. I was teaching and some of you were learning. Some of you were doodling, or sleeping. All of you were texting. The most important thing, though, wasn’t vocabulary or possessive pronouns. It was being a breathing example of the importance of language, cultural exchange and travel. An example of what’s gained through a little courage, a little confidence and a little recklessness.
I started learning a language – your language – when I was your age, and it ultimately brought me here, to Gimnasio Moderno Santa Barbara. Fourteen-year old me would be pretty psyched to know that twenty-four year old me was in Colombia, all because of that silly high school Spanish class. Twenty-four year old me would love to see as many of you break through your comfort zones as possible, see the world and follow your passions.
I undoubtedly gained more from 130 of you this year than you gained from one of me, and I think that’s ok. You’ll have more English teachers, but I don’t know when I’ll have more students. I do know I’ll never have the same students.
So, thanks. Thanks for the smiles, the hugs, the candy and the laughs. Thanks for enough good days to make up for the bad days, or at least enough to not make me quit. Whether you passed, failed, triple-paged the Observador, ignored me all year or were one of the hilarious, friendly and sweet faces I looked forward to seeing every day, I’ll remember you. I’ll miss you. Thank you for an unforgettable, extraordinary year.