Summer of Fun and Toil

As to update my blog, I am now application mode. I will be applying to PSU, Concordia and Marylhurst. In a previous blog entry, I mentioned the deadlines. I don't think I will be able to get everything together for PSU by December 1st. There are a couple things I need to work on so my application would be stronger. Plus that personal statement essay is so intense. I will probably submit my application for another deadline next year for another start time at the GTEP program at PSU.

There are so much to do and handle. Future blog entries will explain the requirements to enter the teacher's grad programs. Why don't you all enjoy an antidote I wrote for a class assignment (from June 2005)? It will highlight my experiences that showcase why I want to become a teacher. Here is my story:


Summer of Fun and Toil
By Stacey Moy

Outside was a cool June morning as I walked into a lukewarm classroom after Jane, the director and head teacher of the APA Summer Day Camp. She was a bit taller than me for I am 5’ 2 ¼” tall. She wore a blue short-sleeved dress which reached the mid-calves. Her black hair streaked with gray, thin on the top of the head, was in a short bob. As we walked through the door, I could see wooden coat hangers nailed to the yellowish wall, underneath was a small wooden bookcase, and near it was a small metal trashcan.
Turning right, we walked further and stood in front of two old office desks—one was made of metal and the other was wood—which were lined up in a row. From this spot, we were on the side of the room. As I scanned the room, I saw a row of windows to our right. One window was open, and soft cool breezes drifted through the screen. On the opposite wall from the windows was the green chalkboard and twelve small desks faced it. All the students and their parents seemed squished together. There was not much space for the students and parents to be sitting or standing. Children and their parents stopped their chatter; they twisted and turned to look at us. The parents said in Chinese to their children, “Goodbye. Have a good day here,” and, “See you later. I’ll pick you up around 3 pm.” Parents threaded out of the room.
“Hello, Class. This is Stacey and she will be your teacher,” Jean said as she introduced the class to me. Fourteen pairs of dark eyes turned to me. Jean took me aside and she quietly said, “Don’t worry. You’ll do fine. If you need me, I’ll be in the large room down in the basement.” She left the classroom. I was feeling nervous. My stomach felt like there were hundreds of butterflies fluttering around inside. Those eyes kept staring at me.
“Um, hello,” I nervously said, “Let’s introduce ourselves.” I felt a rush of blood heating up my body as cold sweat formed on my back.
“Teacher, what did you say?” asked a small skinny girl with long black hair and red-auburn highlights pulled up in a ponytail. Her almond-shaped eyes revealed a sense of confusion.
“Lu-Chin don’t know any English. She came to America from Vietnam about a couple months ago,” a short-haired girl said matter-of-factly. She quickly translated what I said to Lu-Chin.
“What’s your name?” I asked; giving my full attention to the short-haired girl. She was wearing a pink T-shirt and khaki shorts.
“My name is Candy,” she replied. After that, we continued to learn each other’s names. Everyone said their names to me either in Chinese or in English depending on which language was comfortable for them. By the end of my four hours with them, I was not as nervous anymore.
Many people I have met along the way have asked me: why did I want to be a teacher? This was one of the many events in my life that led me to the conclusion that I want to teach children. It was my sophomore year of high school that I first thought of entering the education field. I had volunteered with children for a couple of years already at that point. I spent my last two years at Franklin High School as a teacher aide at the Preschool through the morning preschool program that was running three days a week.
My first teaching opportunity came along when I was eighteen years old, fresh out of high school. This was the experience that began with the day described above. My work as a kindergarten teacher at a day camp, which was held in the Chinese Presbyterian Church in the Southeast Woodstock neighborhood of Portland, helped me to see how much I love working with children, the satisfaction of sharing my knowledge, and how much the children could teach me as well. The previous summer I had been Jean Choy’s teacher aide, when she first started the day camp. It was small then with only twenty children between the ages of six and ten who were taught in one big room in the basement of the church. I had known Jean for many years, because she is an acquaintance of my family. This that was how my association with her gave me an opportunity to volunteer at this day camp for two summers.
During my second summer, as a kindergarten teacher, I was to teach English and math in the mornings Monday through Friday. The first week was the time to get to know my students and determine what level they were at. Through a combination of English and Chinese, I found out that some of the students knew how to count and others knew how to do a little bit of addition. Some students didn’t know how to read at all while others knew how to read a little. The first few weeks was very frustrating. I had not been as prepared as I should have been. I didn’t have any lesson plans to help guide me. I made things up along the way. The students were at so many different levels. In our Chinese heritage, we learn early to respect all teachers and that they are the boss, so fortunately I didn’t get much trouble from them.
One July day, my students filed into our new classroom. Our first classroom, from the first day, was too small so we moved to a bigger classroom two doors down the hall. Fourteen desks were set up in rows facing the green chalkboard in the new room. At the back of the room there was a row of windows. Students settled down in their seats and got out their pencils and paper.
“Good morning, Class,” I said, standing with my back to the chalkboard. I couldn’t see the door because it was behind me, on the same side of the wall as the chalkboard.
“早晨好, 老師。Good morning, Teacher,” said my students. My first task on this day was to work with them on their math. I split the class into two groups. One half of the class was working on their counting skills while the other half was working on simple addition. I went back and forth between the groups to help them out. But I had a bright math student named Candy that I had personally tutored earlier that summer. She was heading off to second grade in the fall. She had told me before that her first-grade teacher told her that she was excellent in math, and next year she was ready to do third-grade math. Lu-Chin was my second best math student.
“Candy, here are some simple multiplication problems for you to do. Take this problem, 6 x 2=__,” I instructed Candy. I drew six apples in a row, and six more apples underneath that row. I said, “How many apples do you get?”
Candy scrunched her face and thought hard, and said, “Twelve?”
“Right on!” I excitedly said. I gave her a few more problems to do on her own. Raising myself up from a kneeling position at Candy’s desk, I scanned the room to see who needed help. I saw Tommy, a six year old boy, dressed in a green T-shirt and jeans. His frustrated face looked sweaty, as he laid his head down on his desk. I went over to him.
“What’s the matter, Tommy?” I asked, kneeling beside his desk.
“Teacher, I don’t understand this problem. I don’t know how much six plus ten is,” he gloomily said. His face was crushed with frustration.
“Okay, don’t worry. First let’s draw these numbers out,” I said patiently, “Can you draw six things?”
“Well, yeah. What should I draw?” he asked.
“Draw whatever you want,” I assured him.
“Hmm. I think I will draw six rabbits,” he proclaimed. He took his pencil and rapidly drew the six rabbits.
“Now, draw ten more rabbits. Count them to get the answer.”
Tommy started to count, “一, 二, 三, 四….”
While he was counting, I scanned the room again quickly. I could see that Candy and Lu-Chin were done with their work. They had found a fresh piece of paper, and began to draw a picture. I had told the class earlier that if they were done with their work early to please either quietly draw a picture or read a book. I turned my attention back to Tommy.
“…十六! So six plus ten is sixteen,” he said triumphly. His face showed his pride in solving that problem.
Inside I felt good that I had helped him to learn to add. I got up from the floor and walked to the front of the room.
“Okay, kids. Time to put your math away. Time for English,” I announced. I divided the class into groups based on their reading levels. I went from group to group to help with their reading. I privately tutored Lu-Chin; we worked on the alphabet. The time flew by, and it was time for lunch. After lunch, two 15-year-old girls—Angela and Sarah— arrived to take over my class. Since the first time I met them, we somehow rubbed each other the wrong way. We didn’t like each other. For my part, I tried to be polite and pleasant to the girls in front of the children, but their immaturity prevented them from doing the same.
A few weeks into the term, as I was leaving my students with the teen girls, I was headed down the stairs when I heard happy loud whoops and feet running down the hall into the old classroom. Angela, a skinny girl who was taller than me, and Sarah, who always wore her hair up, was as tall as me, didn’t try to get the kids under control. I quietly walked back up the two stairs and down the hall to sneak a peek into the classroom. Kids were hopping around. A couple of the boys were sitting down on the floor playing card games. Angela was playing with Lu-Chin and Sarah was patty-clapping with Candy. A couple other kids were drawing on the chalkboard. One little boy was sitting on top of the metal desk, playing his Game Boy. From the pit of my stomach, a burning fire raged throughout my body. I was so angry that Angela and Sarah didn’t watch the kids more carefully. In my time with the kindergarteners, I had always kept order.
Walking straight into the room, I called out, “Angela, Sarah, please come here.” They stopped playing with Candy and Lu-Chin and came over to me.
“What are you doing?” I hissed at them, “This is unacceptable. You can’t have kids running loose. And—”
“—Wait a minute, we are watching the kids,” said Angela defiantly, crossing her arms in front of her chest.
“Yeah, the kids love us,” Sarah said in a la-la voice.
“Then why is Wah-Lee sitting on top of that desk? And some of the kids were hopping about?” I said with a knowing look on my face.
“Okay, you’re right,” Sarah quickly agreed with me. She turned to the kids and said, “Stop, everyone! Let’s all sit quietly in a circle.” Angela gave me a smirk. I wanted to argue with them more but I needed to go home to get ready for my waitressing job at Calaroga Terrence. I was kind of satisfied. Throughout the summer, we never saw eye-to-eye. In the end, we never spoke to each other again.
The summer flew by quickly. There were ups and downs. At the end of each day, I felt a sense of how rewarding it was to teach young kids, and see the joy of understanding on their faces. Even with the bad experience of being around Angela and Sarah, I never let it get in my way of teaching the young children. Thinking back, it was probably a couple of weeks before I got into the rhythm of teaching, when I grew to love sharing what I know with the children. I made many mistakes, and sometimes I got frustrated. But I quickly calmed myself down and apologized to the students.
In the end, I grew attached to them. As each child hopped into the back of their parents’ cars to leave on the last day, my heart ached. I thought to myself, Stacey, it’s time to let them go. You had a fun summer with them. One day, they will think back and thank you for giving them a fun and learning summer. With those thoughts in mind, I felt better.
I reflected on those experiences and I knew I want to have a career that included children. That summer, it was my first time on my own to be in charge of that many kids. It was nerve-wrecking at first teaching young students without the knowledge of class management and lesson plans. The experience taught me how much hard work it is to be a teacher but it is rewarding. I like it when I help a child learn something new or improve a skill. It’s rewarding to see a child appreciate you in helping him or her. When I told my friends I wanted to be a teacher, they said, “Stacey, you’ll make a good teacher,” or “Stacey, I can see you as a teacher.” Now I look forward to my future when I will one day step into the classroom, and welcome my future students on the first day of school.