That time of the year

After a trimester or so of preparation, most of my second-years at my school finally took their Trinity spoken English exams today. I say "most," because there were a few kids who weren't prepared to even sit in on a first-level interview, who have difficulties even in Spanish, and stare at you blankly when you ask their name or their age. At the extreme end of the pole, there were a handful of children who took the level three exams. The rest sat in on level two's.

Calling a five-minute interview an "exam," implies all sorts of things, but I continued to refer to it as such so that the children might take it more seriously and aim for their best. The truth of the matter, however, is that we (myself and the teacher) were probably more nervous than the kids put together. I understand that education is a multifaceted process, but you can't help but feel like somewhat of a failure when an eight-year-old can't tell you about the color of his eyes.

For the most part, I tried not to sweat it. I'm familiar with each student's strengths and weaknesses, and I think I've done a fair job of working around both, of encouraging them to aim as high as they can. Whether or not the kids pass the exam and receive a certificate is clearly not up to me. In the end, it is just a piece of paper. There are myriad ways to buld confidence, and I just hope that they develop a healthy sense of it. And maybe--just maybe--they'll find a use for English and other languages, too.

Although I still have a month left in the program, I've been preparing for my impending departure. I neatly folded the winter clothes I'm planning to put in the Caja Verde box I got from the post office, the very same one I'll get around to mailing once I figure out where to get packing tape. Of course, this should be a painless, stress-free errand but if like me you were unsure of the correct term (Word Reference gives me both cinta and sello) and your confidence in your Spanish-speaking skills are virtually nil (even after years of study), then you can appreciate why this turns out to be quite the herculean task.

This afternoon I went into an organizing frenzy, in an attempt to sort out all of the things I've collected in the past eight months. Hmm, do I really need the card for this restaurant/bookshop/etc that I'll probably never visit again?, I asked myself. Do I need the brochure for an exhibit that was over in NOVEMBER? Un/fortunately, I'm the type that keeps such trinkets, only to discard them during the next move.

However, that won't happen for at least another few years. I'm going back to school in the fall, to join a two-year MA program in linguistics. This was one of the primary reasons why I "escaped" to Spain in the first place. After having applied to grad school a few times, I wasn't quite sure whether or not if the program--or even more academia--was right for me. I obviously love learning languages, but I could relate a linguistics degree solely to teaching.

Ironic, isn't it, that I went abroad to work in a school setting? There have been many days where I think that I could go ahead and get my licensure in elementary school teaching. Indeed, many of the best experiences I've had during this stint involve the two groups of second-years with whom I work. The children never fail to elicit a smile from me even when I'm feeling down, grumpy, or homesick. When I look back on Spain when I step off the airplane or a few years down the line, the kids are who I'll remember the most.

Now, does this mean I would make a "good" teacher? Not necessarily. Of course, I'd also have to want to be teacher, and at this point, my heart's still not in it. Apparently, I belong to the generation that's been taught to follow our dreams (or so says the NY Times) rather than have practical pursuits. It's true to some extent. My parents never push me to do anything (nor am I an exceptionally driven person). They accept me for who I am, and for the most part, support my projects. I'm very fortunate in that I'm also able to coynsult them, eslpecially at a stage where I'm beginning to make "crucial life choices."

This brings me back to teaching: sure, it's not my dream (I'm romantic), but it will put food on the table (so to speak). I've been literally losing sleep over this dilemma because I want to have my cake and it eat it, too. I want to live off of an artistic craft. However slowly it may seem though, I'm facing the facts. I need a job. That will allow me to be ially self-sufficient. The thing is that I'm just don't have artistic gifts, at least, not enough talent from which to eke out a life. My cohorts from my punk rock days (haha! you'd think I was born with a mohawk and leather jacket!) would think this sentiment bourgeois, but all I ask for is a position that would allow me to continue enjoying my hobbies and, someday, buy a house.

(Among others, the song "Handshakes" by Metric addresses this cycle of drudgery: Buy this car to drive to work, drive to work to pay for this car...)

In other words, I spent time abroad...just to figure this out? It's a shame that my head's more muddled now than when I left last September. In a land of endless lo haré mañanas, I still haven't learned to relax.

On strike!

By chance, I browsed through a copy of 20 Minutos, one of the free dailies handed out at the metro, on the way to work. It's sad to say, but I'm usually not alert enough in the morning to glance at anything but headlines succinctly describing faits divers. A crime here, a scandal there. There will be partly cloudy weather and perhaps yet another celebrity will adorn their child yet another ultra unique name.

And here I thought I had it bad.

I guess I've been really out of the loop, because tomorrow will see a general strike calling Madrid-area teachers to protest against the privatization of education. You know the story, so let's cut to chase: less funding for public schools.

This translates to decreasing attraction, in more than one way. I'm not familiar with the kind of training a teacher would need to work in a concertado or a full private school, but obtaining a post at a public school is definitely a case of demand overrunning supply. If it's "easier" to work at the former (what would you need in terms of qualifications?), then it probably makes sense to forego the latter, unless it's really what you are keen on. (Like I said, I don't know much about the teaching professions, in Spain or even in the U.S., so if someone can enlighten me, please feel free.)

Families are also opting out of public education due to lack of materials and space. From my own experience, the teacher with whom I work sometimes has to pay out of her own pocket for things that the children use on a daily basis such as pencils and erasers; other times, the expenses are for art projects. My school is slowly "modernizing," too; a small screen for the assembly hall and a new photocopier are some of the items on the agenda. In the last few months, they've been reconfiguring some rooms on the first floor to accommodate the incoming third classes of first- and second-years, respectively (usually, there are only two in each level).

Keeping this in mind, it then makes sense for some families to pay for more, better resources. If they can afford it, why not, right? On the other hand, it brings up the familiar problem of a kind of socioeconomic flight which Katie Profunda had brought up a while back. Spain has surely come a long way towards diversity, but it has many more miles to go.

In the end, you may wonder if I myself am going on strike tomorrow. The answer is an unequivocal no; since I'm a mere assistant, therefore not a teacher, therefore not a civil servant, it's my job to stay. Only two teachers from my school are protesting, and the rest, like the teacher with whom I work, because it's the children who matter.






(Image: Rini Templeton)