Last night's end-of-course party got a little raucous. There was loud music (we were asked to turn it down), dancing and arm waving(it almost took off), lots of munching on the variety of foods people had brought, and games. These were common party games like Taboo and charades, but most of the students hadn't played them, and indeed hadn't (I think) played any such games.
I and the young woman who'd covered a couple of classes for me in October and had been invited to attend set things up, got the people up in turn, gave them them challenges to present to their teammates, and sometimes gave broad hints. (Many thanks! It was super having you there. Best wishes for the Peace Corps, if I don't see you.)
We'd all been together week after week since September and our spirits were high (but completely sober), so everybody's effort was applauded--and it was hard work standing there, thinking how to express what some words mean in whatever verbal or gestural language they had available. We had a great time, but one, in particular, came alive in a new way.
One of the things I love about teaching at the community college is watching people gradually become more animated, engaged, bright-eyed. This is certainly described you, my student, these months. From our first days when I struggled over your name, through the direct interactions in class and the indirect through the assignments you've written, to last night when you seized the opportunity to perform, I've see your strict staidness turn into an exuberant openness. Your smiles were always so guarded and wry. Now you play with personas as if you were a girl.
We're in this for English proficiency, of course, and as we wrap up the term and think ahead to a new level--for you, and also for me-we can look forward to lots more learning. But what if what we learn and how gives us a chance to explore more of the possible modes of being ourselves? What if learning is not just about what we can do, but what we can be? I can see you're already exploring that possibility. I'm excited for you.
Hope to see you, all of you, again soon.
I and the young woman who'd covered a couple of classes for me in October and had been invited to attend set things up, got the people up in turn, gave them them challenges to present to their teammates, and sometimes gave broad hints. (Many thanks! It was super having you there. Best wishes for the Peace Corps, if I don't see you.)
We'd all been together week after week since September and our spirits were high (but completely sober), so everybody's effort was applauded--and it was hard work standing there, thinking how to express what some words mean in whatever verbal or gestural language they had available. We had a great time, but one, in particular, came alive in a new way.
One of the things I love about teaching at the community college is watching people gradually become more animated, engaged, bright-eyed. This is certainly described you, my student, these months. From our first days when I struggled over your name, through the direct interactions in class and the indirect through the assignments you've written, to last night when you seized the opportunity to perform, I've see your strict staidness turn into an exuberant openness. Your smiles were always so guarded and wry. Now you play with personas as if you were a girl.
We're in this for English proficiency, of course, and as we wrap up the term and think ahead to a new level--for you, and also for me-we can look forward to lots more learning. But what if what we learn and how gives us a chance to explore more of the possible modes of being ourselves? What if learning is not just about what we can do, but what we can be? I can see you're already exploring that possibility. I'm excited for you.
Hope to see you, all of you, again soon.
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