Although not relevant to this week’s post, I had to include this
surprisingly wonderful photo, taken the morning after a snowstorm.
surprisingly wonderful photo, taken the morning after a snowstorm.
I was so thrilled to get the job, and then so quickly daunted by its prospect. Twenty hours in the classroom every week. Twenty hours.
The weekend before I started, I lay on the couch in our apartment in the fetal position, drifting in and out of sleep. What had I gotten myself into? How would I possibly fulfill my contract?
Well, I did fulfill it. One year. 730 teaching hours. That said, I know I wasn’t the world’s best teacher, particularly at first. I barely knew my way around our online materials library. I hesitated to discipline my students. I didn’t have a clue what they were saying as they chattered in Turkish. Were they discussing an assignment I’d just given them? Sharing school gossip? Making fun of my lack of confidence?
Preparation was daily and relentless, a constant struggle to fill the daily four hours. My punishment for failing to do so was swift: the students became restless and looked at me disparagingly, and I had to scramble to fill time.
There is a lot of talk in the States about teachers who don’t measure up, and I know that there were days when I was one of those teachers. But since it is painful to teach incompetently, I conclude that most teachers have a strong desire to be excellent—if only for their own comfort.
The situation in Turkish college-prep English is this: 18- and 19-year olds who test English-deficient are required to attend four hours of English classes every day. We teachers take attendance every hour. This spawns resentment and a sub-industry of medical excuses. I have often remarked with mock-sadness about the feeble health of my students.
In class, students are often oppositional and express their feelings by conversing in Turkish throughout the lesson. The procedures for asking a student to leave class are lengthy and ineffective. So, although some of my students were sincere and studious, more of them frustrated and discouraged me.
My colleagues were wonderful, a friendly, unpretentious bunch that worked cheerfully under less-than-ideal conditions. Increase their class size by 40 percent? No problem. Survey their students and highlight only the negative comments? Accepted. Neglect to tell them they are doing a good job? They don’t seem to expect praise.
Four of my wonderful colleagues at a farewell dinner for
fellow teacher, Benhur, and me. We are at an Istanbul restaurant
called Viktor Levy, which features a huge mural of (as one
teacher called it), “The Last Dinner.”
fellow teacher, Benhur, and me. We are at an Istanbul restaurant
called Viktor Levy, which features a huge mural of (as one
teacher called it), “The Last Dinner.”
I will not miss having to be ready every day. For a year I was either in the classroom or preparing for the next lesson. Even during the final days, when I kind of loved my students and finally felt competent, part of me still dreaded it. I simply could never get get over feeling insulted when I strained to talk over student conversations. Maybe another kind of teaching – a smaller group, less chatter, more immediate need for English — will be more welcoming.
It was always important to demonstrate to the kids that I cared. “Be sure to have a snack before beginning the essay section,” I called out as I dismissed my toughest group the day before a midterm exam. Hearing that, a particularly challenging student leaned over to her friend and whispered, “She really does care about us!” After that, things went better.
“Teacher, we are going to Sapanca [a lake resort west of Istanbul] after the exam,” Mehmed said to me the other day, his words coming out slowly. The class spokesman, he is the product of an Italian-medium high school and one of few students who pushes himself to bring forth English. “We would be happy if you could come with us.” This just after I had made a few garrulous boys, including him, change seats. I smiled and thanked the kids.
Sapanca Lake
I came late to this profession and will not have time for years of successful teaching. It is not clear that I will even get a job when I get back to the States. But I am grateful for this one. I have worked with about two hundred kids, and I guess one sign of success is that many have asked me to be their Facebook friend. Who knows? I might be keeping up with these kids for the rest of their lives!
Dear Sue,
being a novice teacher, I feel the same feelings as you. Still, when I hear them saying “she really cares about us”, I feel nothing but satisfaction:)
And, about you, I think you are being humble, since you have been one of the most hard-working colleagues I have ever met. In return, I heard so many positive comments about you and your teaching from my advanced level students.
You will be missed..Hope to catch up with you soon..
Best,
Esra
Good luck Sue! Enjoy this beautiful city as much as you can!
Aphrodisias is one of my favorite places.
xo
Sue, your devotion and commitment to teaching shines through in this post. I can understand why so many of your students would want to become your facebook friends!
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Hi teacher 🙂
I said to my friends several times that you were such a patient and understanding teacher and i really think so.Thanks for all you’ve done for us!
Best regards
Hi Sue, as someone who has taught many years in Istanbul,I know exactly what you are talking about. Good for you to have finished your year – I’m sure your students will remember you for a long time! If you go to my blog, you will see an award for you!