I've flown solo. That's right, I taught a class all by my lonesome. OK, so I've done it before, but this time, it didn't suck. It was with class 5b, which makes them some of the cutest beings on the planet, (subordinate to a baby Hippo, of course), not to mention very, very, very enthusiastic.
There was one little awkward moment at the beginning of class after they called me Mister Winter and I told them just to call me Brandon. They looked like I had shocked them with a cattle prod and said bad things about thier mothers. It didn't bother me too much, though, since no social situation in German is complete without that generous shot of awkardness that gives life here it's unique tangy flavor. I said it a couple times in English, then brought the point home in German, after which they seemed OK with it. Then again, they don't have a choice: it's either Brandon or nothing, as far as I'm concerned. If I can call them by their first names, they should be able to call me by mine.
I went into class expecting to spend most of the period explaining "this," "that," "these," and "those," the grammar theme of the day, but they had it pretty much wrapped up; they rattled them off sentences like little teutonic machine guns, spitting linguistic gems such as: "this sweater is blue," and "that is a felt tip (pen)" into every corner of the room. So it was pretty clear to me as soon as I started that they already undertstood the subject, but I hammered away at it anyway, a redundant teacher worthy of high schools throughout time. I like to think I helped.
We did work with that for about 15 or twenty minutes until they stopped waving their hands and grunting to get picked, then shifted gears. To Hangman. It was their idea, actually, but one I totally supported, since their intelligence had drastically shortened my lesson plan, and man, were they excited. I didn't have time to ask, but I'm pretty sure this new model of the 10 year old German child comes with an external Endorphin/Andrenalin back-up system in case the power plant goes critical. I think it made their day.
Hangman's done differently here, though. The game itself is the same, but the process of executing the stick man is done with a little more attention to art and mood than in the United States. You all know the drill: draw the gallows frame, maybe a bit of rope, then add body parts for each wrong letter. Landscape rarely, if ever, enters into the picture, and the stick man is executed against a solid black or green background, a kind of artistic purgatory. It's pretty sad when you think about it.
Anyway, Germans always start out with a kind of lump for the first letter, and then build the gallows on top of it, piece by piece. Being a super genius, it took me a while to realize that they were drawing a tall hill and building the gallows on top of that. For some reason, this just seems a little more hardcore than letting the poor thin bastard swing over an undefined landscape "'til dead." Instead, they let him toss in the wind atop a great hill as an example to all the other primative human figures that crime doesn't pay. Or something like that.
The kids loved it. They couldn't wait to have the chance to pick a word, and I even had a girl pout when she was skipped for one turn. Go me, even though it wasn't my idea.
Dunked into this sea of pre-pubescent enthusiasm, my barely-planned lesson not only took up the whole forty-five minutes, but it might even be called "fun." I've never actually had that happen before; it was my first time. And not only that, but I almost didn't have to do anything; if someone got loud, everyone else "shushed" them into oblivion, liberating me from the hated burden of imposing discipline, or in my case, looking like I'm trying to impose discipline. Right on, munchkins, right on.
Thanks, kids. You rock.
There was one little awkward moment at the beginning of class after they called me Mister Winter and I told them just to call me Brandon. They looked like I had shocked them with a cattle prod and said bad things about thier mothers. It didn't bother me too much, though, since no social situation in German is complete without that generous shot of awkardness that gives life here it's unique tangy flavor. I said it a couple times in English, then brought the point home in German, after which they seemed OK with it. Then again, they don't have a choice: it's either Brandon or nothing, as far as I'm concerned. If I can call them by their first names, they should be able to call me by mine.
I went into class expecting to spend most of the period explaining "this," "that," "these," and "those," the grammar theme of the day, but they had it pretty much wrapped up; they rattled them off sentences like little teutonic machine guns, spitting linguistic gems such as: "this sweater is blue," and "that is a felt tip (pen)" into every corner of the room. So it was pretty clear to me as soon as I started that they already undertstood the subject, but I hammered away at it anyway, a redundant teacher worthy of high schools throughout time. I like to think I helped.
We did work with that for about 15 or twenty minutes until they stopped waving their hands and grunting to get picked, then shifted gears. To Hangman. It was their idea, actually, but one I totally supported, since their intelligence had drastically shortened my lesson plan, and man, were they excited. I didn't have time to ask, but I'm pretty sure this new model of the 10 year old German child comes with an external Endorphin/Andrenalin back-up system in case the power plant goes critical. I think it made their day.
Hangman's done differently here, though. The game itself is the same, but the process of executing the stick man is done with a little more attention to art and mood than in the United States. You all know the drill: draw the gallows frame, maybe a bit of rope, then add body parts for each wrong letter. Landscape rarely, if ever, enters into the picture, and the stick man is executed against a solid black or green background, a kind of artistic purgatory. It's pretty sad when you think about it.
Anyway, Germans always start out with a kind of lump for the first letter, and then build the gallows on top of it, piece by piece. Being a super genius, it took me a while to realize that they were drawing a tall hill and building the gallows on top of that. For some reason, this just seems a little more hardcore than letting the poor thin bastard swing over an undefined landscape "'til dead." Instead, they let him toss in the wind atop a great hill as an example to all the other primative human figures that crime doesn't pay. Or something like that.
The kids loved it. They couldn't wait to have the chance to pick a word, and I even had a girl pout when she was skipped for one turn. Go me, even though it wasn't my idea.
Dunked into this sea of pre-pubescent enthusiasm, my barely-planned lesson not only took up the whole forty-five minutes, but it might even be called "fun." I've never actually had that happen before; it was my first time. And not only that, but I almost didn't have to do anything; if someone got loud, everyone else "shushed" them into oblivion, liberating me from the hated burden of imposing discipline, or in my case, looking like I'm trying to impose discipline. Right on, munchkins, right on.
Thanks, kids. You rock.
posted by Der verwirrte Ausländer at 10:45 PM
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