Espanol?

In my former life I was a 4th grade teacher, wait, let me clarify that, an alternative certification ESL teacher for DISD. Now for some of you, that may mean nothing, but to my teacher friends, you know what that means…YIKES!

So my first day of training I arrived at my new school, scared out of my mind, wondering what was I thinking. So my principal greeted me, showed me around, gave me a huge notebook to look over, and then took me to my classroom – a portable out in the back parking lot. Now I grew up in a small town, so small that elementary through high school were all on the same campus. I had no idea that kids were being taught in metal buildings outside in parking lots next to busy streets.

I walked into my new “office” and sat in one of the tiny desks thinking to myself, ‘Am I cut out for this?’ Then as a started going through curriculum and notes left from the previous teacher, I noticed a lot of Spanish. I’m not Spanish. I didn’t even know Spanish. Is that what that ESL thing meant?? When I was hired, they asked me if I would consider teaching ESL and I said sure, I mean, I wanted a job teaching so why not?

So, what, I would be teaching a classroom full of Spanish speakers? I could just imagine us all sitting around looking at each other for the next nine months. Holy Cow! Then the flashback hit. College, sophomore year. My dad had told me that I should minor in Spanish because it would be an asset and I agreed. So my first Spanish class, a breeze. I made an ‘A’, loved it, no biggy. Spanish II, not so much. The first day of class my professor arrived and began speaking Spanish right off the bat. He was from South Africa so his Spanish was mixed with African dialect. Now I am from East Texas and there, we t-a-l-k r-e-a-l s-l-o-w. He was going 90 to nothing and I thought, man, I am in for it. Then he went around the room asking what we had done over the summer break. My fellow classmates were talking about how they spent the summer backpacking through Spain, volunteering in Mexico at orphanages, vacationing in Brazil, and then there was me, “I worked at Pizza Alley in Mount Vernon (smile).”

I knew I was out of my league, but I pressed on. I really wasn’t doing too well in his class, but I was really trying. I had a tutor. I was in study groups. I was spending every waking moment trying to keep up. It all came to an abrupt end one morning (which happened to be the day before you could drop without it affecting your grade). My professor came in and walked over to me and said something. I looked at him and said, “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you said to me.” He said it again. I just looked at him and shook my head. Then the girl behind me leaned forward and whispered, “He’s asking you how you are doing, but he is saying it in English.” With that, I gathered my books, head tilted down, and vominosed out of there.

So, I minored in sociology.

Now, back to my classroom. Here I was about to embark on a great adventure…I only hoped that I could speak to and understand my students.

More to come…