Teaching da English

I finished my first semester of teaching last week. Much like everything that has happened to me in the last year, teaching wasn’t something I was aware I would be doing until a few days before the first day of class. The head of the langauge institute called me on Friday and told me they needed someone to teach their level 6 English course starting Monday. I wasn’t required to say yes, but I did because I knew it would be an experience that would better me as a person. I’m very glad I made that decision.

I did not go to school to become a teacher, I have no certifications or experience of any kind, and yet my first teaching job was at a university (one of the best in the city). I remember walking to class on my first day thinking, “How in the hell am I going to do this?” I did get a degree in English, and I consider myself good with words, but I don’t remember all the rules of English grammar. It’s a completely different thing to know something and know how to explain it. I found myself studying as much if not more than my students. I also had to focus hard on using correct English. If I used yall when speaking consistently, I would see the word yall in their papers. While this would have been funny, it would not have been good for them in the future.

I was also faced with the difficult task of what to do with students you catch cheating. It wasn’t so long ago that I was in Spanish class, and while I won’t go into detail about those times I’ll just say I have sympathy for students who feel like they need to have a cheat sheet to pass a test. For the most part though, my students became my friends and I only had to stand firm a few times throughout the semester.

I’ll admit, this post is more for me than you. This blog is somewhat of a journal for me and I want to remember this experience. If I could pull some type of life lesson out of all of this it would be… 

choose your words carefully around people who look up to you