Ah, and as for classes, things are going just like they go in real life. I think this week was “Try Her Mettle Week,” and now, on friday, my throat is sore. I’ve yelled at every class at least once. Not screeched, I hope, but I used my lifeguard voice, which strains me. I turn quite red. And they stop and are quiet. And later they ask me what the words I used mean, which is very admirable. They’re good students, and know a lot of English. They could certainly be better students, although it’s almost impossible to create a place where 11 – 17 year olds do everything they ought to.
It’s hard, because I’m not a normal teacher. I’m the second in a series of Americans. The first American here was a big man who did things differently than I will – mostly because I can’t do them like he did. I am an average-sized and young, with a soft voice and a high ponytail (because of the mullet situation. Don’t get your hair cut by someone whose language you don’t speak at all). Also, I made the tactical error of going to the public bathhouse when all the girls from the boarding school were there. I thought to myself: “they don’t care, this is normal to them.” And then I heard a couple girls giggle uncontrollably at the thought of one of their other teachers going to bana. Rats. [the thought of an udder is also something to laugh about for a long time.] And I’m wearing intensely clashing clothes today, which pleases me, but I believe it’s something of an issue in 9th grade. Anyway, as a not-normal teacher, I have to make an impact in two years. I think I would be far more effective as a volunteer if everyone adored me, but that is not to be. I swiped up a rather extensive note two students were working on in my class today, and they each separately begged me and sent their friends to beg me to give it back. No.