Asian Fortune Your source for all things Asian American
By Tamara Treichel
These past few months, I had a stint teaching an English SAT Class at the Chinese Community Center in Houston on Saturday mornings. I thought it would be a nice way to become more familiar with the Chinese community in Houston.
As I was feverishly preparing myself for my first class on a Friday night, my husband said I looked as if I were “preparing for battle.” As I rushed out of the front door the next morning, I was armed to the teeth with a heavy SAT Kaplan book and copies of exercises and lesson plans, which I had stuffed into my Mary Poppins-like bag.
My class would consist of six Asian American teens, some of whom were occasionally ushered to class by their parents. The teens were in grades 9-11, and as I would later discover, they were four Chinese students from Taiwan, and two Vietnamese. As I sat down on a rickety folding chair that reminded me of my own high school days using all the grace I could muster, six faces looked across the room from me – not so much excitedly, but just ready and resigned to their collective fate of spending their Saturday mornings with me, working on SAT essay writing, vocabulary work, and reading comprehension.
I read aloud the two essay topics for our first class: “Are there more advantages to planning for the future than living in the moment? Plan and write an essay in which you develop your point of view on this issue” (note: The overwhelming majority of those who chose this topic would opt for planning for the future) and “What significance does Chinese New Year’s hold for you? Explain.”
One of my students immediately raised his hand and said, “My brother and I are Vietnamese.” “OK,” I replied, trying to sound as cool as possible, “write about the Vietnamese New Year’s then.” Right – although it was the “Chinese Community Center,” it was a “multi-ethnic organization,” and I would see people from all backgrounds and ages shuffling down the halls to attend different classes. I once even had two African American women stumble into my class because they thought it was the class on tax preparation, but when I said that I was teaching English SAT and invited them to stay, they quickly fled the battleground on which my students and I were pitting ourselves against the Furies called Bad Spelling, Bad Grammar, and Wrong Collocation.
As the weeks wore on, I would continue to become increasingly flexible and adjust my syllabus to accommodate the changing needs, moods, and very different personalities of my teen students.
My class was a kaleidoscope of personalities: Tony had a kind heart, seemed well versed in history but was easily discouraged. He was in the habit of calling me “Miss Tammy.” Vincent was easy-going, hard-working, and eager to please while his brother Bryant was more quiet and contemplative. The trio always sat in front.
Then there were the “two basketball players” as I called them because they both also played basketball at the Chinese Community Center: Allen was perhaps the sharpest of the bunch and also the most aloof. He seemed more inclined towards the sciences than the arts and while we were immersing ourselves in the mysteries of the English language, he performed a small chemistry experiment in class by dropping a Tic Tac into his Dr. Pepper “just to see what would happen.” Meanwhile, Jonathan liked tennis as well as basketball, and was soft-spoken. He had come to the U.S. not too long ago, and Chinese truly seemed to be his mother tongue. Both Jonathan and Allen sat in the back.
Jennie, the only girl, was perhaps the most mature of the bunch and wrote many insightful, well-balanced essays. Apparently, she liked reading in her spare time, and several times I spotted a copy of Stephen King’s The Stand on her desk. Jennie was flexible as regards her choice of seating.
On the whole, they were a mellow group, and occasionally, there would be a soft stir, mini-discussions, and a bit of interaction among the students. When I once read aloud Vincent’s essay, Tony turned to Vincent and congratulated him, “Good work on the Pokemon essay!” Vincent looked quite pleased. My students were never in need of an “iron fist” and were easy to teach. Perhaps I could thank their good upbringing and traditional Asian respect for teachers for that. Or maybe they were just tired from their regular school week and decided to let the time slide by letting me do most of the talking.
This didn’t mean that my authority was never challenged. “How do you spell millionaire?” I asked, turning to the blackboard. When I wrote it on the board, m-i-l-l-i-o-n-a-i-r-e, Vincent exclaimed, “What?! I don’t believe it!” “You’re welcome to check,” I said, folding my hands and stepping back. Vincent consulted his Smartphone and then muttered that the spelling was correct after all.
It was nice to see how caring the parents were. Not only did they sometimes accompany their offspring to class, they would also ask me for advice on how to improve their teens’ English. I had the impression that on the whole, my students had led sheltered lives (when I asked, no one seemed to know what “homicide” was, let alone how to spell it). And when I had to cancel one class to attend to my father, who had been diagnosed with cancer, Vincent and Bryant’s father sought me out at the beginning of the next session to ask after my father. I was touched.
I distinctly remember one time when Vincent and Bryant’s father brought them to class. Their father stood in front of his boys’ desks with his back turned to me, reminding them to work hard. He reminded me of my own German father, sounding stern and simultaneously soft. The boys looked down with bowed heads. “Your father cares a lot about you,” I told Vincent. “I hope you treasure that.” “I already do,” Vincent replied. No roaring tiger mothers or snarling wolf fathers. Just firm but gentle nudges in the right direction, at least in my presence. It was wonderful to see that the parents seemed so invested in their children.
Very invested indeed – a lot was demanded of these teens. During one class, I observed that Bryant seemed to be more quiet than usual. “Is Bryant okay?” I asked Vincent. “We’re just tired,” he said. “Our father wanted us to practice Beethoven.” In fact, I would discover that some of my students were accomplished musicians, with Vincent and his brother playing violin in nursing homes, while I had heard that Jennie occasionally volunteered her musical skills for events at the Chinese Community Center. Sometimes, my students had other commitments that conflicted with the class schedule. For example, Vincent and Bryant had to leave class earlier once to attend a family activity. “What, you are leaving the ‘SAT family’”? I joked. “I’m sorry, Miss,” Vincent replied.
Few professions demand that you be versatile as that of a teacher – I have already mentioned the different personalities and changing needs of my students. Teaching can be rewarding when you see progress, and frustrating when you don’t (for some reason, I had a hard time getting my students to differentiate between adjectives and adverbs – I suspect it was the general American – or was it Texan? – habit of using adjectives where adverbs should be used). I also had to ensure that the more advanced students were always challenged while the slower ones could keep up.
Then there were the “force majeure events” I had to accommodate such as a fire drill where my students had to abandon their mock SAT essays, run downstairs with me and assemble in front of the Chinese Community Center in the glaring Texan sun. As I was adjusting my sunglasses and getting ready to count heads, Jennie said she had never experienced one in the ten years she had been at the center. And then there was the interview conducted by a journalist for the World Journal.
The news hook for the interview would be the SAT’s undergoing a change in 2016, with the English essay becoming optional instead of mandatory. The Chinese Community Center’s executive director emailed me expressing her concerns over Asian students’ overall weak English writing skills, and said she hoped that Asian students wouldn’t give up the composition in the future as an “easy way out.” In fact, she argued, composition could earn them “extra points” to become admitted to a college of their choice. The battle to instill good writing skills was compounded by the fact that today’s Spartan “E-generation” preferred short and simple wording for communication.
The World Journal’s Tina Huang came to interview us towards the end of the semester, and as she opened a very colorful notebook, she jotted down answers to my questions using Chinese characters. She asked me how I aimed to improve my students’ English, and I said I recommended they read a lot; it didn’t have to be The New York Times, even a Stephen King novel or Sports Illustrated would be helpful. However, I said it was my impression that my students’ schedules seemed so overbooked with extra-curricular activities such as music, sports or family activities, that there was little time left to read.
Tina also asked what methods I used to teach my students, and I gestured towards the mammoth Kaplan book and told her about my modus operandi of writing 25-minute mock SAT essays and doing reading comprehension exercises. Finally, she asked whether good writing skills are important for Asian American students, and I replied absolutely, and that applied to everyone. Writing good English was a must if you wanted to apply for a white-collar job, and if you made any spelling or grammar mistakes, chances were high that your resume and cover letter would land in the slush pile (here I made a small dramatic flourish towards the trash can).
Afterwards, Jonathan kindly volunteered to answer Tina’s questions in Chinese. The interview was followed by a photo shoot. As we got ready to pose, I noticed that Allen had some takeout food on his desk. “Make sure the food is not on the photo,” I said hurriedly. “I don’t want anyone to get the impression that we eat in class!” (The truth was: I did allow my students to eat and drink in class – after all, some were walking the tightrope between this English and a Chinese class afterwards, with little time for lunch).
As the last class approached, I have to admit I suffered a bit from the “empty nest syndrome.” Before the last class started, Bryant and Vincent’s father stopped by to say goodbye and gave me two CDS of their music recordings. I had Vincent and Bryant autograph the CDs with a Sharpie. After all, they may become the next Lang Lang and Frank Huang! Listening to their music later on confirmed me in my belief that they were indeed quite talented.
The Chinese Community Center’s executive director also stopped by and gave me hard copies of the World Journal for my students. There was the interview in traditional Chinese characters, with our group photo. Allen wryly remarked that we were now “famous like criminals,” while Vincent exclaimed, “I shall treasure it forever.” “Show your grandchildren and tell them that this is what you looked like in high school,” I said.
The clock in our class ticked and as both arms pointed at 1 pm, I pronounced, for the last time, “Class dismissed.” My heart was heavy and yet light at the same time. Mission accomplished, at least on my part. My students were not going to be writing like Pulitzer Prize winners, but I hoped that I had improved their writing skills. At the very least, I hoped they would get decent scores on the English part of the SAT and now use adjectives and adverbs correctly.
“Bye, Miss!” And as quickly as they had marched into my life, they marched out again.
