The Blind Leading the Sighted

As I explained in an earlier post, I didn't teach any classes at all in the month of September. In an attempt to justify my September paycheck, the school asked me to perform various odd, English-related jobs. Most of these things were pretty pedestrian - judging English contests, sitting in on job interviews and the like. At some point, however, my dean decided that it would be a really good idea if I taught the teachers here how to teach. I guess she thought this was a good idea because they teach English, and I can speak it.

For those of you who have not already grasped the absurdity of this situation, allow me to make it plain to you. The sum-total of my teaching experience consists of one year that I spent in Japan carrying children around on my back and teaching them the names of different bugs that they like. Sometimes I would slam-dunk a basketball (the rims are lower over there). The highest level I have ever taught is junior high school. This was a challenging sentence for my students: "The telephone was invented in America". Needless to say, I have never taught English at the University level. Indeed, you would be surprised how rarely I have attended actual University courses.

My new charges, on the other hand, are all Chinese educators with years of teaching experience at multiple levels, many of whom have earned advanced degrees in pedagogy. They have passed several rigorous examinations and overcome many other bureaucratic hurdles in order to achieve their current positions. Honestly, most of these people have probably read more English books than I could name. And now, at this point in their career, they are being required to attend a lecture so that they can learn how to teach a subject they have spent years of their lives studying. This lecture will be delivered by me.

Devin Snow.

I am given a week to prepare this hour-long odyssey of enlightenment. Since this is a level of condescension I had previously considered purely theoretical, I immediately recognize that at best I can expect my audience to be incredulous. At worst, hostile. I need a rhetorical strategy that will allow me to deliver what appears to be a substantive lecture and yet avoid enraging my co-workers. Which methods to employ? Shall I prepare a well-researched presentation on the latest instructive techniques, complete with a review of the most prestigious educational journals? Shall I humbly defer to my audience, minimizing my own expertise while relating personal anecdotes from my meager classroom experience?

No, I shan't! Frankly, these approaches don't play to my strengths, which are avoiding real work and trivializing the meaningful. I decide that my approach will be the oratorical equivalent of "shooting the moon" in a spades game. I will stand up in front of this room of fifty-odd college professors, and I will treat them like children.

School-children, to be precise.

On the appointed day I go to (my dean) Ms. Cui's office. She looks nervous. She is perhaps questioning the wisdom of delivering her staff into my hands. Too late.

"Do you have a good topic for your speech?"

"Yes. My topic is about the most important part of learning to speak English."

"Pronunciation?"

"No. Confidence."

"Ah, I see."

I enter a room of about fifty people. I note that although the great majority of the professors are older than me, a few are my age or younger. Perfect. I only need to win a few of them over and the rest will fall in line. Nobody wants to be a regarded as a sourpuss.

Ms. Cui gives me a brief introduction, and then it's on.

"HELLO!" I bellow at the assembled educators. To their credit, I get a fairly hearty "hello!" back. Unfortunately, not hearty enough. I express my disappointment with a grimace.

"HELLO!!!" The response this time is more vigorous, but frankly unacceptable. I walk out of the room.

The key to this trick is to wait. Wait long enough so that they actually begin to wonder if you have left the building entirely. I jump back through the doorway.

"HELLO!!!!!!" The reaction this time, fueled by surprise, is more than satisfactory. People in the courtyard outside turn their heads to see what's going on.

"My name is - DEVIN! SNOW!" I write this on the board.

"Repeat after me! Devin!"

"DEVIN!"

"DEVIN!!"

"DEVIN!!!"

"SNOW!!!!"

"SNOW!!!!!!"

"SNOW!!!!!!!!!"

"SNOW!!!!!!!!!!!"

With each repetition I ratchet up their noise level. The room is reverberating. Suddenly, I raise a finger and silence them.

"BUT! What does it mean?" I point at "Snow".

A woman in the third row stands up:

"XUE!"

"THAT'S RIGHT!!!"

We all applaud her as though she had invented puppies.

I continue to work the crowd. I roll straight into my standard elementary school self-introduction (I have done this dozens of times). I draw a comically distorted map of America, and indicate Florida's location. I draw Mickey Mouse ears, an orange, and a cartoon alligator. I tell them that the lake behind my house is infested with alligators, and they react just like a bunch of first-graders - gasps, giggles, and the familiar rising tone of disbelief. When I ask them how to say "alligator" in Chinese, they don't even realize that they are all shouting the answer. They are mine.

I explain all about my new-found thesis: that confidence is the secret key to language acquisition. I argue this convincingly, using two cartoon characters I invented. Poor, poor Peng. His test scores may be stellar, but without the confidence to exercise his language skills, they eventually atrophy and vanish. Confident Fang, on the other hand, may be as dumb as a bowl of noodles, but practice makes perfect, doesn't it?

Prior to the lecture I reflected that no matter how educated an audience is, or how talented a lecturer is, listening to somebody speak a foreign language for over an hour is boring as hell. Therefore, I need to get them involved. I decide that I'm going to give them group-work. But before we can do that - how to form the groups?

I command them all to rise, and they do so. I explain that we're going to play a game. We're going to practice our English confidence by walking around the room and introducing ourselves to each other in English. "But!" I tell them, "when I shout out a number, you must form a group of that many people. Those who are not in a group of the correct number will have an interview with me in front of everybody."

This seems to give them pause. More than a few of my wards have looks that clearly say, "are we really doing this?". Oh yes, you are. And you're going to love it.

"GO!"

I advance into the fray and begin introducing myself person by person, encouraging others to do the same. There are uncomfortable looks. Hesitation. Tension in the room is building. Some teachers are refusing to move. It's showtime.

I hold my fingers in the air, "FIVE!!! Fivefivefivefivefive...!!"

Suddenly, pandemonium. The teachers are desperately shuffling around the room, trying to find four other people to glom onto. Women are squealing and giggling. Men are shouting. Experienced professionals are clutching desperately at each other's garments. The dust settles. Two were not successful.

"All right, you two! Up here with me!"

Applause. My first victim has a definite "I'm too old and cranky for this bullshit" vibe to him. I know just what to do with him. Using my stuffed shark as a microphone, I ask him:

"How are you?"

In Asia, English students are taught one and only one response to this question:

"Fine, thank you. And you?"

Now he's mine.

"Fine . . . thank you. And you?"

"I'm fine . . . thank you. And you?"

"Me? Oh, I'm fine, thanks. And you?"

"I'm fine, really. Really, I'm just fine."

This gets a big laugh from the crowd. Even sourpuss cracks a smile. Gotcha.

Round two begins, and this time, the magic number is "four". Even more carnage than before. One teacher is almost knocked over. Professors are fearfully hanging onto each other for dear life. I do a few more goofy interviews, and everybody is generally entertained. But the most important thing is the predictable effect of my little gambit: wall-to-wall smiles. Make them forget who they think they are, and people are much happier.

As you may have guessed, when I call the final number I reveal that they have just formed their groups for the next segment of our magical mystery tour. I set them to work thinking up ways that we can give our students more confidence. Nearly all of the groups come up with very interesting and helpful ideas. The lecture actually ends up being somewhat educational. Go figure.

After it's all over, I exit the room to smiles and applause. Frankly, I'm just relieved the thing is over - projecting that much energy is exhausting, and I am dripping with sweat. I head straight home and once again, by the time I shut my door the phone is ringing. It's Jessica.

"Heeeey Devin. I saw your speech today."

"Oh yeah, did you enjoy yourself?"

"Ah. I thought it was wear well. You know, Ms. Cui wear satisfied, I think."

"That's good."

"Yeah yeah yeah. By the way, I want to ask you - some teachers want to know if you have a girlfriend, and ask me your phone number. I thought I should ask you first."

"Uhh . . . you can give them my e-mail address."

"Okay. Also, they say your long hair is good, but if you have short hair maybe is more handsome."

Professional educators, my ass. When you strip away the pretentions, people are people.