Back to school

When I was a kid, and I mean during that heinous period of time spanning from about age 12 to 18, I remember swearing to myself that I'd never grow up to be one of those adults who somehow forgets what it's like. To, um, be a kid. Flash forward to now, at 25 years old, still much closer in age to my students than to their parents, and I have to say that I've failed miserably.

Perhaps it's because I've managed to block out the memories so successfully. Why would I hold onto embarrassing moments, like the time in seventh grade when I was asked to identify with one of the two, cool subcultures that my classmates subscribed to -

Badass 7th grader: Hey Katherine...so, are you, like, a rocker, or a rapper?
Me: I'm neither! I'm a citizen of the world!
Badass 7th grader: ... You're such a loser.

Or maybe it's just inevitable that as we step into adulthood we lose touch with that awkward, insecure adolescent inside of each of us.

The point is, I have no idea what's going on in the students' heads. Do they like me? Do they want me to like them? Do they even give a damn about the new presence in their classroom, or am I just another lame teacher? Who doesn't even speak French all that well and can't understand if and when they're making fun of me?

Wait a minute this is EXACTLY what it's like to be an awkward, insecure adolescent! The constant second guessing, the fragile ego and self-esteem.

But there's one important difference: I don't actually care. I know that at the end of seven months there will be kids who love me and kids who despise me, kids who have improved their English and kids who still can't form a simple sentence. Hell, their reactions thus far have ranged from marriage proposals to total indifference ("This is Katie, the new English Assistant!" one teacher proclaimed to the blank stares of her students. She might as well have introduced me to a herd of cows chewing their cud in an open field).

One student managed to ask for my phone number in English.

Another, a titchy boy in quatrième (the equivalent of 8th grade) complimented me on my shoes. "Kei-ti, yourr shooz arr verry beauteefull." He also did a demonstration of "tectonique" for me in front of the class. "Tectonique" is big in France right now: for a demonstration courtesy of youtube, check Tectonique Explosion.

I know I will learn just as much from them as they do from me. Maybe even more.

And I have a renewed chance to make good on that promise I made to myself, way back when I was a "citizen of the world."