Show time

I was told some weeks ago that I would be observed teaching on December 5th and was given a short list of attendees; the principal of the girls’ middle school, someone from the Board of Education, a Korean English teacher from one of the other schools. A few days before I was told that it was an ‘open’ class, where the teachers at my school can come and watch if they like – there was an open maths class a few weeks after I started, though there was only me and the vice principal who took up the offer.

December 4th Sun-Mi tells me to go to the library with her to practice the lesson. “The library?” I ask. Well, there wouldn’t be enough room in the classroom for everyone. We should expect about fifteen people, including teachers from schools in the area. Twenty chairs are set out along the back of the room. The desk is to one side where Sun-Mi will operate the computer. My space, in front of the screen with the overhead projector beaming down, feels a lot like a stage. I’m nervous.

The morning arrives too quickly after a night of too little sleep. Two lessons to get through before the observation. My first class is fine, but the next is with grade one who are hard to control on a good day. Today, as the first tiny flutters of snow sail by it’s all I can do to stop them climbing out of the windows.

An hour to kill before show time, so Sun-Mi and I go to the library to have another quick run through. The I.T. people have changed the computer overnight. They did managed to copy at least some of the powerpoint file that I had put on there yesterday but not all of it and the ancient replacement computer won’t run some of the macros I’ve set up. Sun-Mi and I are still salvaging what we can of our meticulously planned lesson when the first observers start to arrive.

I’ve spoken in front of large groups of people before. I know that so long as they are all strangers and you don’t make eye contact it’s easy to forget they are there, so I’m feeling pretty okay until my neighbour, Chad, walks in. Clare and every Westerner I know in Korea, including two I haven’t met yet but have heard about, follow him in. There aren’t enough chairs for everyone; one or two are perched on the low cupboards. My knees are trembling and I’ve lost feeling in my feet and hands.

The students pile in. Their familiar faces are reassuring and I know they are a lovely class. We all wait nervously for the bell.

The class captain recognises my subtle nod and he brings the students to attention. We all bow. My first well-rehearsed words tremble out of my mouth though I think I’m the only one who notices. Five minutes into the lesson and I’ve forgotten all about the watchers as the students get involved in the class and everything moves along according to plan. We jump too early into last game, specially chosen for its impact on previous classes, and now the momentum is slowing With five minutes still to go Sun-Mi and I improvise some review activities. Finally, it’s all over and the class is dismissed. People congratulate me on a successful lesson as they drift out. I think it’s all over. I’m wrong.

Clare had warned me when she first arrived that the new format for observations included a debrief – a serious debrief - by the Board of Education. In anticipation I head over to the official looking man in the suit and introduce myself. He shakes my hand, asks me to sit and calls Sun-Mi over, something she clearly wasn’t expecting. He also invites others to stay and take part if they want to. Clare and her boyfriend sit at the table behind me, along with a few others I don’t know.

For twenty minutes two men grill me about the strengths and weaknesses of the lesson, of my teaching in general, of the challenges I face in Korea. Clare jumps in with some great comments and suggestions which takes the pressure off the worst moments. Sun-Mi is given a hard time as she is told emphatically that she is expected to be the lead teacher while my place is assistant. We show them what a great team we are – at least in spontaneously creating a plausible and entirely fictitious account of our collaborative planning and delivery of every lesson.

Finally we are released. Clare promises to get in touch later to let me know where everyone is meeting for dinner. I can’t wait, but first it’s time for lunch and a dissection of events with Sun-Mi.

Still the torment isn’t over. Around three I’m told to go to the Principal’s office. I enter and bow, take a seat in front of his throne like chair. He sits quietly for a minute before telling me that his English is not good but that ‘Sun-Mi teacher’ will be here soon. The seconds pass by like hours as we smile politely at each other. He tries his English again:

“Your lesson was very painful” he says with a smile.

“Painful?” I ask, not knowing how to respond to his statement without insulting his English skills. He begins leafing through a dictionary.

“Painful, hurts badly, causes pain.” he recites. “goes to great pains..”

“Ah!” I say, “goes to great pains…” as Sun-Mi comes in and saves the day, translating the Principal’s long speech in Korean to “He wants to say that your lesson was very good”. She also tells me that the man from the Board of Education was very impressed. I’m impressed by how well he hid his sentiments from me. Before we are allowed to leave, the Principal asks if I would like a red ginseng drink. Not wanting to be trapped here for a minute longer than necessary, I decline politely, only to find that there is no such thing as politely declining a drink in Korea and Sun-Mi advises me to reconsider, which I do immediately. The Principal hands us each a small bottle which I remember to accept with both hands as a sign of deference and we leave.

When the final bell goes I’m off like a whippet. At home I pour myself a beer even though it’s not even five yet. I’m stiff and aching and a hot shower only partly releases the day’s tension. Chad knocks on my door and tells me to be at Lotteria at six twenty five if I want to go for a meal with the others. I’m there by twenty past.

I eat with Clare, Mark, Bob, Rebecca, Owain, Eddie and Roch at a restaurant I’ve passed on my wanderings. We sit on floor cushions at low tables groaning with dishes of food. It’s delicious, as always. For the others this is just a Friday night get together, but I feel like a five-year-old at my first proper birthday part.

Later we go bowling, meeting up with Kenny and Chad. I’m as hopeless at this team sport as I am at any other - it’s pure luck that I knock over even one skittle - but no-one minds and I’m happy to enjoy the company. I walk the ten minutes home; Kenny and Chad are in the car and offer a lift, but despite the near freezing temperatures I want to be out for a little longer. I know that for the rest of the weekend I will to do nothing but sleep and finally unwind.