I am 48 years old and I have never overslept and been late for work—until today.
We are supposed to meet in the lobby at 7:45 to board the bus to take us to the Scheiber Sandor School. At 7:47 my phone rang. Was I coming down? The bus was waiting for me. I had forgotten to set my alarm.
The bus went ahead. I was showered, dressed and in the lobby in 15 minutes. I took a taxi to the school and walked into my class 15 minutes late. In over two decades of teaching I have never walked into a class 15 minutes late.
When I walked into the classroom Zsolt, my co-teacher, was standing at the front of the classroom, taking the students through one of my lessons. As he handed me the board marker he whispered in my ear, “I was just doing what I’ve seen you do.” In an instant, my self-loathing vanished.
Then Zsolt asked if he could observe another teacher in Beth Tfiloh’s group. Of course I said yes. He left and I gathered myself. I had this particular class of year 7 students for two periods in a row yesterday afternoon. This morning I had them again for two periods in a row. After 4 periods of English class with them in less than 24 hours, they felt like my students. They were even comfortable enough with me to talk when they should have been quiet. I was no longer a visiting teacher from America. I was their English teacher.
At lunch in the cafeteria I saw Bendagouz, the year 7 student who Zsolt told me was in danger of being expelled.
“Bendagouz,” I said. “I blogged about you yesterday.”
“Really? What did you say?” he asked.
“I wrote about what a good job you did in my class yesterday.” Bendagouz smiled at me.
One moment in particular from yesterday keeps coming back to me. I took one group of year 7 students through an activity that culminated with them writing a poem. Three out of the 8 students chose to write a poem about how badly they want to leave Hungary and go to America. In my year 12 class today, I asked them if they felt that 1/3 of the students in the school want to leave Hungary and go to America. All the students affirmed this definitively. I cannot imagine even one student in my classes at Beth Tfiloh writing a poem about how badly he wants to leave America—let alone 1/3.
