Ngam* and I exchanged amused glances as
my sons reached for yet another spring roll.
This was the third English language
class for my husband and me, but the first for the kids. Previously,
the kids had all stayed home with the oldest acting as babysitter.
This week, a confluence of events compelled the kids to come to our
language class despite their general desires. They could either stay
home and miss out on going out for supper with their Uncle or they
could go out for supper with him and come along to language classes.
Even for the oldest who has been waiting for an opportunity to stay
home alone, making the decision was a fairly brief struggle.
Through a church connection, my husband
had come into this voluntary position of English teacher. He had
wheedled me into coming the first time, believing that if he could
get me there once, I would want to keep coming of my own volition
after that. He was right.
Though we only drive half an hour down
the road, it is a little bit like entering a different world. Our
students are all immigrants from Thailand or Laos. They do
understand some English but mostly they communicate with each other
in Thai. The first time we were there, they were all awaiting us,
sitting on the floor or low stools. My husband and I were the only
ones sitting on any of the three couches in the room. The next time
we sat on the floor too. I wondered on the way home whether we had
committed a social or cultural faux-pas in doing so. They never said
so we came back the next week.
Each week we try to help this group
expand their vocabulary and improve their pronunciation of English
words and struggle to explain the ridiculous intricacies of English
grammar. Each week, I marvel at the bravery of anyone who
attempts to learn English as an additional language. It is truly
craziness – and this coming from a person who loves words and has a
penchant for correct grammar.
In
return, this small group of people expands our world. They grow our
empathy for people who have a different life experience than ours,
they share the difficulties and humour of learning a new language –
there is a lot of laughter that goes on in these classes, and they
feed us interesting food. Last week they gave us tamarinds
and sticky rice to try. There were fresh and dried tamarinds.
Neither my husband nor I had ever eaten, or even seen these before
and the group seemed to derive a certain amount of pleasure from
watching us try to figure out how to gracefully eat them and dispose
of the seeds that we were explicitly told not to eat.
My
favourite part of the class, however, happens close to the end. This
is when they teach us a word or phrase in Thai. I love when the
tables are turned and the students become the teachers and the
teachers become the students. When who is in their element and who
is tentative about their pronunciation switches. I love being able
to practice my newly acquired Thai greeting with these people in
church or when we arrive at or leave language classes. I can feel
all my synapses zinging with information as they form new pathways in
my brain. I love this learning.
This
is what the kids discovered this week. They hadn't really wanted to
come. They had brought a tablet along to watch a movie while the
class was going on, but space limitations required that they stay in
the room and be quiet. And so they listened and learned and ate
delicious spring rolls. They even practised saying thank you and
good bye in Thai.
On the
way home, the boys enthused about their new experience (the youngest
fell right to sleep). They remarked on how interesting the whole
evening was, on what they had learned and on how surprised they were
at how difficult a language English is for non-native speakers.
“It
was really interesting,” said our second boy, “but I was kind of
shaking the whole time. Why is that?” A lengthy explanation from
his mother ensued of how the excitement and tension of new and
unusual learning experiences can cause physical reactions.
I
asked the oldest if he figured he had had a better time here at
language class than if he had stayed at home by himself. “Probably,”
he conceded. This warmed my mother- and teacher- heart. And was a
good reminder for me. Sometimes it is the very things you wouldn't
have chosen to do are the things that teach you the most valuable
lessons: empathy, compassion, connection, delight in the sharing of
human experience. Now if only all such lessons were as pleasant as a
warm, home-made spring roll!
I
am the Lord your God
who
brought you up out of Egypt.
Open
wide your mouth and I will fill it.
Psalm
81:10
*Name changed to protect the innocent. Means pretty/beautiful in Thai, according to the Internet.
