City vs. Country

You are so young; you stand before beginnings. I would like to beg you, dear friend, as well as I can, to have patience with everything that remains unsolved in your heart. Try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books written in a foreign language. Do not now look for the answers because you could not live them. It is a question of experiencing everything. At present you need to live the question. Perhaps you will gradually, without even noticing it, find yourself experiencing the answer ...

Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet

Right now, I'm sitting in the computer lab at my city school, my ears filled with the sounds of children shouting and teachers gossiping in their impossibly-quick Spanish. I sit here, mulling over the same decision that's been on my mind for the past few months -- am I coming back next year? Do I want to teach these children, in this country, for two years of my life? And, if so...which school will I choose? If I decide to renew, I must fill out the paperwork this month and pick one school in which to remain. The latter decision, to me, looms just as large as the former, more general question of whether or not to return at all.

I work in two, very different schools. My Monday-Tuesday school, the city school, is in a low socioeconomic area of Madrid, full of Moroccan immigrants and the occasional ¨gypsy¨. The school is twice the size of my country school, with two homerooms for each grade level, and a staff of 25 or so people. The scenery: a drab apartment complex with concrete sidewalks littered with dog droppings, surrounded by tall, graffitied walls.

My Wednesday-Thursday school, in contrast, is in a quiet village, nestled in a forest of pine trees and large, white tile homes (supposedly belonging to some of Spain's top military brass). This school has only one class per grade level, and the staff is like a small family. I tutor the secretary and headmaster's respective sons once a week and carpool with the Deputy of Studies with whom I practice my Spanish while she practices her English. During those car rides, I smile as the rolling hills swallow my view of the skyscrapers and smog. I smile at the sight of stork nests, tractors, the occasional cyclist and the sun warming my face through the windshield. I love the feeling of leaving the city in the mornings as the sun rises and then returning to such a cool, urban landscape as the stars come out. Without a doubt, I prefer the "feeling" I get from my country school. I admit, it's my comfort zone -- the manageable size, a more intimate group of co-workers...and, it´s in the country! (I am a farm girl, after all.)

There are other factors to consider other than setting, of course:

At my city school, the other assistant, a good friend of mine, had to return home and has been replaced today by a new guy from the States. At my country school, I work with two other girls, both Irish and hilarious. We're thick as thieves.

At my city school, I eat lunch with a mixed group of five teachers and mostly listen to their forced conversations. At my country school, I eat lunch with about ten other women teachers, and we swap stories about students and giggle over guys.

My city school is at the end of a metro line that has a stop three blocks from my house. My country school is about 25 kilometers south of the city, which means a metro and car ride.

But what about the children at each school? What about the work I do? The teaching?

The children at both schools are equally lovable and unforgettable. How can I choose to leave half of them? I simply can't make my decision based on which children are sweeter. They're all wonderful to me.

There is a noticeable difference, though, between their behavior at the city school vs. the country school. It probably won't influence my decision, but I think this observation is worth sharing: The city school children (unfortunately, living up to a stereotype) are more violent. No doubt about it. Daily, I break up fights. I'm talkin' about 1st graders shoving, kicking and slapping each other because they want to be 1st (or even last) in line. Anything to be special or get what they want. Last week, I spoke in Spanish to children for the 1st time when two boys got in an all-out brawl over who's last in line. I separated them, and as they squirmed to reach the other, I told them in my most serious voice that they knew better than this, and no, I didn't care who'd started it. The looks on their faces, after the initial shock of my speaking Spanish, was replaced by a look of confusion. Why can't you push back after being pushed? These children live in an environment where they must take what they want, morals aside. The city school students snatch erasers, pencils and toys from nother classmates without a thought. They need/want it, so what's the problem? This...culture, I guess, has been weighing heavily on my mind and heart recently. I love these kids so much, the angels and the little demons. (Maybe I'll give more thought to this topic later, in another post.)

So now I'm left with the actual work aspect. At my city school, I come into the classroom (infantil, 1st or 2nd grade), stand beside the teacher and continue the lesson in their class and activity books. The teachers are kind of winging it, therefore, so am I. But it works, somehow! Just today, a teacher complimented me on how, when I see that the children aren't getting something, I regroup and change how I present the data. I can change my teaching tactics fluidly. The teacher then nudged me and said, "You're gonna be a teacher, no?" I blushed, laughed and said, "Oh, gosh, one would hope not!" Then we both laughed. But that's why I like this school... it provides me the opportunity to get my feet wet, so to say. I present the day's topic, answer questions, dish out some necessary discipline, sometimes make mini lessons and even correct work in class alongside the teacher. I teach science, English and PE, and I've found that I enjoy teaching all of these subjects. I simply like being in a classroom. I've always loved being a student, and a teacher certainly is a student, too (no?).

At my country school, I go into all the classrooms, 1st-6th grade. I rarely, though, teach. (One 2nd grade teacher, Toni, is really good about letting me read part of the lesson to the children and allowing me to interact with the class as a whole. Other than her class, nada.) 95% of the time, I enter the classroom, walk straight to the back and sit at a table, pull out my folder of British English exam questions, and work my way down the roster of children, a pair at a time. Each pair sits with me and answers the same, mind-numbing questions such as "What's your name?", "Where do you live?", "Have you got any pets?" (crazy British English...it's "Do you have any pets?" but don't get me started!) and "What are you wearing today?" Sorry, but hearing them describe their school uniform (which never changes, duh!) 25x a day, everyday, gets kind of old. Yet, the children need this drilling to pass an exam in May. Ironically, I have realized that my city school's children actually are mastering English quicker than the country school children, who are drilled daily by native speakers. Perhaps the organic interaction of teacher-to-student holds their attention better; they're truly learning, and not just memorizing? I'm not sure, but the fact that my 2nd graders at my city school have better English than the 4th graders at my country school makes me chuckle out of frustration and confusion.

It looks like I've got a loooot of things to think about...