My Taiwan Adventure

It's that time of year where teachers all over the world are over-worked and feeling desperately un-jolly. Sing this to the tune of "Tis the season to be jolly." "Tis the season for Christmas pageants, fall down from sleep dep-ri-vation."

I've run into a bizzare situation. My kids can't tell the difference between a horse and a donkey unless they are UNDER the age of seven. My students in kindergarten have no problem with this concept, but older children are convinced that there are only horses and ponies in the world, and that I must be inventing donkeys to fool them. I guess, that once you are over seven years of age you lose the ability to distinguish between small ears and large ears.

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Today I was asked, in typical management fashion, five minutes before the start of class to teach the story of nativity. Then my director said, "Maybe drama."

"Drama?" I ask with a suitably blank look.

"Yes. Teach the story and let them act." My director gives me that sweet innocent smile that she must have practiced since birth. She comes to somewhere below my chin, and I'm looking down into her pure brown eyes with my happy teacher grin that I've learned to practice when I'm uncertain or mildly annoyed.

"Okay, uh...." my head is now swimming with a whole range of questions she could ask from here, but I plunge forward, "Okay. No problem."

"Oh, and maybe give them some lines."

It's very Taiwanese to say maybe when they mean definately. "Right. Lines. No problem." I glance at the clock meaningfully, seeing it tick to 9:27. Only three minutes to class. I can do this, I chant in my head and send a prayer skyward. Mercifully I make it from Nazareth to Bethleham on an imaginary donkey and give birth in a stable where we park said fake donkeys. My labor is very short and I look surprised to have a baby, much to the laughter and delight of the entire class who gets to pretend to be the crowd in the inn . We have a good time given the lack or preparation. During the break my director comes to me and asks why I didn't teach the wise men. Then she saddles me with an extra half hour of class time to do just that. Laugh with me people. Nativity by the seat of your pants. I think the wise men were kind of lost on children in the third hour of a language they don't understand.

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Christmas cards are in the mail. I'm so proud of myself. Usually I make it to the stamp phase and then simply pass out from the exhaustion of writing addresses. This year, they actually made it to a post office box. When you get your card thank Eric. He is 7, and is in love with me. I can't walk through the school without Eric trying to attach to me like a barnacle on a whale. I'll do anything to get outside where he can not follow.

Spelling lesson: Merry Christmas is not spelled Mary Chrisamas. (This moment brought to you courtesy of Level 3.)

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