As a professor for Indiana Wesleyan University’s College of Adult and Professional Studies I am used to teaching adults, so I wasn’t real excited when I was sent to work in a middle school in Termini Imerese, Italy.
I came to Sicily three weeks earlier as a part of Elk Grove’s Sister City organization to teach English in a school for adults. I was enjoying the leisurely pace of life. Three afternoons each week I had class. The rest of the time was spent relaxing with my host family and new friends.
But halfway through my six-week assignment, the mayor decided that I was an underutilized asset. He arranged for me to assist the English teachers at Paolo Bassimo three mornings each week. I didn’t mind the extra work load. But I wasn’t eager to deal with such young students.
I arrived for my first day on a Saturday. (Students attend school six days each week, from 8:00 to 1:30.) The teachers were happy to see me but not sure how to use me in their classrooms. They started by having the students ask me questions and left me with the responsibility to keep the class interesting and organized. At the end of five hours, I was exhausted.
As I was leaving the building, headed “home” for lunch, the president (principal) of the school informed me that he had arranged for me to teach at the another middle school for the other three days of the school week. My nice, relaxing time in Italy was starting to feel like something out of Dante’s
Inferno.
I dragged myself “home,” physically and mentally exhausted, wondering what I had gotten myself into.
By Monday, however, the teachers were better prepared. They had a strategy for using me alongside their regular curriculum. The day was not as exhausting and much more enjoyable.
In each class, the students would start by asking me questions to practice their English. They were always the same: What’s your name? How old are you? Do you have children? Where do you live? Do you like Italy? Is our school like schools in America? What do you think of the war in Iraq?
The last two questions allowed me to hone my diplomatic skills. I could answer the Italy question honestly, because I thoroughly enjoyed the country. But the schools were dreary and lacking in basic equipment. So I answered that question carefully. I also knew from other conversations that sentiment against the war in Iraq was rather strong. So I carefully avoided taking a side in the issue with evasive answers that would have made any American politician proud.
When I was asked my age, I let them guess. At first I found this entertaining because they always guessed that I was about ten years younger. But eventually I just told them how old I was. Then I let it slip that my birthday was on the last day that I would be in their school.
The response from the teachers and the students was overwhelmingly enthusiastic. The students treated me as a minor celebrity, even asking me to autograph their diaries. When they saw me on the street, they would surround me like a swarm of bees. Once a mother and her son saw me. She asked if he was a good student. This gave me another opportunity to practice my diplomacy.
The teachers asked me questions whenever we had some free time. They wanted to know about America and American English. Many of them admitted to me that their English was not very good because they had no one to talk with.
On my final day I tried to visit as many classes as possible to say goodbye. At the end of the day, the students surprised me with a birthday party. They bought a cake and sang “Happy Birthday” in English. Even the president of the school came to the party. I said goodbye with a lump in my throat and promised to come back.
What started as a chore turned out to be one of the most rewarding activities of my six weeks in Sicily.
Rod Pickett
