Mr. Wong! I am very excited. I learnt how to fried the rice and the eggs. It is tasty to eat two things tothger. It call "fried eggs rice." And I want to tell you, my swimming is better than before. When I were swimming, I saw the spuare is going back very fast, so I know I swim faster than before. And I hope I have a opportunity to cook for you. :)

- I love that the kids want to share their lives with me.

Walking into the class, my third graders stood up for our routine good morning chant/greeting. While most of the kids clapped and cheerfully greeted each other, one boy, who is almost always enthusiastic about English class, remained listlessly seated and completely dejected. [note: this is the boy who wrote the 我最喜歡的一位老師 below]

Wondering what was wrong, I asked students to get settled with their textbooks and very quickly checked in on him.
He'd lost a football game.
Hmmm... that seems easy enough to deal with. Just talk to the kid about having fun with sports and help him realize and accept that we win and lose when we play games; it's in the nature of sports. The purpose is fun.

But wait, it was the game. The fourth graders had beaten the third graders 2-0, which lost them the opportunity to continue in the Olympic competitions at school.
Ok, I can see why he'd be more sad.

But no, it was even deeper. He'd lost the game. And his three teammates were well-aware. He was facing shame, insecurity in his football abilities, and feelings of disappointing himself and his team.
Unfortunately, the lesson had to go on as 33 other pairs of eyes waited for the class to begin. I assured him, with as much authority as I could, that it was ok and that it probably wasn't as bad as he thought. But how is an 8 year old supposed to fathom that? (how does anybody ever really fathom that?)

After the lesson, I called the four boys in the team to come out so we could talk.
His teammates were actually very mature. They understood that it was just a game and that, although disappointed, people win and lose in sports and that this time, they lost. They'd have to try harder again next time.
Relating it to the million tests and quizzes they have to take, I asked them to tell me what they would say to one another if they'd gotten zero marks on the test (a reminder I do before I pass out tests so students are conscious of being considerate and supportive of each other). "We should say: it's ok! Next time you can do better. Keep trying your best!"
We paralleled their answers to getting zero "marks" in football... and they started to see how they could shape their perspectives on the football match.
Characteristic of children who are not the most tactful with hiding their emotions, the other three players agreed, in a very matter-of-fact way, that this boy was the reason they'd lost the game, since he'd missed two prime opportunities. (kids are also unable to see how other factors could have caused them to lose, but that just makes it more cute)

During the conversation, the boy seemed to revisit his feelings of failure and disappointment for his teammates.
So I asked a couple of simple question to the teammates.
"Do you like to play football?"     yes
"Did you have fun playing football today?"     yes
"Are you happy you played football today with your friends?"     yes
"Are you sad you lost the game?"     hesitation. yes.        "...and it's ok if you feel a little bit sad..."
"but are you still happy you could play football with [point to each boy] today?"     emphatic yes

"I think you are good friends. I think you should tell [point to boy] that you are happy you played football with him today, because I think he still feels bad."

As the boys left, I called the sad kid to come back. He was still sad. Since there really wasn't much time left, I decided to just do more of the talking instead of letting him respond.
"I know you still feel sad because you think you are a bad football player. And I know you are sad because you think you made your team lose today. But J___, it's ok. When Mr. W___ was in primary school, I also played football. But I was not very good at football. My friends knew that I was not very good but they still wanted to play with me. Sometimes I missed the ball and sometimes I didn't win, but my friends still wanted to play with me because they were my friends. I felt very sad because I thought I was bad at football, but I also felt more happy because I always had my friends who wanted to play with me. I think you are like Mr. W____. Maybe you are not very good at football, but your friends still want to play with you. Do you think they like to play football with you?"
"Yes," he says with his head a little bit higher, possibly excited at the fact that his experience can relate to Mr. W___'s.
"And do you think they want to play with you again?"
"Yes," he says confidently, since his friends had said just 2 minutes before that they did.
"I agree with you. I think they are very good friends because if you are good at football or if you are bad at football they will still want to play with you! They want to play football and have fun with you because you are their friends. Do you think so?"
"Yes."
"Good. Now go back to your maths class."

And he turned around and ran back to the classroom, positively assured and confident in his friendships.

He got 100%!

The first score above 80% this entire school year (and possibly his school life?)

He stood up in disbelief when I announced it to the class.
Other kids were genuinely surprised. I heard a couple of "ooh"s.
And then, out of their own accord, the class clapped for him. (children can be so sweet).

And he raised his right arm, clenched his fist and pulled his arm back down - in victory - shouting "YES!" (in English!)

I told him he was smart.

I made him tell me he was smart.

You don't understand. It's a three-fold situation.
First, any decent human being doesn't toot their own horn very often.
Second, this is Asia. The culture here would rather you pick yourself apart with a toothpick before praising yourself.
And third, this is a Chinese kid speaking to his teacher. With a respect for those older than you -- not to mention your teacher -- you should not be gallavanting around and exclaiming how good you are.

There was a lot of hesitation.
"Are you smart? Are you clever?" I asked with surprising force.
I tried to read his nine-year-old eyes. But they went through a series of thoughts that were difficult to read.

"No," he thinks at first. Every teacher has their eye on him. He's never up to any good.
One minute he's pounding his metallic bottle on a little girl's hands because she accuses him wrongly of not handing in his homework; the next minute he's messing with his neighbor's ruler and snaps it in half. Today, he had done absolutely nothing in class during the 30 minutes of independent practise time I'd given. He hadn't even asked for help. A typical occurrence across all subjects. So there we sat at lunch break, with me watching him complete the classwork with ease (and a strong sense of understanding), which surprised me - yet again - of his intellectual ability.

"Jack*, I asked you... are you smart?"
I could almost see him change his thoughts from failed experiences at school where he was deemed lazy and incapable of completing work or tests that would indicate his smarts, to his home. As an only child, he lives with his grandparents. They cover his basic physical needs: food, hygiene, shelter, and clothes. That's about it. Outside of these necessities, his social and emotional needs are far from met. Unable to gain the affirmation or validation necessary for proper child development, this kid has slowly evolved into a rebellious child who yearns for attention from an adult -- and possibly a male adult in particular (?) -- whether the attention be positive or negative. Do you think he's ever been called smart at home? I don't think so.

And yet, as I break down the task for him he thrives and completes the class work in less than 5 minutes. His command of the language is far superior to those others performing at his low test and exam standard.

"Jack, I know that you are smart."
"Can you see? You did this work SO easily! You know how to do it."
"You can spell all the words and you can read many difficult words."

Holding up one hand high, I show him just how clever he is.
"You know Mark* and Lina* and Kim* and Graham*? They are also here. They are also smart."
In this system governed by grades, every kid knows who is the smartest and who is the most successful. On the flip side, every kid knows who the failures are and who never passes. To make what I was saying relevant, I thought it best to use the 'bright' kids as examples.

"But Jack, you are just like Mark. You are just like Lina. You are as smart as Kim. You are as smart as Graham.
Do you think so?"

Silence. But I know he's following along. He's probably never been compared to the 'brightest' kids in the class before -- and especially not by one of the teachers who have never seemed to believe in him.

"Do you know why you are different? This is how smart you are." I say, emphasizing my hand up high.
He raises his head to look.
"But this is what you are doing. This is what you do." I say, resting my hand flat on the table.
“What you do is listening in class. What you do is doing your homework. What you do is play with your friends. What you do is try your best. These are all so so so important to do, and sometimes, you DO them! But you are different because you do not know when you should do these things."

"Playing with friends is OK. You do this well. Listening in class is good. Sometimes, yes, you do listen... and sometimes, yes, you do try your best, like when you [insert concrete example here]. But you do not do them at the correct time."

And then reality.

"Now you are in P.4. You are very smart but you do not do what you should at the right time. If you do not try your best and do not do what you should do, then next year when you are in P.5, your smarts will go down a little bit," I say while lowering my hand just a little bit.
"The next year, if you do not do what you should, try your best in class or play with your friends nicely, then your smarts will go down more."
"If you do this you can see you will not be the smartest Jack possible, you will only be the normal Jack. But if you look at Mark or Lina or Kim or Graham, they will become more and more smart, because they listen to the teacher and try to learn and try their best. What they do is high."

You would think all of this would be overwhelming for a 9 year old, let alone a 9 year old listening to all of this in his broken second language. But I am confident that we were on the same wavelength. He was following me and my desire for him to realize and take ownership of his life was really coming through. I could see it in him.

"Do you want to be like this? Do you want your smarts to go down down down down down?"
"No, Mr. Wong."
"Do you want your smarts to go up up up?"
"Yes!"

"Do you think you are smart now?"
He nods in acknowledgement.
"Yes," he says and looks directly at me.

"I think you are smart, too. I think you are very smart. But I think you need to change what you do."
"Do you want to change what you do so that you can be smart smart smart?"

"Yes."

"Good. I want you to be smart, too. I want you to be the smartest Jack possible."
His spirits are lifted. Although a hint of doubt lingers in his eyes and heavy cheeks.

"I want you to go home and finish this work for me. Bring it to me tomorrow and show me that you can do the right thing. OK?"

I give my hand to him and he shakes it.

I know this one conversation will not change him, although hopefully it will water the seed of motivation that has been planted and that is slowly growing. It will take a lot of following up and a lot of self-reflection. He may even need a teacher he trusts. And it may not do him any good at all. We will have to see how it pans out. But taking a step back, I look and realize that this kid is exactly the kid that I want to teach.
It's surprising how young a person can be when they begin to take control of their lives.
It's absolutely terrifying how big your role can be when they begin to take control of their lives.

Seeing this video makes me sad.

It reminds me of how sad I felt for the kid when he was missing his mother.
I remember thinking how terrible it would be to be apart from my mother and home.

Growing up is so crazy.
Thinking about how my kids think is so important.
To them, school and everything I say or do will leave an impression on them of some sort (hopefully of the one I am trying to convey). Whether I choose to discipline a kid without letting him know what he did wrong, or draw attention to a kid by asking a question, or choosing not to do anything at all with a kid... their worlds are just so much smaller and their mentalities, identities and understandings of the world still have so many more crevices to expand into.

I guess this awareness resurfaces because I remember how different - and yet so real, my feelings were towards this video when I was a third-grader.