For many of my students, I am the first African American woman they have ever seen. So, despite the fact that they have known me for over a year and a half, there are things about me that always strike them as new, as interesting.
Like my hair.
Since coming to Korea, my hair has experienced a revolution. In short, I have turned my old notions of hair care, beauty, and propriety on their head and began experiment. And because I'm experimenting, I change my hair style. A lot.
The kids just can't get over the changes.
The fact that I can do my hair myself is shocking. The fact that my hair is curly is shocking. The fact that it looks new every other week is shocking.
Very little of what I teach them sticks, but I can say with confidence that they all know:
"Teacher! You're hair! Is change-y!"
Not exactly winning them prizes for good grammar, but the point gets across.
This week marked yet another first for me. I wore my hair un-manipulated by braids, twists or heat. In fact, I just threw some gel on it, and rocked it out. The result was a kinky crown with insanely curly ends.
It was pretty fantastic. And it nearly electrocuted my students with shock.
"TEA-cher!" They said to me, "You're hair..."
Mercifully, their vocabulary failed them. I'm pretty sure that 50% of them did not have compliments on the tips of their tongues.
Of course, most of the students are vicious tattle tellers, so they translate for me when they can.
"Teacher!" One boy said, "She say, your hair is terrible."
I smiled at her. "That's ok." I said, "No worries." Of course, you just made my S-List, little girl. Watch and see if I ever call on you again.
Other S-List candidates include a girl who walked up to me in the hallway, little posse of gigglers at her back and said,
"Teacher, are you a Ryan?"
"Ryan?" I was puzzled.
"Yes. Ryan." She gestured to my hair, and it clicked in. Lion. She meant, LION. I feigned ignorance.
"Who's Ryan?"
"Oh.." she began dancing foot-to-foot. "Your hair is fantastic!" Her sarcasm was punctuated by the elbow touching and giggling of her posse.
"Teacher" she continued, emboldened, "Are you electric?" The girls expired from laughter, falling all over each other.
I smiled and entered my classroom. Yuk it up, punks. You do you, and I'll do me. Because guess who gets to decide which 5th grade classes miss out on game days?
Like my hair.
Since coming to Korea, my hair has experienced a revolution. In short, I have turned my old notions of hair care, beauty, and propriety on their head and began experiment. And because I'm experimenting, I change my hair style. A lot.
The kids just can't get over the changes.
The fact that I can do my hair myself is shocking. The fact that my hair is curly is shocking. The fact that it looks new every other week is shocking.
Very little of what I teach them sticks, but I can say with confidence that they all know:
"Teacher! You're hair! Is change-y!"
Not exactly winning them prizes for good grammar, but the point gets across.
This week marked yet another first for me. I wore my hair un-manipulated by braids, twists or heat. In fact, I just threw some gel on it, and rocked it out. The result was a kinky crown with insanely curly ends.
It was pretty fantastic. And it nearly electrocuted my students with shock.
"TEA-cher!" They said to me, "You're hair..."
Mercifully, their vocabulary failed them. I'm pretty sure that 50% of them did not have compliments on the tips of their tongues.
Of course, most of the students are vicious tattle tellers, so they translate for me when they can.
"Teacher!" One boy said, "She say, your hair is terrible."
I smiled at her. "That's ok." I said, "No worries." Of course, you just made my S-List, little girl. Watch and see if I ever call on you again.
Other S-List candidates include a girl who walked up to me in the hallway, little posse of gigglers at her back and said,
"Teacher, are you a Ryan?"
"Ryan?" I was puzzled.
"Yes. Ryan." She gestured to my hair, and it clicked in. Lion. She meant, LION. I feigned ignorance.
"Who's Ryan?"
"Oh.." she began dancing foot-to-foot. "Your hair is fantastic!" Her sarcasm was punctuated by the elbow touching and giggling of her posse.
"Teacher" she continued, emboldened, "Are you electric?" The girls expired from laughter, falling all over each other.
I smiled and entered my classroom. Yuk it up, punks. You do you, and I'll do me. Because guess who gets to decide which 5th grade classes miss out on game days?
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