He is Sam

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He is Sam!

by Zoltan Boka

“They”- the people who are considered “experts”, always advise you to write what you know. I think this is pretty solid not just when it comes to writing, but other aspects of life as well.

Of course it is important to try new things, uncover new passions and master new skills, but by the time you are writing about something, you should have a solid handle on the topic. Which is why this is such a perfect opening column for me.

“This column.” Or more egotistically, “my column”. It is an odd concept no matter how you slice it. But, thanks to the editors here, I have a column- and you lucky/unlucky person are actually reading it! All joking aside, that is one heckuva milestone. So as to make it the worthy start of a hopefully long journey, I will try to make it not only accurate, but also somewhat personal and thereby (hopefully) more engaging.

I fell into teaching English as a Foreign Language. Of course so did everyone else- nobody who is teaching today woke up at the tender age of seven and pronounced, “I want to KNOW everything about language acquisition! Teach me, Noam Chomsky, o wise one!” And if anyone says they actually had such ambitions in their tender youth, that person is a bloody liar who should never be trusted but nonetheless be kept on hand to entertain.

A famous Korean adage is that “the nail that sticks up gets hammered down.”

My first real teaching job took me to South Korea. It is pretty common for teachers of my ilk to start their careers in the land of fermented cabbage. This is because South Korea is parched for so-called “native speakers.” (I will ruminate on the hilarity of a Hungarian-born “native speaker” some other time.) I do not know where this ardor comes from, considering that South Korea is hands-down the most xenophobic place I have ever been to. That I went there at all is likely attributable to my picture. Just look at that handsome, youthful, Caucasian visage! It bespeaks competence. At any rate, me and my handsome visage landed at Seoul in early January 2005 for ten months of glorious miseducating. Along the way, I learned the truism that only three things matter in East Asia: Face, face and face. “Keeping face”, “saving face” and “making face”- the last one referring to building up a sterling reputation not making funny faces on the telly. One must guard their reputation- and their families’ reputation- at all costs. Even the perception that you have shamed yourself or your kin can drive someone to suicide.

Because of this obsessive ritual- a sort of Eastern version of “keeping up with the Joneses”, a certain conformity arises. A few months after I landed, I noticed that almost all Korean schoolgirls looked exactly the same. I do not mean only identical uniforms- identical haircuts, makeup and accessories also ruled. A famous Korean adage is that “the nail that sticks up gets hammered down.” Sometimes it seemed that the number one item on everyone’s agenda was to avoid the hammer.
This makes teaching- which, for me, is about communication- a tough task.
“Kim Soo, what is your favorite food?”
“Kimchi and rice!”
“Sun Lee?”
“Kimchi and rice!”
And so it goes, around the whole class. On occasion, a rebel would proclaim the virtues of, say fried rice, and I would almost weep with jubilation.

The idea of special education- that certain students are taught differently, because their needs are different- did not seem to take hold in Korea. I am sure that somewhere in Seoul or Busan an enlightened superintendent had established such a program, but at my school in the Seoul exurb of Ansan, it was plenty daring to have me on the staff. Special Ed was, it seemed, a bridge too far.

This left kids like Sam in a lurch.

Sam was a super sweet kid. Now, mind you, I have become well versed in youthful overeducated cynicism and may never say the word “sweet” again. But Sam was…you know. Still, it was obvious, even in first grade that he was not on the same level as his classmates. Sam needed time and structure. If everyone understood the first time around, I would still say something twice. At playtime, despite the rigid gender-separation that prevailed, I would still seat Sam at the girls’ table. Girls took care of him in a maternal way. Boys tried too, but they had the attention span of a gnat and could not be relied upon, so he stayed with the girls. Sam was allowed to take part in any activity, so long as scissors and knives were not used- he was the sort who would give a good roundhouse poke to another kid and grin happily, even if it hurt the pokee- I did not wish to amplify matters with sharp objects.

He loved rote activities- give the kid a pencil and a coloring book and you just took care of him for the rest of the class- maybe the week, or, if I had not stepped in to redirect him, possibly the whole year. Because of his friendliness, Sam got away with pinching, kicking, shoving and otherwise harassing boys who could have otherwise flattened him like a pancake. Even so, a class with Sam often felt like three classes. First graders being needy little buggers, I couldn’t very well tend to Sam exclusively- and if I had tried, resentment would have surely set in.

But in spite of it all, perhaps mainstreaming works after all. The single best thing you can do for a kid like Sam was to expose him early on to the general population he would deal with for the rest of his life- the good, the bad and the ugly all in one convenient schoolyard. While I did not have to do this- one of the advantages of living in a small Korean subdivision where everyone knew everyone else’s business- it may help to educate kids and parents on their new classmates- and to teach parents of special needs kids what techniques they could use to cope- not only with their childs’ condition but their own very human reactions to it.

It’s still the real world and Sam still lives in it. Perhaps that is the most important thing for him to learn.