In order for any of this to have any relevance, I think I should clarify the context of today’s experience. For the past year it has been my tiring pleasure to aid international students, wishing to enter North American Universities, with the TOEFL test of the English language. Naturally you’ll probably have little or no knowledge of said internet English test. Let me put it this way: I wouldn’t imagine that many of my personal friends, talented though they are with their 30 odd years experience of using English on a daily basis, would have much success in TOEFL. It’s quoit ‘ard innit.
So, daily, I’m there using my understanding of the language to completely dissect ‘TOEFLisms’ in order to make the mammoth task of digesting the test slightly less daunting to the people who will, most likely, be rather more financially successful than afore mentioned friends, though none of that’s going to happen until they pass the ridiculous test.
It’s all about formulae, do this, this and this and you’ll appear more fluent or capable. I mean, I love teaching, please don’t get me wrong, it’s just that I’m a cynic when it comes to the actual quality of the writing that’s being produced. Yeah, sometimes I’m impressed with the technical language used but I usually drink at least a litre of water when I’m reading through TOEFL essays because they’re all so dry.
So the weekly classes are not bad. On average, most students actually want to be there; occasionally I note that those that are lazier are sporting watches that cost more than my education but, well, that’s life. I assume that they can afford to be lazy. There’s certainly no banter though as everyone’s hidden behind a PC monitor daydreaming of majoring in ‘Business management’ or ‘Media studies’ or, more seriously, properly studying and taking everything I say as gospel truth.
Weekends, though, are different. Severely. My classroom time is cut in half by the amount of effort it takes to keep the children in my class on track. Yes – that’s right – CHILDREN. For some reason immigrant parents feel that their children should begin studying this adult oriented test from the time they can walk. That or the marketing department of the school has convinced them of such. As a result, the dynamics completely change on Saturday as there’s banter a plenty but most of it is directed towards the topic of how I’m a ‘dummy’ or when the next hallowed break time will arrive. I earn my wage on a Saturday, one might say.
The class is like any other, with a mix of characters that would, given good writing, form the basis of a fairly decent mini-series. Well, at least a mildly amusing Youtube video like DUDE GETS PWNED BY PENCIL could be possible. For the purposes of my story though only 2 of the students are relevant.
The first is a 20-year-old boy/man who has a case of mild autism. He’s actually extremely useful as he looks up every single word I use to help the other students out. Granted he does spend about 20 minutes writing and rewriting the letter ‘P’ in his notebook though I would say that in terms of humour he’s light years ahead of his social tendencies. When the other younger students get restless, he reprimands them in quite a stern voice:
‘You should not do that’ or ‘Quit it man’ or (with a glance at me after saying so) ‘Shut the heck up’
Distracting though he may be, he is not even half as distracting as the younger students and we all find him quite amusing, in a ‘we’re laughing with you but not at you’ kind of way.
The second is a significantly younger student though by no means is he less mature. Yes, he is keen to get to the breaks (though, may I admit, I am as well) during our 4 hour TOEFL journey every Saturday. And that’s a good indication of how much I have been teaching this young man – I can almost not remember a Saturday when I haven’t. If you have not already guessed, this young ‘dude’ was the source of today’s enlightening experience.
The class was winding down and during that last 20 minutes or so I was doing what I regularly do at that time: marking the previous weeks’ essays. Bear in mind how dehydrating a task that is when I say that the dude’s essay literally had me in stitches about 3 times - to such a degree that the other students were asking what all the fuss was about. I had literally been unable to stop myself from exploding with laughter.
- Oh Dave… now here I was thinking that you were a sensitive human being. Laughing at an adolescent English language learner’s ability really is terrible… so disappointed in you right now…
No no no no! You’ve got it all wrong. The dude’s writing had hit me the same way I am knocked back by Bill Hicks or Douglas Adams or other writers who simply FORCE me to laugh; I have no choice in the matter.
The subject for the essay had been something asinine like the pros and cons of the computer or something equally uninspiring and the dude had transformed it into a dialogue between the members of the class in which they comically discussed the topic. I mean, it wasn’t Shakespearean, though I guess that aside from Will’s own work not much is, but it was a twist and a sting in the tail. At one point in the dialogue the mildly autistic student enters and begins shouting at the other students and the phrase used was the dude’s own figment though it was completely apt! I was on the train to Gigglestown with a single ticket.
As a person interested in the written word, I read a lot and I know when something speaks and when it’s just going through the motions and this young man’s writing had spoken to me. So much so that I had to do something about it, in other words I felt a responsibility to his talent and I felt that it had to be recognised, if only by me. So when his mum came to pick him up from school, I asked to have a word or two with her and she, being unable to communicate fluently with me, asked one of the school staff to interpret. I told her that her son was very talented and that, in my honest opinion, needed to have another more creative outlet for his writing, perhaps in a short story writing class. I could see that the dude’s mum was shocked but very proud of her son to be excelling in a language she could hardly grasp. The most endearing thing about the whole conversation was that throughout the young student had been sitting there sweating, visibly, with beads on his brow.
Now if he (or more accurately, his mum) decides to take my recommendation and run with it then I think that would be great. If not, then yes I think he could possibly get bored with writing without any creative stimulus and leave it within the realm of ‘childhood’ – in the same way that most children draw beautifully but it is not something they ‘do’ when they become an adult) or he could not. What was important for me was to point out, more to the dude than anyone else, that I enjoyed his creation and that I would hope that he could develop his talent and skills and bring them to many, many more people in his life.
This in itself started me thinking about the value of created things. So often we are trained to believe simply in the financial value of any work or process and this has begun to instil in me a wholly depressed outlook concerning ethical behaviour in our modern society. I had honestly begun to find it very difficult to perceive anything to have intrinsic value. It seemed to me that the only end is profit and that the things produced for us to consume reflect that. My experience with this young man’s writing, however, had brought a piece of truth back into what I now understand as a slightly warped view on created things. Yes the majority of humankind’s creative effort goes into producing means to the profit end. Yet there it was, directly in front of me – a clearly communicated message without taint.
So, apart from inspiring me to immortalize the moment in writing, my young friend’s talent has also inspired me to look more closely to catch the message, which I may have been disregarding recently due to unhealthy perception habits, and to be more open to finding real connection in the most unlikely of places.
