Another day has ended in Korea. My hands are blue, yellow and white with chalk powder. My legs ache from standing for nearly five hours strait. My back hurts and my voice is a thin ghost of it's former volume which I think might have a correlation to the number of times I scream "be quiet!!!" Still, it's rewarding work.

As I walk down the fourth-floor hallway the students wave to me and say, "hi Mr. Steepen," or "hallloooo" or just giggle as one of the school's four pet westerners saunters down the hall. A few of the students I know on a first-name basis, and I give them a knowing nod as I pass. Usually it's the bad kids. I scream their names the most.

When I was working for the small newspaper in southern Mississippi I was an little more than an underpaid event photographer. Every now and then I landed a hard news assignment such as a housefire or soldier's funeral, but most of my assignments were simple social or political events, oodles of environmental portraits and the occasional summer swimming pool photo or fishfry. I was a university-educated, seasoned photojournalist with years of experience under my belt. I made $12.30 an hour.

Here in Korea, I am an overpaid babysitter. Under the thin pretext of teaching English, I keep between seven and twenty Korean children off the streets and occupied with something besides pop music for 45 minutes at a time. I have absolutely no formal educational foundation for this position and no experience. My training consisted of watching the other three Westerners teach for one day. I make nearly $20 an hour.

Go figure.

Like I have said before, English is an obsession in Korea. When ESS Best Junior Acadamy was started by our current director's older brother it was only the second English Language Institute in Korea. Now there are literally thousands carpeting the whole country and the competition for students and Westerners is fierce. Back in 1960 Mr. Kim taught English through simple theater, plays. Now there are classes in conversing in, writing and reading English for all education levels and ages all the way up to adults, who take classes at a separate building down the street.

For most Koreans, English is fun to learn but almost completely useless. Although only 90 million people speak Korean, most of them live here in the Republic or in the North. The language, Hangul, was codefied by scholars under King Sejong III back in the 1400s and is a source of tremendous pride among everyday Koreans. It is a ridiculously easy language to learn to read. I picked it up on the twelve-hour flight to Seoul. However, the small pool of native speakers and the domination of English over the business world have restricted Hangul to it's native land. The Korean people use it exclusively with little need to learn another tongue.

It was the American influence after World War II that kicked off the Korean's fascination with the English language. Among the middle class, to be able to send your children to a language institute employing flesh and blood Westerners is a mark of high sophistication. We are exotica to the Koreans, fancy Western luxuries like Levis, Outback Steakhouse and BMWs. Never mind that most of us aren't certified teachers. Never mind that many of us barely understand our native tongue beyond simply speaking it. Never mind that many of us are here because we are disgusted with the very Western culture the Koreans love so much. Put that all aside. In Korea, it's all about image, and there is nothing that looks better than knowing your kids are learning English from Westerners.

So if we actually aren't doing that great a job, who cares? The kids are tested, quized and graded, but their marks mean little since they are not required to attend a language institute. The little monsters know this, too. They learn in hour-and-a-half long blocks split into 45-minute sections. I teach one section and a native Korean teacher picks up the second. We teach from the same material. The difference is that the children would never think of treating a Korean teacher with disrespect. No such brainwashing was done for Westerners. When I walk in that door the gloves come off, so to speak. I have to earn their respect and for most of them it doesn't come cheap.

This is hard work. The second I walk into my 1-2P class at precisely 2:30PM those kids are testing me, trying my patience to see how elastic it is. They may not want or be required to be in that classroom at 2:30PM, but I am, and these are the rules: No talking in Korean. No spitting, hitting, running, jumping, poking, screaming, sleeping, mocking or fighting. And absolutely no stickers! The Korean children collect stickers and redeem them for valuble prizes (such as pencils) at the end of the semester. In the first few days of teaching I was THE source for stickers as I tried to purchase my respect. As the great John Lennon would say...

...Can't buy me love.

No, a classroom is a benevolent dictatorship and I am the Great Leader. It didn't take me long before I realized if I was going to get anything done whatsoever I need ed to get mean. The other teachers had warned me about this, but I didn't heed their words of experience. And as I said in the last blog, it's easier to be mean first and get nicer than vice versa.

But now, two weeks in, I am making progress. The Korean teachers help alot. If I have a class that won't behave no matter what I do, I tell my Korean "wingman." The next time I go into class you can hear a pin drop. In a couple of days their back to their normal sugar-crazed frenzy, but the break allows me time to come up with some disciplinary strategies. Making them stand, switch seats, or write "I will not not talk while teacher gives class" thirty times are all useful techniques.

It helps that Korean children are fundamentally good students. From the age of six to their early twenties they are in school of some kind twelve months a year from seven in the morning to nine at night. They are skillful learners who easily consume and digest material. Even if they don't want to, their natural instinct is to learn, because their entire existence is focused on precious little else. I have a few good students in my class, and they are rays of glorious sunshine in my dreary little classrooms.

Make no mistake, I love all of my students, even the bad ones. I don't take their misbehavior personally, though I make a big deal about it here. They are children, and I was no different when I was their age. The past two weeks have been an eye-opening, mind-blowing experience. I actually look forward to going to work every day simply because I have no idea what is going to take place.

Well, I got to leave you. I got my computer back, but it still isn't working. My camera's flash memory is just about filled up (and I've been edited like crazy). So I have to get this thing working fast. If anyone knows how to make an iBook with no operating system realize it has a harddrive, please drop me a message. Peace. --Notes 9/21/05