Strange Things

As teachers look back on any school year towards the end of May, no matter how things went that year, they are tempted to say, as Samuel Johnson said of John Milton’s Paradise Lost, “None ever wished it longer than it is.”

But, I gotta say, we are not just limping toward the finish line here. Yes, I know I get on a plane in 4 weeks back to the United States for the summer, and I am happy about that, but things, strange and wonderful, continue to happen here at KA.

I am enjoying the meteoric rise of student Robert right now. Rob is of Dutch-Arab descent, and has been doing fine all year long. However, in the month of April, homework assignments just didn’t get done from Rob. I tried to cajole the class with brownies (as already noted in a previous blog entry) but Rob's homeworks still remained unfinished. About two weeks ago I spoke to Rob’s advisor, and suggested a parent-teacher-advisor conference. Within 48 hours the conference had happened. It was a delightful meeting. Rob’s mother and I spoke for about an hour, and we discussed grades (Rob had six zeroes on homework assignments—not exactly promising marks) and the pressures of high school, and also how much I valued her son in my class. Before the conference I had asked for a ride after the conference into Amman with her (and Rob too, after sports practice). That could have been awkward, I suppose, if the meeting had gone poorly, but it was a wonderful chance to continue our conversation and let Rob know how much we both cared, and what is at stake, about his work.

That Thursday was a test on the materials we had explored since spring break. It doesn’t only happen in TV Movies—Rob earned one of the highest grades in class, an unqualified A. It was a stupendous test. He improved on his previous test score by about 25 points, but more importantly, he had taken our challenge, and demonstrated what a keen scholar he could be. Later that day, Rob asked me, “How did Farah Hamati do it? How did she go from a C- to an A- in two months?” I said, “she started doing her work. She realized what was at stake. She cared about each assignment. One at a time.” Rob had the A test in his hand, and promised he would pull a ‘Farah Hamati.’

A couple days later Rob knocked on my apartment door—he had been working on a homework assignment due two days later, but he wanted to show me his progress. In particular he wanted to ask about this one question that was tricky. I had asked the students to compare the words of Karl Marx with the actions of Lenin, and see where they didn’t match up. It is not a simple question. Rob had written a very strong paragraph, and nailed the distinction. It had the earmarks of a committed student. When Rob turned the entire assignment in on time, I made a big deal in class about the come-from-behind Rob and his rapid rise. One of those sharp students in my class said, “Rob is just like Japan in the 19th century—rising so fast and so strong!” These guys, what can I tell you? Strange things are happening!

On Friday, since I was not out-of-town in some glamorous locale (I know, another boo-hoo moment for me) I volunteered to interview students applying for a summer enrichment program the school offers. This program was one of the seminal feeders for the school’s inception and by all accounts has been a glorious program for the school and for younger students in Jordan. The public schools in Jordan are asked to identify some noteworthy students, ages 11-13, who might do well in an intensive English-language program. About 30 students come in the summer for a free two-week enrichment program, and then many of these are young people who apply to KA and are offered scholarships. It is designed to help students “come to the table” so they can better compete with more privileged private-school students.

I got to interview 22 students on Friday, and in these speed-interviews we are to ask them some basic questions (“How many brothers and sisters do you have?” “Where do you live?” “How old are you?”) so we can judge their conversational ability. Some families drove several hours so they could take a placement test, meet staff members, and enjoy this interview. The question that was harder for many of the ones I interviewed was, “What do you do after school?” Of course, it involved more than a one-word answer, and required some complex thought and sentences. After our brief conversation the students had a paragraph to read aloud for me so I could judge their reading ability. The word “hug” appeared at the end of the passage, and I was surprised how many ways there are to pronounce the word ‘hug.’ The students I interviewed were so sweet and so eager to come here and learn. There were about 80 applicants for the 30 spots, and it was very exciting to look at the possible future classes of KA.

One more self-indulgent boo-hoo: Saturday I was eating lunch alone (really, it’s okay! I have things to do!) when someone came beside the table and asked if he could join me. This was a student, and not just any student—a student who had recently found himself in a mess of trouble and was serving out a suspension punishment with hard labor on campus and a denial of weekend privileges. This was also a student with whom I have had several run-ins (run-ins of the most pedestrian type! We had a 10-minute discussion/confrontation recently after I asked him to tuck in his shirt!). I was almost finished eating, so I said I would not be there long. He sat down, and said, “I know what you think of me. I’m sure you’ve given up on me too.”

This had not been an easy week for the young man. I had not been privy to the discussions about his situation, but I knew a little. As we talked for the next 30 minutes he explained how Arab parents react to these kinds of accusations, and how people had already tried him before hearing what he had to say. As we talked, his omnipresent tough-guy bravado melted away, and we talked about how one survives public embarrassments. I told him I had not written him off actually, it took a bunch of times before I make that move as an educator. It was a remarkable conversation. He is suffering from such pressures now from parents, peers, faculty, and we talked about how one comes through those fires. I assured him I would be on his side. I swear, if you had told me an hour before that I would have one of those “Afterschool Specials”-moments with that guy, I would have just laughed.

Maybe that was why I needed to be here this weekend on campus.

Not all of our students are the garden-variety “comeback kids.” Some of our students have been strong all along, and I suppose I neglect writing about them because they lack the drama of “His reading scores were so low and now he reads Tolstoy!!!!” appraisals. One guy, Abdullah, has lived on my hall, been in the drama class I taught briefly last fall, and been in one of my classes. He is one of the most joyful students I know. He is one of the most academically minded students I know. He has earned B+, A-, A grades all year, but I haven’t spoken about him much. But one of those great teacher-student moments happened recently that bear repeating.

As we talked in class about the glorious summer of 1914, and the ever-growing excitement about a big war, I discussed the Viennese composer Gustav Mahler. Mahler had composed his 7th symphony with this fervor in mind—the world was on the brink of war, and needed a war, a destructive war to purge society of its evils. But finally, after such a war, the war would be made new, made clean, in order to march onward toward progress. I told the students that the final movement of Mahler’s 7th was this thrilling experience of this promised new world.

In that summer of 1914, as Germany and Austria declared war on the Triple Entente alliance, young men marched excitedly down the streets as ad hoc bands blasted that last movement of Mahler. It must have been made for an exciting afternoon with the hats waving, ladies cheering, trumpets blaring.

It was a nice moment in history class to set the stage for what would be the deadliest war in human history.

That night I was making some rounds in the dorm, and I like to peek my head in during study hours and just make sure the boys are doing okay, maybe even doing some homework. I see Abdullah with head-phones on and ask what is playing. “I found the Mahler symphony online, and I wanted to hear what those guys heard as they marched off to war.” Really? Wow. I hadn’t actually thought someone might seek out the symphony—I used to play the movement in class, in New York, but I didn’t bring all my CDs here. But how great that Abdullah sat there on a lovely spring night in 2008 trying to imagine what it felt like to stand there on that busy strasse and hear those symphonic promises of new life. Strange things indeed.

Today on the treadmill I finished the last episode of the first season of Friday Night Lights. What a fantastic show. It is one of the best dramatic series I have ever watched. You know, it’s making me love football! And I am not just saying that to make my brother-in-law happy. At this one moment the coach said to his wife, “I am living my dream.” I exercised away on the treadmill, captivated by the show and the game, totally enthralled. I suppose stranger things have happened, I just can’t think of any.