greatest dessert ever

why I teach better when I iron my shirt

The good news is my students care enough to search high and low on the internet to find my website (nice work, Peter and Marcell). The bad news is that since they've found it I have to be more careful about what I say. I've reached the end of another week, and I'm relaxing by sitting in the Havana cafe sipping a latte and reading about college football and the baseball playoffs. The cafe just taunted me by playing half of a Diana Krall song I didn't recognize (does she have a new album out - must check on this) before switching back to lousy Hungari-pop. It's even worse than usual, though, because it's a live recording complete with adolescent girls screaming their heads off. I, however, am in such a good mood I don't mind that much. I never thought teachers looked forward to the weekend as much as students do.

As I teach more I've realized that what happens in my class is fundamentally about the image I present in class. Looking back I draw a correlation between the days when I have a hard time with student behavior and how "together" I am. I was taught that the best classroom management is preventive, and a big part of that is being organized and prepared. I try to be real with my students (like admitting when I've made a mistake and being sufficiently contrite), but that doesn't mean I need to reveal all my insecurities to them. The old adage, "fake it 'til you make it" is something I've come to live by. And for me, part of that is ironing my shirts. I still don't feel much like an adult sometimes, but if I look like one I can at least fake it until I do. There's something about a crisply pressed collar and a tie that gives me confidence to face those rambunctious fourteen year-olds when it's lacking.

(And don't think I've given my secret away to those students who may be reading this - they don't know when I'm faking it and when I'm not. Besides, their quiz on Monday will remind them who's the boss!)

countryside

The last few weekends I’ve been fortunate to get out of the city and enjoy a bit of the Eastern European scenery. With my parents coming to visit soon (and bringing a rented car) it’s likely the trend will continue. The fall scenery has been wonderful (though the changing trees don’t hold a candle to the colors in Michigan and especially Pennsylvania). My favorite part, though, has been the friendly encouraging people I’ve encountered. People in Budapest are friendly enough, but seeing Americans and suffering through their terrible Hungarian pronunciation isn’t a rare experience for the typical Budapestian. But out in Esztergom, Visegrad, or any of the many Slovakian hamlets we went to last weekend they’re a bit more gracious. This isn’t too surprising – everybody says you have to get out of the big cities to really see a country. So if this is the real Hungary, it’s one of the friendliest places I’ve ever been. Two examples: I was trying to ask directions in Hungarian, and the young man I was talking to patiently endured my slaughtering of his language before slowly and clearly articulating his response. I had a follow up question that was beyond my Hungarian, so on a whim I asked if he spoke English. He replied, “yes, I do. I would have said so before but I could see you really wanted to try your Hungarian, and you were doing very well.” (If only my students could form a compound-complex sentence like that one!) And second, last night, we were looking for a restaurant that was listed as number 14 on the main street in Szentendre. We couldn’t find it, so we asked the shop owner at number 13. She told us number 14 didn’t exist (which it doesn’t), but walked next door to another shop keeper to confirm this. When they agreed there was no number 14 we apologized and started walking away (they also apologized profusely – I guess for their town’s obvious deficiency for not having a number 14!), but a minute later the first shop keeper came running down the street after us. She had asked at another shop and found out the restaurant was in the next street over. Above and beyond the call of duty barely scratches the surface of this woman’s kindness to us.

Kossuth Day photos

Captions:
9B students trying to see how many people can fit in a small box

Viola, a 9A1 student, being turned into a mummy

Daniel, a 9A2 student

One of the games - it involved moving a coin down the line without using any hands

Shandor and Gergy, 9A2 students.

Kossuth Day

On Thursday instead of teaching my students English I got to show them my basketball skills at my school’s annual sanctioned hazing event, Kossuth Day. It began with the 10th, 11th, and 12th graders gathering in the gym, and making the four 9th grade forms parade in wearing the goofy overalls that blue-collar workers wear here. The first half of the day was a competition between the 9th grade forms in which randomly selected students were asked to perform silly and sometimes difficult tasks. For example, two students from each class were given two eggs, and going off the school grounds they were to cook them as quickly as possible. The various groups received points for speed and quality. Other pairs had to take a roll of toilet paper and get 50 people who had no connection to the school to sign it. Meanwhile, those students who were left had to compete in silly relay races and such. It was quite fun, and nobody was so embarrassed that they broke down and wept. After that students from all the grades were able to choose from a variety of activities ranging from sports tournaments of all kinds to candle holder decoration to a session on how to train dogs. I competed in the three-on-three tournament on a team with a PE teacher and a Physics teacher. We did well, but ended up losing the championship game 14-12 in a heartbreaker (we played first to 11 wins, but have to win by two). My involvement came about because I’ve been helping out with the after school basketball sessions recently. I enjoy it a lot because these kids have some skill, but no fundamentals. The first day I played on a team with three 9th graders, and we managed to beat four 11th graders because I was able to get my team doing basic pick and rolls, a give and go or two, and boxing out for rebounds. It’s a new kind of basketball for me because (a) I’m good over here, and (b) my greatest happiness comes when I get the ball to a weak player in a spot where he can get an easy lay-up. I don’t look to score unless I have to. It reminds me of years ago when I used to play basketball at Sunset Park with Don Garbrick. He would go out of his way to make us look good when he easily could have won the game by himself. It’s nice to see things come full circle a bit. (And sorry for those who don’t get the old State College reference.) I’ll post a few Kossuth Day photos, but I didn’t get any of the basketball since I was playing.

my students

I love 'em. I hate 'em. But here they are... my 9A students in all their glory.






Peter and Marcell "working" in class.






9A3






9A1



9A2

silence

Since people I don't even know are starting to ask me where I've been for three weeks (who are you Andrew?), I thought a tiny update would be better than more silence. I feel bad about the fact that I haven't written in a while, but not too bad because most of my time has been taken up with the process of learning to be a good teacher (or at least adequate!). This month has been both challenging and rewarding for me, but in list form here's what I'm frustrated with...
-Never being told what's going on and not knowing where to find things out (like when half my class just stood up and walked out of class yesterday to go tot he school doctor!)
-Smart students who don't care enough to do homework or study for quizzes
-The line for the copy machine
- Not feeling I've found a church home in Bp yet

I'm thankful for...
-having a copy machine!
-getting to know my students at a deeper level
-Family of Faith Church
-the Budapest Christian Library
-my fellow (Christian) American teachers
-the cultural events of the big city
-all my students (seriously, I can find good things to say about every single one of them)

Lots of love!

Borfest

This weekend we at the Bazis played host to the ESI Hungary/Slovakia team and our year opening retreat. It is terrific to have everyone back together, if only for a day, but the real highlights were the barbecued hamburgers and the impromptu softball game that followed. It almost felt like a Labor Day picnic! Saturday night many of us decided to head to the Buda Castle for the annual Wine Festival (“bor” is Hungarian for wine). The beautiful castle is taken over for three days by scores of wineries from all over Europe, and beyond. They set up in little gazebos where they offer tastings, and the variety available is dizzying! This was my first wine festival, and while it was a bit overwhelming I couldn’t imagine a better setting for it. Gazing out over the Danube with my fellow teachers, seeing Parliament and the Chain Bridge lit up, and doing it all while sipping on a nice French Bordeaux – it’s a nice life! But I think it’s not the life for me. At least for now I’m still more of a beer guy – now if only I could get to Munich for Octoberfest…

the first week

I’m not sure how to describe my first full week of teaching at Kossuth, now that I’ve survived it. I decided to wait at least a week before writing about school to avoid making snap judgments, but over the last week I’ve felt just about every emotion possible. Take the elation I got when two of my beginner students were simply able to ask each other what their names were, where they were from, and what their jobs were, and contrast that with the frustration of being unable to get one of my classes to do an activity in English because they could do it just as easily in Hungarian. From students I encountered both direct insubordination and enthusiastic cooperation. I’ve had students cheat on assignments (quite obviously, in fact), and turn in some terrific work. I guess I could sum it up by saying that teaching is an incredibly rewarding experience, but it requires extensive patience, great flexibility, and vast amounts of energy! I’m apprehensive about this year and the amount of work it will be, but I’m also very optimistic. I have some terrific students who are both bright and motivated, and for that I’m grateful.

a chance meeting

Picture this: I’m sitting on a bench in Deak Ter (“ter” is Hungarian for square) with my friend and fellow ESI teacher Joanna, waiting for another ESI teacher, Danielle. It’s a prime location to meet people because it’s where all three metro lines converge. I was enjoying My Name is Asher Lev, by Chiam Potak, when I looked up, and across the square I saw someone who looked familiar. I saw only her profile, but I thought to myself, “That looks like the girl from Prof. Holberg’s Survey of Brit Lit class.” I kept watching, and when she turned away from me I recognized the Calvin College Young Author’s Festival tee-shirt she was wearing. I hopped up, jogged across the square, and said, “Excuse me, you went to Calvin College, didn’t you?” It turns out that she was there waiting for other members of the Calvin semester in Budapest program, including Prof. De Vries who showed up moments later. I chatted with these wonderful Calvin folks for a few minutes before exchanging contact info and parting ways.

You don’t really expect these things to happen in Europe, or at least I don’t. Maybe if you’re wandering around Grand Rapids, MI you randomly run into someone you know from Calvin, but in Budapest? They tell you Calvin people are everywhere - who knew they were serious?

the bazis

Have I told you I live at something called "the base?" Because the school where I teach is a technical high school specializing in airplane engineering and flight technology (and other aspects of flight transportation, as demonstrated by the English class made up of 14 flight-attendants in training that one of my American colleagues has to teach) there are a lot of planes and such scattered around the school. I may have mentioned the display case right by my office devoted to motor oil. So, to give you a taste of life at The Bazis, here's the view that greets me every morning when I walk out the front door. Enjoy!

age

One of the ESI teachers in Bratislava had a birthday this weekend, so I hopped on the train for my first “long-distance” trip. It was great fun, and the two and a half hour trip cost me a little less than $20 (3750 forint). Besides seeing good friends I made during training, and drinking spiced “hot chocolate” that was quite literally melted chocolate in a tea cup, the highlight for me was wandering around the castle that’s perched on the hill above the city. It’s nothing spectacular, as castles go, but reading about the history of the city (thank you LonelyPlanet) and imagining all the changes that castle has witnessed impressed me. Over the years it has housed Moravian, Hungarian, Hapsburg Austrian, Czechoslovakian, Nazi, Soviet, and now Slovakian governments. I know it’s a pretty obvious observation, but as I ran my fingers along the stone and looked through the archer slits in the walls I got chills because this building has been there longer than I can even understand. I know from past trips to Europe that this is going to be a recurring theme; things that have been around for centuries impress me. I hope I never get numb to it, and that it always reminds me of things that are even more permanent than 1,000 year old buildings.

what a difference a continent makes

I look to my left and see a mild green pepper and salami and cream cheese on a roll - a coworker's lunch. I look to my right and see a man dressed in bright kelly green overalls installing a new shelving unit. Of course, those things mean I'm in Hungary. I've been here for a few days now, and I love the little daily reminders that I'm in another culture. I know that in 2 months I'll be fed up and cursing those same things, but for now they're lots of fun! Part of my preparation for this adventure was learning about the levels of culture, and how some differences are obvious (the annual beginning of the year faculty meeting I went to this morning, that was completely in Hungarian really brought home the language differences), and some are unbelievably subtle (I've already been cut in front of in line twice because I left too much space behind the person in front of me - I know you warned me, Voogts, but I forgot). I think what I really enjoy is both the satisfaction of figuring out the way Hungarians do things differently, and then trying to figure out why. Some reasons are pretty obvious (for example, Hungarians aren't as concerned with efficiency and timeliness, in part, because for 50 years, under communism, those qualities in the workplace were not rewarded but denigrated because they made other workers look bad). Other reasons for cultural differences are much harder, if not impossible to figure out (why do Hungarians feel so strongly about paprika?). Oh well, figuring these things out is all part of the adventure! Szia!

culture

Some of the lessons I’ve had to plan here at training revolve around aspects of American culture, and in fact some teachers with this organization teach classes based solely on culture. I wonder if I’m the only one who thinks this is a little odd. Can you imagine going to a public high school in the US that offered, say, Italian culture classes? These aren’t language classes, just culture. Of course, there are lots of questions about how to be fair and sensitive in these classes. Our text suggests, among other things, presenting both the advantages and disadvantages of American culture and being more polite than frank when addressing the home culture of our students. These are both good ideas, of course, but the fact remains that it is impossible to teach American culture without contributing to the global imperialism of American culture. I remember Professor Vande Koppel teaching me how important it is for overseas English teachers to reinforce the value of the home culture, but now I actually have to do it. Any suggestions?

training

I’ve reached the end of week four of training. Soon I’ll take my TEFL (Teaching English as a Foreign Language) certification exam, and then in 9 days I take the long flight from LA to Munich and then connect on to Budapest. By my count I’ve done about 25 full lesson plans and countless partial ones over the course of the four weeks. Yet, as much as I’ve learned and practiced, there’s no doubt in my mind that nothing can prepare you to teach except simply doing it. For example, we learned a lot about classroom management in our lectures. We talked about the typical root causes of the problems, techniques for how to deal with them, and important ways to prevent problems before they start. But when time came and I was standing in front of a class that was misbehaving everything I had learned was gone. I don’t know if the fact that it was a class of my fellow teachers pretending to be deviant teenagers makes it better or worse. Nonetheless, I handled the situation pretty badly (though I did remember not to give them a good knock on the head), but when I face discipline problems next fall it’s not the lectures I’m going to remember. I’ll think of how I botched my peer class, and how to avoid repeating the same mistakes. I find this both frustrating (why did I sit through all those lectures?) and encouraging (I think I’ll only get better as a teacher). It’s a good thing God doesn’t call us to be perfect, or even successful, just faithful.

what a wedding should be

This weekend I was privileged to be a groomsman in my friend Ryan Voogt’s marriage to Shannon De Young. The whirlwind 45-hour trip to Grand Rapids was a great time on all fronts, but the ceremony itself was beautiful. I wanted to share with you the vows they made to one another yesterday in front of God and all those gathered to witness the service. May God give them strength to keep their promises.

The Way of Creation (Genesis 2:18-25): Here at last is bone of my bones, flesh of my flesh, divine help in a form I understand. You are the image of God for me. God speaks to me in your voice. God looks at me through your eyes. God touches me with your hands. And, in my love for you, I too may reflect God.

The Way of Denial (Ephesians 5:21-33): I take you, Ryan/Shannon, to be my husband/wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish until death parts us. Nothing else will have the power, for today I turn away from all other options. Forsaking all others, I commit myself to you. I will seek to serve you with tenderness and respect, energy and intelligence, imagination and love.

The Way of Renewal (Matthew 12:46-50): I take you, Ryan/Shannon, to be my brother/sister in Christ, for this life and for the next. Let our love be loved within the community of his church, and our home be embraced by a household of faith. However much our love for one another deepens, I promise to love God even more than I love you. I ask you to love God even more than you love me, that our growing love for him will draw us closer to one another.

The Way of the Spirit (Romans 12): I take you, Ryan/Shannon, to be my partner in Christ’s service. I will help you develop God’s gifts in you and work with you for the coming kingdom of God. I will listen with you for God’s call on our lives, that our home may be a place where the good news is proclaimed, where justice and mercy are lived, where God’s children are welcomed, and where God’s name is honored. May our marriage give him joy!

the three Ps and more

Though I’m writing this on July 25 I’m not going to be able to post it for a while. For a week now I’ve been immersed in intense TEFL training (Teaching English as a Foreign Language) and team-building activities, along with 250 other TeachOverseas teachers. It’s been a lot of fun, but exhausting too. We’re ensconced at William Carey International University in Pasadena, CA – I’m back in a dorm room, eating at a dining hall! My typical schedule is an 8:00 “Discovery Group” discussion with 5-10 teachers. We have guiding questions each day addressing issues as varied as political perspective and Biblical authority. At 9:00 we move into the large group TEFL session with all the teachers. I’m learning a great deal about how to teach English in these sessions. The most difficult thing so far is the 80/20 ratio of student speech to teacher speech that they recommend for the language classroom. After the big group session we break into smaller, regional TEFL sessions (I’m with Central Europe, for example). After lunch we have a 1:30 session that can cover language and culture of the countries we’ll be working in, team dynamics, or other various things. At 3:45 we find out our teaching assignments for the evening, and we start planning our lessons. Immediately after dinner (if we have time to eat!) we head to our practicum site where we teach our lessons to local immigrants (or fellow teachers if there aren’t enough students). After we get back we have a debriefing of the day with the same small group with which we started.

Needless to say, it keeps me busy. I am learning a lot, though! The three Ps in the title refers to the way the suggest we plan our English classes – presentation (giving students new material), practice (reviewing and drilling the new material), production (student-centered creative language production using new material). The heavy focus is on getting to the elusive production stage (how else can you reach that annoying 80/20 ratio?). This is just the tip of the iceberg – from different learning styles to Bloom’s taxonomy, from classroom management to methods of assessment, I’m getting a crash course on how to be a teacher. What keeps me sane in all this is the interaction with the other teachers – they’re great! I get to have wonderful daily conversations about how Christians should interact with a foreign culture or about the role of traditional grammar in language education (linguistic descriptivists of the world unite!). This is what we talk over lunch – how a Christian should react when placed in an educational system that traditionally disciplines by public embarrassment and shame. I feel very blessed to be in this type of environment, at least until August 22 when it’s off to Budapest!

ridin’ the rails

As a kid I had a fascination with trains, but then who didn’t? I’m writing this as I ride south on the Amtrak Coast Starlight through California’s Central Valley. We’re flying by apricot orchards, lettuce fields, almond trees, and all kinds of other crops. There are downsides to train travel: it takes a long time, the food is exorbitantly expensive, kids on the train can be incredibly annoying. But what you can’t beat is the view. In some ways it’s even better than a road trip because train tracks go places cars don’t. As we wound our way through the Sierras last night some of the views literally took my breath away. I can’t wait until we get out to the coast this afternoon. I love the feeling of history I get when I ride the train. They have all sorts of old western connotations for me (I half expect us to get held-up by bandits!). Having read enough cowboy novels to know just how important the train was to early westward expansion, I wonder about the train routes. How did one little town get the train station that turned it into the county seat and local hub of industry, while another town got passed over and remains mostly a Western ghost town? Of course these decisions were not usually arbitrary, but it’s easy to get fatalistic about it. Could the train have made a difference for some of those little hamlets? We’ll never know. (For those who are interested, the train just went in between two buildings of the Blue Diamond Almond factory in Sacramento!) The one thing I wish the train still had is a real caboose with an open balcony. How fun would it be to stand outside and watch the country go by with all the smells and sounds that go along with the sights? (Except, maybe, in dairy country) Of course all this Americana might come flooding back in a few months when I’m stuck in Hungary longing for some good old American scenery. Maybe Hungarian trains will have open cabooses.

nomad

I’m fortunate to be able to spend this week tootleing around western Washington, visiting friends and enjoying the scenic beauty of this amazing state. I went to Deception Pass last night – the channel of water that separates Whidby Island from the Washington mainland and expands out to form the vast expanse of Puget Sound. It’s only about a quarter mile wide, but the water is over 220 feet deep at the base of the channel. This means the massive tides moving through the narrow space give the current terrific power – you can see it in the eddies that swirl on the surface, and the hundreds of whirlpools and “boiling pots.” We saw a harbor seal surface and swim against the current for a few moments before submerging and rocketing out to the Pacific like a torpedo (the tide was going out!). It’s called Deception Pass because Cpt. George Vancouver couldn’t believe that this tiny channel was not a river, but the northern entrance to the sound. When his scouting boat came back with that information thus proving the land mass in front of him was actually a large island, Vancouver thoughtfully named the island for the captain of that scouting expedition, John Whidby.

I’m writing this on the ferry ride from Whidby over to Port Townsend on the Olympic Peninsula (it’s amazing where you can get wireless internet these days!). I haven’t seen any Orcas yet – I guess they’re not too common on this side of the island. I have only a week before I’m off for California and my ESL training, so this chance to see some of the most beautiful parts of Washington is especially sweet. I’m taking lots of pictures to help me overcome the bouts of homesickness that are about 5 months away.

I had an interesting talk with my friend Jon last night about what home means for our generation. We were in the only pub that’s open in tiny Coupeville, WA after 9:00 pm, along with the four regulars. Our chat was informed by a thoughtful book we’ve both read, Searching For Home, by M. Craig Barnes. Jon was a Geography/Environmental Studies major at Calvin, and has spent a lot of time thinking about how different places affect people’s sense of identity, both individually and collectively. Our conclusion (in line with Barnes’) is that many young people today grow up without a sense of home that is tied to a particular place or community. The world of the family farm or small town community is rapidly disappearing, giving way to the impersonal suburban community. Instead my generation finds its sense of identity in relationships. I am not a Pennsylvanian, a Washingtonian, or even an American as much as I am part of a group of friends who scattered all over the world.

On one level I’m thankful because it means we’re not looking to money, status, or possessions to define ourselves, to give us a sense of place. (On a side note, I’m constantly amazed at how little we care about money – it’s ambivalence that borders on irresponsibility.) The problem is that we idolize those relationships and let them determine self-worth. What we want more than financial stability or career success is love, acceptance, and inclusion (and that includes unconditional acceptance – love no matter what we decide to do). The problem, of course, is that our true identity is only found in being a child of God. We are his workmanship, created in his image to do good works that he has planned in advance for us. I may be a nomad, but that is the one home I’ll always have.

of greed and guilt

As a Calvinist I deal with guilt a lot. It seems like every religious tradition claims guilt as its own (how many Catholic guilt, Lutheran guilt, Baptist guilt, or even Jewish guilt jokes have you heard over the years?). It’s sad to me because the thing to be proud of, the thing we should be fighting to claim, is grace. That’s another post though – the point is I’m good at guilt. My liberal anti-consumerist tendencies have prompted many good things (consistent use of buses, libraries instead of bookstores whenever possible, and trying to get secondhand goods if I can), but I can never go far enough for myself. I’ve trained myself to feel guilty whenever even a twinge of desire stirs in my heart. I (internally) condemn Christians who I see as too affluent (imagine what the majority of the world’s Christians would do if they met me!), because they have nice things.

My point in bringing this up is to say I’ve decided I want an ipod, and I’ve decided not to feel guilty about that. It’s basic but important to say that music’s a good gift from God (as I sit here listening to Jack Johnson I heartily say amen to myself!). The same applies to technology. Obviously not all technology is good (same with music), but it’s a tool that can be used for great good. This means ipods are not inherently evil (unless Apple, as a multinational corporation, is evil – but I’ve decided that I can’t avoid supporting big businesses, nor should I boycott them completely. I should simply be aware of the struggles of small local businesses and seek to support them as much as I can).

The question remains: do I have a genuine need for an ipod? Need vs. want. What is the role of desire in Christian life? Couldn’t the money go toward something more worthwhile? But then, I could healthily survive on only rice, beans, and various fruits and veggies. Am I wrong to spend money on chicken, cheddar, or any of the other “luxury” foods I could live without? These questions genuinely give me a headache.

Another issue in play here is the reinforcement of individualism that comes with the ipod culture. I write this as I sit in a Seattle coffeehouse (The Green Bean) and the two people who sit nearest me are both listening to ipods, socially isolated and cut off even from the previously mentioned Jack Johnson.

For me, it keeps coming back to my robust doctrine of creation. We can affirm the goodness of God’s gifts to us by enjoying them and using them for his glory (how to use an ipod for God’s glory – hmmmmm, that’s “a whole nother” question). When you give someone a gift how do you want them to respond? So it still makes my stomach queasy, and I wouldn’t stand up and publicly declare it in this coffeehouse, but I want an ipod and I don’t feel guilty about it… almost.