I am changing my new blog entries over to another site. This is where to find them:
http://philvidetich.wordpress.com/
Monday, October 10, 2011
Monday, October 3, 2011
Our First Day of School
The first day of school. I remember my "first first" day of school; transitioning into a third-grade class where I didn't know anybody. I remember bringing an empty cheerios box for some art project and a box of tissues, which if I had cared to use myself, I could have depleted handily with wiping up all of my waling and sobbing at being sent off to a new, scary school.
Today began quite differently. I woke up at a quarter 'til eight, had a quick breakfast and hopped on the bus 2P, which has a stop right by my school. Even if I didn't have any visual capacity, the sound of the squealing masses of energetic children could easily have guided me to my destination. I pushed my way through crowds of parents, who, being too preoccupied with making faces and baby noises at their children through the fence, did not seem to realize that I needed to pass through. I then realized that I had accidentally entered into the pre-kindergarten building and had to go to the other entrance.
Fortunately, I will not be teaching the smallest of the small ones. Most of the classes that I will be helping in are sixth grade, with several third-grade classes as well. Apparently, I will be helping out in science class, art class, English class, (obviously enough) and a mystery class labeled on my schedule as "speling/games" (sic). It seems that during that period, I will be playing games that have to do with spelling.
Changing subjects (get it?) here, I now turn to the culinary side of the fine establishment through which I receive monetary compensation. Happily enough for me, I have discovered that the school provides delicious food for all of its forty teachers at noon, every school day. This means I save lots of money. They have fruit, hot food, dessert, and plates of sliced ham, the last item leaving me quite unsure of how to go about eating it. After careful observation, making sure to act completely natural, I discovered that the other teachers simply hovered around the unsuspecting plate of ham, hands deftly diving downward like five-clawed birds of prey to scoop up morsels of meat. Let me situate you a little; this all takes place within the confines of the teachers' lounge, a small room, maybe the size of a generous living room. However, due to the fact the eighty percent of the room is taken up by nine tables arranged in a square in the middle of the room, all the teachers are stuck tripping over chairs and bumping into each other in the three-foot section that remains for moving around the room.
The arrangement of the furniture seems to be quite conducive to a very chatty environment in the teachers' lounge. After all, some communication has to take place when an ample, pear-shaped little Spanish woman is trying in vain to squeeze herself between me and an obstructing chair on her mission to find another ripe fruit for after her next class period.
There are five English-speaking teachers' assistants at Colegio Dulcinea this year. Gianni is a robust Louisiana man of Italian ancestry, Chris is an North Carolinian whose parents hail from Ecuador, Nekane is a tall girl from Connecticut whose father is Basque but moved to the United States to play Basque handball professionally, and Sarah is an Irish girl who has a less convoluted parental lineage. And there is me, a guy from Michigan whose parents are from Michigan. It's easier to remember that. All the assistants seem to be pretty fun people, so that's a big plus. Also, we can share ideas and hopefully make life easier for each other.
These are the impressions of my first day of school.
Today began quite differently. I woke up at a quarter 'til eight, had a quick breakfast and hopped on the bus 2P, which has a stop right by my school. Even if I didn't have any visual capacity, the sound of the squealing masses of energetic children could easily have guided me to my destination. I pushed my way through crowds of parents, who, being too preoccupied with making faces and baby noises at their children through the fence, did not seem to realize that I needed to pass through. I then realized that I had accidentally entered into the pre-kindergarten building and had to go to the other entrance.
Fortunately, I will not be teaching the smallest of the small ones. Most of the classes that I will be helping in are sixth grade, with several third-grade classes as well. Apparently, I will be helping out in science class, art class, English class, (obviously enough) and a mystery class labeled on my schedule as "speling/games" (sic). It seems that during that period, I will be playing games that have to do with spelling.
Changing subjects (get it?) here, I now turn to the culinary side of the fine establishment through which I receive monetary compensation. Happily enough for me, I have discovered that the school provides delicious food for all of its forty teachers at noon, every school day. This means I save lots of money. They have fruit, hot food, dessert, and plates of sliced ham, the last item leaving me quite unsure of how to go about eating it. After careful observation, making sure to act completely natural, I discovered that the other teachers simply hovered around the unsuspecting plate of ham, hands deftly diving downward like five-clawed birds of prey to scoop up morsels of meat. Let me situate you a little; this all takes place within the confines of the teachers' lounge, a small room, maybe the size of a generous living room. However, due to the fact the eighty percent of the room is taken up by nine tables arranged in a square in the middle of the room, all the teachers are stuck tripping over chairs and bumping into each other in the three-foot section that remains for moving around the room.
The arrangement of the furniture seems to be quite conducive to a very chatty environment in the teachers' lounge. After all, some communication has to take place when an ample, pear-shaped little Spanish woman is trying in vain to squeeze herself between me and an obstructing chair on her mission to find another ripe fruit for after her next class period.
There are five English-speaking teachers' assistants at Colegio Dulcinea this year. Gianni is a robust Louisiana man of Italian ancestry, Chris is an North Carolinian whose parents hail from Ecuador, Nekane is a tall girl from Connecticut whose father is Basque but moved to the United States to play Basque handball professionally, and Sarah is an Irish girl who has a less convoluted parental lineage. And there is me, a guy from Michigan whose parents are from Michigan. It's easier to remember that. All the assistants seem to be pretty fun people, so that's a big plus. Also, we can share ideas and hopefully make life easier for each other.
These are the impressions of my first day of school.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Auxiliar Meetings, the New School, and Books
This past Thursday and Friday the first series of meetings took place for all the English-speaking people who are teaching in the Community of Madrid. There are about 1,500 of us who will be placed in different schools in and around Madrid. The total cost for the Community of Madrid to operate our program is over 15 million euros, and has grown quite quickly; for the last three years, they have added 500 new auxiliar positions each year. It doesn't hurt that the president of the C. of M. has made it her personal goal that the region be bilingual or trilingual.
On a more serious note, I found out that my school serves lunch to all of it staff for free. When I say "more serious," I mean more seriously awesome. That's very good for me! I can imagine myself stuffing my pockets with packs of sugar and canned tuna to hoard back at my apartment. Then I think again, realizing how pathetic that would look, and decide that it would be quite humiliating to be discovered to have a stash of canned tuna hidden in my apartment; perhaps under my bed, or throughout the house, tucked in all the nooks and crannies.
I walked by my school the other day, and even before the school was in sight, I noticed what looked like a small, stationary dust devil such as can be seen in remote regions of the desert in southwestern American states. As I drew closer, I realized that this was no meteorological anomaly, this was the result of (seemingly) thousands of tiny Spaniards capering around in the haze of dust that covered half of a city block. As I navigated my way around the prison fence that held in the small ones, I was filled with the dreadful premonition that the Community of Madrid had suckered us American into being recess monitors. I decided to not dwell on that premonition lest I lose my courage.
Since I am about to start a new chapter with the commencement of my work as an auxiliar at Colegio Dulcinea, I decided that I will also start a new chapter on my blog and write some impressions of books that I have been reading, since they are an integral part to my experience, no matter where I may be geographically. I just finished The Three Musketeers. For anyone who has read that book, you may identify with me when I say that it can get a bit tiresome by the end. Alexandre Dumas weaves his plot together by a series of uncanny coincidences, most of which involve an intercepted letter or an unexpected meeting. It seemed to have bias against women; they were either side characters with no significant role, unsuspecting victims, or evil villains.
So now I'm reading Uncle Tom's Cabin, which is amazing. It didn't interest me the last time I looked at it, (13 years ago) but now it's a great read. Harriet Beecher Stowe's descriptions somehow reveal more about each character in one paragraph than Clive Cussler could tell us in an entire book. Really good stuff. That's why it's a classic.
On a more serious note, I found out that my school serves lunch to all of it staff for free. When I say "more serious," I mean more seriously awesome. That's very good for me! I can imagine myself stuffing my pockets with packs of sugar and canned tuna to hoard back at my apartment. Then I think again, realizing how pathetic that would look, and decide that it would be quite humiliating to be discovered to have a stash of canned tuna hidden in my apartment; perhaps under my bed, or throughout the house, tucked in all the nooks and crannies.
I walked by my school the other day, and even before the school was in sight, I noticed what looked like a small, stationary dust devil such as can be seen in remote regions of the desert in southwestern American states. As I drew closer, I realized that this was no meteorological anomaly, this was the result of (seemingly) thousands of tiny Spaniards capering around in the haze of dust that covered half of a city block. As I navigated my way around the prison fence that held in the small ones, I was filled with the dreadful premonition that the Community of Madrid had suckered us American into being recess monitors. I decided to not dwell on that premonition lest I lose my courage.
Since I am about to start a new chapter with the commencement of my work as an auxiliar at Colegio Dulcinea, I decided that I will also start a new chapter on my blog and write some impressions of books that I have been reading, since they are an integral part to my experience, no matter where I may be geographically. I just finished The Three Musketeers. For anyone who has read that book, you may identify with me when I say that it can get a bit tiresome by the end. Alexandre Dumas weaves his plot together by a series of uncanny coincidences, most of which involve an intercepted letter or an unexpected meeting. It seemed to have bias against women; they were either side characters with no significant role, unsuspecting victims, or evil villains.
So now I'm reading Uncle Tom's Cabin, which is amazing. It didn't interest me the last time I looked at it, (13 years ago) but now it's a great read. Harriet Beecher Stowe's descriptions somehow reveal more about each character in one paragraph than Clive Cussler could tell us in an entire book. Really good stuff. That's why it's a classic.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Moving
"The only thing that's permanent is change:" this is the type of pithy remark that gets thrown in your face when you are complaining about an unwelcome change. In my case, however, I am excited about my change; to move to the city where I will begin teaching classes come the first of October. I have been living with an impromptu "host family" since August 30th, and now I am moving out, starting tomorrow. The new apartment is a sixth-floor flat which has a view of the old city center of Alcala de Henares. I met my flatmate three days ago; I still don't remember much of what he said to me or even what his name is because of his soft-spoken manner and thick Tenerife accent. He's a nice guy, though, and I'm sure I will be able to figure out what he is saying before long.
This weekend was marked by a fun trip to the foothills of the Sierra de Madrid, which are not far west from the city itself. About 20 Spanish university students all came together to host a good-bye party for Marcos, a student who will be leaving to study in London for six months. Elena, one of the daughters of my host-family, invited me to go. After winding our way through the serpentine web of alleys that compose the town that has grown up around El Escorial, we finally found our destination, a slightly-decrepit three-story house. The views from said house were incredible; from the windows we could see the four towers of Madrid, which were almost 29 miles away. The house had access to several mountainous trails, which I took advantage of during the day on saturday while the Spaniards were having their siesta time. I managed to get within 15 feet of a little Spanish deer before scaring it away; if that deer is typical, then Spanish deer are much smaller and reddish-brown colored with black and white tails. Honestly, I have been getting sick of the cramped quarters around here and it felt SO good to get outside for the weekend and breathe and walk and not hear awful music blasting from crummy car stereos. The city can offer many things, but it does not offer peaceful getaways. Fortunately, my new apartment is a bike ride away from a small, craggy mountain that will be sure to provide an escape whenever I need it.
There were some great conversations that took place at the hostel. I was not the only Christ-follower there, which made me feel great. Another girl, Esther, also believes in the message of the Bible and is involved in the unending process of figuring out how to apply that message to all parts of her life. Consequently, we had some very good conversations on faith, witness, and community in the church. I am looking forward to finding a permanent church near my new apartment, which shouldn't be hard to do since there are about four convents which I can see from my balcony window. It's so easy to take church community for granted in Grand Rapids because the culture of Grand Rapids is "churchy" whereas here in Spain there is a general anti-church or anti-religious sentiment. I personally experienced this over the weekend; as Esther and I were talking about our faith, church and Numa, (apparently Rob Bell's reach has extended to Brazil and Spain through his Numa series) some of the other students that were there became irritated with us for bringing up issues of faith. They called it "divisive." I, on the other hand, would say that by not bringing up "divisive" issues, we are doing everyone a disservice by not doing our best to make them think about why they are alive and what their ultimate purpose and meaning is. What surprised me the most about the conversations I had with the Spanish students I met this weekend was their relative ignorance of the content of the Bible. At times, I felt like a Sunday-school teacher, but of course I took the conversation seriously. If someone doesn't know what the Bible says on a certain subject, then it's a great avenue for conversation.
I'm glad to know that two friends of mine, Elle and Tatchja, have recently arrived in Madrid and are getting settled in as they prepare to teach at different schools in the Madrid area which are also participating in the "hire foreign teachers" program. Interestingly, I heard from my host mom, who is a teacher, that the Spanish teachers are all upset because the Spanish government has been using Irish teachers not only to teach English, but other subjects as well. Apparently the Irish are willing to do it for lower rates, or are unaware that they are being suckered into doing more than they should. Either way, if my school tells me that I am the new math teacher, first I will tell them that I forgot everything that I learned in school (which wasn't that much to begin with,) and then I will proceed to inform them that I have been previously informed as to the deceptive nature of the game they are trying to play. In other words, I will tell them they can find somebody else; I'm here as an English teacher.
This weekend was marked by a fun trip to the foothills of the Sierra de Madrid, which are not far west from the city itself. About 20 Spanish university students all came together to host a good-bye party for Marcos, a student who will be leaving to study in London for six months. Elena, one of the daughters of my host-family, invited me to go. After winding our way through the serpentine web of alleys that compose the town that has grown up around El Escorial, we finally found our destination, a slightly-decrepit three-story house. The views from said house were incredible; from the windows we could see the four towers of Madrid, which were almost 29 miles away. The house had access to several mountainous trails, which I took advantage of during the day on saturday while the Spaniards were having their siesta time. I managed to get within 15 feet of a little Spanish deer before scaring it away; if that deer is typical, then Spanish deer are much smaller and reddish-brown colored with black and white tails. Honestly, I have been getting sick of the cramped quarters around here and it felt SO good to get outside for the weekend and breathe and walk and not hear awful music blasting from crummy car stereos. The city can offer many things, but it does not offer peaceful getaways. Fortunately, my new apartment is a bike ride away from a small, craggy mountain that will be sure to provide an escape whenever I need it.
There were some great conversations that took place at the hostel. I was not the only Christ-follower there, which made me feel great. Another girl, Esther, also believes in the message of the Bible and is involved in the unending process of figuring out how to apply that message to all parts of her life. Consequently, we had some very good conversations on faith, witness, and community in the church. I am looking forward to finding a permanent church near my new apartment, which shouldn't be hard to do since there are about four convents which I can see from my balcony window. It's so easy to take church community for granted in Grand Rapids because the culture of Grand Rapids is "churchy" whereas here in Spain there is a general anti-church or anti-religious sentiment. I personally experienced this over the weekend; as Esther and I were talking about our faith, church and Numa, (apparently Rob Bell's reach has extended to Brazil and Spain through his Numa series) some of the other students that were there became irritated with us for bringing up issues of faith. They called it "divisive." I, on the other hand, would say that by not bringing up "divisive" issues, we are doing everyone a disservice by not doing our best to make them think about why they are alive and what their ultimate purpose and meaning is. What surprised me the most about the conversations I had with the Spanish students I met this weekend was their relative ignorance of the content of the Bible. At times, I felt like a Sunday-school teacher, but of course I took the conversation seriously. If someone doesn't know what the Bible says on a certain subject, then it's a great avenue for conversation.
I'm glad to know that two friends of mine, Elle and Tatchja, have recently arrived in Madrid and are getting settled in as they prepare to teach at different schools in the Madrid area which are also participating in the "hire foreign teachers" program. Interestingly, I heard from my host mom, who is a teacher, that the Spanish teachers are all upset because the Spanish government has been using Irish teachers not only to teach English, but other subjects as well. Apparently the Irish are willing to do it for lower rates, or are unaware that they are being suckered into doing more than they should. Either way, if my school tells me that I am the new math teacher, first I will tell them that I forgot everything that I learned in school (which wasn't that much to begin with,) and then I will proceed to inform them that I have been previously informed as to the deceptive nature of the game they are trying to play. In other words, I will tell them they can find somebody else; I'm here as an English teacher.
Friday, September 16, 2011
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