Usually after my last lesson on Tuesday I use the restroom, refill my water, double-check the room and turn off the lights. It means that my last student and her father head out a bit before me. But tonight I had been able to pull things together quickly enough that we shared the elevator down to the first floor and walked along the street. Her father speaks English but seems a little shy to do so, and her loquaciousness easily balances it. I found myself walking between them, listening to her tell me a story about her teacher.
About halfway down the block she skipped to my other side to say something to her father, something in a language I don't know, but which I understood well enough to mean, "Hey aren't we going to Dunken Donuts?" It was a bit of a tradition for them after lessons, but he said something and she skipped back over by my side and said they would walk with me to the subway and then go back. It turned into them going back to their neighborhood where there would be another opportunity, about an hour away. She so happily talked the whole time, a stark difference from her tall, silent father, who says as much with his eyes, smiling very gently at his daughter.
How wonderful to share the end of the day, walking between these two. So often as a teacher I feel the need to oversee students, to guide and protect them, but sometimes they teach me far more.
No comments:
Post a Comment