In fourth grade I came across my favorite teacher: Ms. Castleberry. The way I would describe her is a passionate strong black woman. I loved how she taught us and the way she encouraged us to do more. We were in fourth grade but she put forth all her effort to teach us all that we needed to know. She is also the no BS kind of teacher (my friend, Julia, wanted me to tone down the language so no cussing in this post). We kept a journal in that class to write down what we learned that day or how our weekend was. Sometimes she made us write in cursive just to challenge our writing. I was in ESL at the time so writing about anything was hard. I once asked a classmate how to spell 'news.' But the journaling forced me to use correct grammar and ask for new words. Her passion for teaching emanated through her enthusiasm every morning and her tireless smile at the end of the day.
She would often hold fun competitions in class and fundraisers for certain charities. The one event imprinted in my mind is the valentines day challenge. There was a jar filled with heart candies and we had to guess how many. It was 25 cents per guess, so I thought why not. I donated my quarter and guessed something like 1100. A week later the results were in. In total there were about 50 guesses. Ms. Feingold, my ESOL teacher, had the results in her hand. She played it off like she couldn't read the results, it was too difficult for her, and we begged her to reveal the winner. Please!!!!! We pleaded with her. And then she said the winner is...Ran!!!! She pointed at me and the whole class looked at me. Some cheered some were straight up shocked and some gave a face. I turned red like I always do. Crap, everyone was looking at me. That feeling from the first day of class came back to me and all I wanted to do was sprint away. I regretted ever taking a guess and paying my quarter. What prize would equate to such humiliation? A CD player. Now a days that sounds like a stupid gift, but at the time the only thing I've ever touched was a cassette tape and I thought that was sophisticated technology. I explained that I didn't have any CDs to Ms. Castleberry, but she encouraged me to keep the prize and share it with my family. So I went to K Mart and bought Nsync's No Strings Attached album which was extremely popular back then. Don't judge.
Another memory I have of her was when I had a severe nose bleed right before school ended for the day. I had blood dripping down my shirt. Ms. Castleberry held paper to my nose and escorted me through the hallways. She was freaked out by the blood but kept her hand on the paper. I had lost so much blood I felt dizzy so when I got to the nurse they gave me stuff to eat. Ms. Castleberry was pretty disgusted but never second guessed helping me out. To me she not only was an excellent teacher but she also cared dearly for all her students. Maybe I'm biased cause I won the cd player, but whatever. I miss her and my class. She is actually still at McCall Elementary along with my ESOL teacher Ms. Feingold. I'm glad they have job security; I heard a year ago that teachers were being laid off. Ms. Castleberry is actually now Ms. Pigford. I should pay her a visit sometime. Hopefully, she'll be proud.
Monday, July 9, 2012
Friday, July 6, 2012
Philly Adventures: General George A. McCall Elementary School
The greatest thing about moving across the world is a longer winter break and skipping a grade. I finished half of second grade in China and entered third grade in Philly after a month off from school. In January my parents sent me to McCall Elementary, about a fifteen minute walk from where we lived (707 9th and Bainbridge Street-Google map it). Most nerve racking moment I've ever experienced to date. That's why I remember it so well.
I walked into my third grade class and the teacher introduced me. She was a tall black woman with black curly hair and a serious demeanor. I dragged my broken black book bag across the classroom to my seat. The longest walk of my life. Everyone's eyes were on me. I can imagine what they were thinking. 'Who is this kid?' 'Another Asian kid?' 'Does he speak English?' I put my butt on my chair as soon as I could and tried to drift off into anonymity. They were going over multiplication tables that day. I've had this stuff memorized since the first grade. The question on the board was 3 x 5. Nobody knew what it was so I raised my hand and wrote in very small numbers 15. The teacher got up there and erased my answer!!!! WTFFFFFFFFF??? Do they do multiplication differently here? Was I wrong? What the hell kind of place is this? The teacher then wrote in very big numbers 15. Oh!! wow I panicked for nothing.
Later in the day I decided that I needed to try something. My mother had told me the day before that if there is one phrase I needed to know for school it was "May I go to the bathroom?" hahahaha, she got the grammar right, too. So I decided to try it out (I didn't even need to go). I raised my hand and asked. I can't even remember if I said it right, but it created a reaction. She called another Chinese kid up and gave me a brick with a number on it (our room number I later found out), and sent us on our way. I followed this kid down to the basement and the whole way I was thinking what the hell is this brick for? And did I ask the right thing? I asked him in Chinese if he was leading me to the bathroom, the kid did not speak Chinese
-____-. I was about as confused as an 8 year-old could be. Finally, in the basement we entered the boys' bathroom and that is where I saw urinals for the first time and toilets separated by walls and toilet paper available (mind blown). The kid was kind enough to show me how to use the urinals, not on purpose of course, he just needed to go and I followed his lead. Great, now I knew proper bathroom etiquette in American public schools; it wasn't much dissimilar from China, except you needed a pass, hence the brick. When I got back class ended and it was lunch time!
Lunch SUCKED! Now I know that it was penne pasta with meat sauce, juice and a bag of chocolate milk. The pasta came in a microwaveable container, so it wasn’t as fancy as it sounds. At first I thought they were steamed scallions. Who would eat such a thing? When I used my fork (which was also very foreign) the pasta just broke down. It had been steamed so much it dissolved if you touched it. I didn’t eat that day. Another weird thing in America culture is recess (they even have a cartoon dedicated to it). WTF?? We play in school? Wow, did I just die and go to heaven? We played tag and wall ball mostly. There weren’t anything else to do but we were pretty happy with it.
It turns out that the black teacher I had was a sub and the next day a white lady came in. Her name was Ms. S and we had to call her that. I was wondering why her name was Ms. S. I knew it was a letter in the alphabet so for a while I thought all teachers were called by a letter. Ms. S had these heavy earrings that dragged her ears down and you can see the holes being stretched out in her ears. Gross! She was very nice though. After a month Ms. Lane came in, our regular teacher. Apparently, Ms. S was also a sub. Ms. Lane had some kind of accident and the class welcomed her back enthusiastically. A week later she brought her dog into class. WTFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF?????????????????? This is when I decided that America is the oddest country in the world. The dog shit everywhere and took pisses on desk polls. Funniest thing I've ever seen. I learned nothing in third grade but assimilated to the culture and learned English. My ESOL teacher was awesome! She gave us prizes for reading small books and learning words. Those two years really helped. In fourth grade I had Ms. Castleberry. The best and most influential teacher I've ever had. You will learn about her soon.
I walked into my third grade class and the teacher introduced me. She was a tall black woman with black curly hair and a serious demeanor. I dragged my broken black book bag across the classroom to my seat. The longest walk of my life. Everyone's eyes were on me. I can imagine what they were thinking. 'Who is this kid?' 'Another Asian kid?' 'Does he speak English?' I put my butt on my chair as soon as I could and tried to drift off into anonymity. They were going over multiplication tables that day. I've had this stuff memorized since the first grade. The question on the board was 3 x 5. Nobody knew what it was so I raised my hand and wrote in very small numbers 15. The teacher got up there and erased my answer!!!! WTFFFFFFFFF??? Do they do multiplication differently here? Was I wrong? What the hell kind of place is this? The teacher then wrote in very big numbers 15. Oh!! wow I panicked for nothing.
Later in the day I decided that I needed to try something. My mother had told me the day before that if there is one phrase I needed to know for school it was "May I go to the bathroom?" hahahaha, she got the grammar right, too. So I decided to try it out (I didn't even need to go). I raised my hand and asked. I can't even remember if I said it right, but it created a reaction. She called another Chinese kid up and gave me a brick with a number on it (our room number I later found out), and sent us on our way. I followed this kid down to the basement and the whole way I was thinking what the hell is this brick for? And did I ask the right thing? I asked him in Chinese if he was leading me to the bathroom, the kid did not speak Chinese
-____-. I was about as confused as an 8 year-old could be. Finally, in the basement we entered the boys' bathroom and that is where I saw urinals for the first time and toilets separated by walls and toilet paper available (mind blown). The kid was kind enough to show me how to use the urinals, not on purpose of course, he just needed to go and I followed his lead. Great, now I knew proper bathroom etiquette in American public schools; it wasn't much dissimilar from China, except you needed a pass, hence the brick. When I got back class ended and it was lunch time!
Lunch SUCKED! Now I know that it was penne pasta with meat sauce, juice and a bag of chocolate milk. The pasta came in a microwaveable container, so it wasn’t as fancy as it sounds. At first I thought they were steamed scallions. Who would eat such a thing? When I used my fork (which was also very foreign) the pasta just broke down. It had been steamed so much it dissolved if you touched it. I didn’t eat that day. Another weird thing in America culture is recess (they even have a cartoon dedicated to it). WTF?? We play in school? Wow, did I just die and go to heaven? We played tag and wall ball mostly. There weren’t anything else to do but we were pretty happy with it.
It turns out that the black teacher I had was a sub and the next day a white lady came in. Her name was Ms. S and we had to call her that. I was wondering why her name was Ms. S. I knew it was a letter in the alphabet so for a while I thought all teachers were called by a letter. Ms. S had these heavy earrings that dragged her ears down and you can see the holes being stretched out in her ears. Gross! She was very nice though. After a month Ms. Lane came in, our regular teacher. Apparently, Ms. S was also a sub. Ms. Lane had some kind of accident and the class welcomed her back enthusiastically. A week later she brought her dog into class. WTFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF?????????????????? This is when I decided that America is the oddest country in the world. The dog shit everywhere and took pisses on desk polls. Funniest thing I've ever seen. I learned nothing in third grade but assimilated to the culture and learned English. My ESOL teacher was awesome! She gave us prizes for reading small books and learning words. Those two years really helped. In fourth grade I had Ms. Castleberry. The best and most influential teacher I've ever had. You will learn about her soon.
Thursday, July 5, 2012
Philly Adventures: Firsts
My life in China ended when I was 8 years old and so did the Three Amigos. We certainly ended on a very high note. It was a very appropriate way for me to make my exit. However, a new adventure was ahead of me. The Philly Adventures series is going to chronicle my first few years in Philadelphia. Let's start with my first night.
It was December 22, 1999 and I arrived around midnight with my father. That was almost 13 years ago and I still remember it like it happened yesterday. My mother had arrived two months before to start her new job and find a place to live so she was waiting for us outside the airport. When we got off the plane and into the busy terminal of Philadelphia International Airport I clutched my father's hand like my life depended on it. America was a strange place for both of us and we had no idea where we were going. I was more confused than afraid; it was a new sense of curiosity I had never felt before. Everything was new: the words, stores, and the people. Especially the people. I saw black, Hispanic, Indian, white and Arabic people all in a matter of minutes. They were everywhere. My friends back home would never believe this. I had lived 8 years and only ever saw 1 white person.ONE. And now I thought I've seen the whole world. I felt like Frodo and Sam when they saw Oliphaunts for the first time.
We found my mother outside of the airport and I jumped into her arms, sobbed a little and then waited for our family friend to pick us up. When we were driving through Philly I saw one way streets for the first time. In Philadelphia, almost all the streets go one way with one lane, which makes it very difficult for drivers if they miss a turn. In China all the streets were wide with at least two lanes each way. I was blown away at how simple and beautiful this place was. I saw trees in the city for the first time and apartment buildings owned by only one family. I saw parks that had soccer fields WITH GRASS!! Basketball courts that actually had baskets, and baseball fields. I've never played baseball before. In China none of these things existed, especially soccer fields with GRASS.
When we pulled up to our apartment building I was blown away. My mother led us through the door and I screamed WOW! But then I saw a white lady making something in the kitchen and realized it was not our home. She looked back and smiled. My mother explained that the first and second floors were not ours, we were on the third floor. So up we went. When we entered I was still amazed, WOW. It was a one bedroom apartment with a kitchen, living room, and one bath. Nicer than our apartment back in China. The bathroom actually had a toilet, not one of those squat things, and it had an actual shower!!!! At the time I thought these things were unnecessary luxuries, haha. The beds were in the living room, my bed set had "A Bug's Life" theme, complete with a comforter and pillow (both of which I still use in my BU dorm, Dan Wood and Ethan know what I'm talking about).
My parents urged me to go to sleep, but I was suffering from Jet Lag and pure excitement. I stayed up all night at the window counting the cars that went by at 3AM and looking at the humongous playground across the street. I wondered what these drivers were doing this late/early and what life was going to be like from then on. At 8 years old I had no idea what I was getting myself into. I missed the Three Amigos, my cousins, family, the things I was familiar with, but that was 8000 miles away. But despite all this I felt a sense of freedom and adventure I've never felt before.
It was December 22, 1999 and I arrived around midnight with my father. That was almost 13 years ago and I still remember it like it happened yesterday. My mother had arrived two months before to start her new job and find a place to live so she was waiting for us outside the airport. When we got off the plane and into the busy terminal of Philadelphia International Airport I clutched my father's hand like my life depended on it. America was a strange place for both of us and we had no idea where we were going. I was more confused than afraid; it was a new sense of curiosity I had never felt before. Everything was new: the words, stores, and the people. Especially the people. I saw black, Hispanic, Indian, white and Arabic people all in a matter of minutes. They were everywhere. My friends back home would never believe this. I had lived 8 years and only ever saw 1 white person.ONE. And now I thought I've seen the whole world. I felt like Frodo and Sam when they saw Oliphaunts for the first time.
We found my mother outside of the airport and I jumped into her arms, sobbed a little and then waited for our family friend to pick us up. When we were driving through Philly I saw one way streets for the first time. In Philadelphia, almost all the streets go one way with one lane, which makes it very difficult for drivers if they miss a turn. In China all the streets were wide with at least two lanes each way. I was blown away at how simple and beautiful this place was. I saw trees in the city for the first time and apartment buildings owned by only one family. I saw parks that had soccer fields WITH GRASS!! Basketball courts that actually had baskets, and baseball fields. I've never played baseball before. In China none of these things existed, especially soccer fields with GRASS.
When we pulled up to our apartment building I was blown away. My mother led us through the door and I screamed WOW! But then I saw a white lady making something in the kitchen and realized it was not our home. She looked back and smiled. My mother explained that the first and second floors were not ours, we were on the third floor. So up we went. When we entered I was still amazed, WOW. It was a one bedroom apartment with a kitchen, living room, and one bath. Nicer than our apartment back in China. The bathroom actually had a toilet, not one of those squat things, and it had an actual shower!!!! At the time I thought these things were unnecessary luxuries, haha. The beds were in the living room, my bed set had "A Bug's Life" theme, complete with a comforter and pillow (both of which I still use in my BU dorm, Dan Wood and Ethan know what I'm talking about).
My parents urged me to go to sleep, but I was suffering from Jet Lag and pure excitement. I stayed up all night at the window counting the cars that went by at 3AM and looking at the humongous playground across the street. I wondered what these drivers were doing this late/early and what life was going to be like from then on. At 8 years old I had no idea what I was getting myself into. I missed the Three Amigos, my cousins, family, the things I was familiar with, but that was 8000 miles away. But despite all this I felt a sense of freedom and adventure I've never felt before.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)