From Student . . .
My first memory of school is fear. The cause of my fear was a furry white creature I later came to know as a bunny rabbit. My junior kindergarten teacher was about to let the animal out of its cage to hop around the classroom, and I did not know how to tell her that I was afraid of animals. I have no memory of the teacher's name, or of my classmates, or of anything else that happened in school that year; I just remember the day I felt afraid.
This normal classroom event of introducing the class pet to students was frightening to me because my family had no pets; where I came from, animals were used for food, for sport, or to guard tanneries. I was almost 4 years old when I arrived in Toronto, Canada, from Calcutta, India. My family was of Chinese origin and spoke Hakka, a little-known dialect of Chinese, as well as a smattering of Indian dialects. In my world, Indian and Chinese cultures were so intertwined that I did not realize my family used an Indian rather than a Chinese word for potato until I was 10 years old.
As I continued my education in elementary school, I rapidly gained fluency in English. It was not long before I was helping my parents and my grandmother further their own language acquisition. One of the people I remember fondly from this time was Mrs. Martineau, my senior kindergarten teacher. She was a caring, grandmotherly woman who spoke beautiful English; to my young ears, she sounded like the queen. I know that the way I speak today can be largely attributed to my emulation of Mrs. Martineau.
As I progressed through school, Toronto continued to draw Chinese immigrants. By the time I was in grade 3 or 4, I was routinely called down to the office to help translate as new Chinese students were registered. But this task wasn't easy for me because my technical knowledge of my first language was actually quite rudimentary. In addition, most of the students I was asked to help did not speak Hakka but rather Cantonese or Mandarin. The school community thought that my dialect would be close enough, not knowing that even adults who speak different dialects of Chinese often have difficulty communicating with one another.
By the time I reached adolescence, I had started to feel that I didn't belong anywhere. I was “not as Chinese” as the newer immigrants and I was “not as Canadian” as people born in my adopted country. Caught between two worlds, I found myself making friends who were also immigrants. Although we all came from different countries, we had in common the longing to learn about our own cultures combined with the desire to fit in with everyone else. Although we never talked about it, I think we felt comfort knowing that we shared a common experience.
. . . To Teacher
My childhood experiences as an immigrant left an indelible impression on my work as a teacher. For example, my junior kindergarten experience with the class pet serves as a reminder to me today to be sensitive to the fact that my students all have very different backgrounds. The recollection of my admiration of Mrs. Martineau helps me keep in mind that my English language learners are picking up language from me; accordingly, I keep my speech friendly but formal, knowing that students have many models for colloquial speech in the schoolyard but fewer opportunities to hear formal speech. Whenever I ask my students to help with translation, my own childhood experience of translating in school reminds me that the task is not as simple as it seems.
Finally, the memory of not fitting in as a child has stayed with me as a teacher: In my career, I have specialized in teaching junior high school, where belonging issues abound—especially for English language learners. Such lessons from my early school experience have enabled me to teach my students the ways and language of a new culture while helping them gain a sense of belonging in a school in which they are the minority.
For example, one of my first homeroom classes was entirely made up of English language learners. I longed to help them in any way I could, so I asked the principal for permission to use 20 minutes of homeroom time that I usually used for administrative tasks to help the students with their English. With the principal's approval, every morning from then on I led the students through a manual that provided such practical information as how to ask for help on the subway and how to fill out important forms. I was aware that many of my students' families relied on their children to help with tasks in their new country that most of their peers didn't have to worry about. By acquiring practical language skills, the students became even more useful to their families and began to develop more confidence.
Teachers must sometimes go beyond their standard classroom duties to ensure that English language learners are on the right track. Years ago, I noticed that one of my students had started to speak only his first language—no English—all day long. Concerned, I met with his parents and discovered that the student was assuming that his family would eventually return to his home country. Together, the students' parents and I made it clear to the student that their immigration was permanent. I encouraged him to continue speaking his first language at home and with his friends but reminded him that I could not help him with his English unless I heard him speaking it.
My memories of being an immigrant have also taught me the importance of putting myself in my students' shoes. Throughout my teaching career I have taught English language learners at various stages of language acquisition. Despite my experience, I sometimes catch myself repeating phrases more slowly—and, on particularly frustrating days, more loudly—to try to get my students to understand. I have to remind myself that it would be more effective to communicate the concept in a different way, elaborate on it more carefully, or supplement the lessons with visuals.
I also remind myself that even though a group of students may consist exclusively of English language learners, their backgrounds can be amazingly diverse. Once I asked a 4th grade class to listen to a song about peace and draw a picture. One little girl drew a battle scene, complete with bleeding soldiers in army fatigues and a helicopter burning in the background. This was something she had personally witnessed. I have had students from war-torn countries with almost no formal schooling sitting next to students who attended school six days each week. But I know that all of my students, regardless of language acquisition, share the need to belong and to contribute, and I am grateful for the lessons I learned through my own experiences and for all the teachers who eased the transition of a frightened little girl.
