on the virtues of creative classroom activities

I have been known to, given the slightest indication of interest, expound on the pedagogical virtues of creative assignments over the memorization and regurgitation of facts, and while there's a time and a place for drilling and questions with one right answer, I try not to let that kind of activity make up too much of any given lesson. While I really do believe in this as an educational strategy, I also have an ulterior motive: it's more fun for me to see what the students come up with when given a little free reign. It's much more entertaining than correcting a bunch of nearly-identical worksheets, and it provides me with amusing anecdotes like these:

When I taught a lesson on cell phone conversations, I had the students write little dialogues to practice. One of my favorites went something like this:

A: Hello, Mario, this is Luigi. Can we talk now?
B: I'm looking for Bowser right now, but okay.
A: Where are you?
B: I'm in the pipes, collecting mushrooms.
A: Did you read my e-mail?
B: I'm sorry, I was too busy rescuing Princess Peach.

In another class, two girls did a more typical conversation, but really acted it out, so that it was obvious that one of the characters wanted nothing to do with the other, who was more or less oblivious to this fact.

A: Hi, this is [so-and-so]. Can we talk now?
B (with heavy sarcasm): Oh, of course.
A: Where are you?
B: I'm at the airport. I'm going to fly to America.
A (cheerfully): So will you be here on time?
B: ... nooooo, I'm going to be a little late.

And then there was the student who informed her unfortunate caller that she was on the moon and wouldn't be back for a year.

My first-years made menus to practice food and restaurant vocabulary. Most of them named their restaurants "Joyfull", this being most likely the only "American" restaurant they could think of (it's a Japanese fast-food chain, so it's about as authentic as Taco Bell), but one group decided to make a vegetarian restaurant and name it after me. Of course, the menu included fish and ham (ham being generally not thought of as "meat" here, for some reason), but I was touched nonetheless.

When teaching future tense, we did an activity where the students had to write three sentences in response to the question "What will this girl do today?" and illustrate them. One girl wrote "She will run to school with a piece of toast in her mouth", "She will go from her school to the airport", and "She will fly to Korea" -- this last accompanied by a map with the relevant countries labeled in English and Korean. (I have the feeling that this girl's talents are wasted on the class she's in; most of the other students aren't yet at a level where they're capable of making sentences as complex as that first one.)

Another student wrote very simple, somewhat disconnected sentences ("She will run. She will read a book. She will sleep."), but the illustrations turned them into a story:



Some of my classes practiced talking about their weekend plans by writing a sentence about what they were going to do and illustrating it -- I know, I do a lot of drawing, but the students like doing it, so I tend to use it to sneak in some writing exercise, much the way one might get a child to take a pill by hiding it in a spoonful of ice cream or peanut butter. Anyway, one boy drew a picture of a knight fighting a dragon. The best part of this, though, was the caption, which was not "I'm going to play a video game" or "I'm going to watch a movie", as I might have expected, but "I'm going to defeat a hero". Apparently I have a dragon in disguise on my hands. I had better be careful.

Of course, when it comes to exams, it makes things a bit easier to have questions that are not quite so open-ended -- and the students, being stressed and in a hurry, probably aren't feeling so creative. But every now and then I get an answer that makes me laugh: on one test I corrected today, a student answered the question "Who is your favorite actor"? with "My favorite actor is me." It's good to have confidence in yourself, I guess!

in memoriam

The librarian at one of my schools died a few days ago. I found out when I came into work this morning.

I'm not the best person to eulogize her. We weren't close; friendly acquaintances, maybe, but not friends. I didn't even know she was sick – although that says something about her in itself, I think, that she came into work every day and went about cheerfully shelving the books and chatting with the library patrons right up to the week before she finally succumbed to the terminal illness that had apparently plagued her for several years. Maybe the famed Japanese work ethic wouldn't allow for anything else, but still, that takes strength.

The first time we spoke, I'd come into work despite having the flu and, feeling unable to remain upright much longer, had sneaked off to the library to take a quick nap on the couch. (I, apparently, am not all that strong.) When she discovered me sleeping there, I thought I was about to get into serious trouble – but she just brought me a blanket, and offered me a coffee when I woke up. On my subsequent visits to the library (which were mostly to use it for its intended purpose) we had coffee a few more times; we talked about books, and I answered all the usual questions about myself and my country, my hometown. I never asked her much about herself. Maybe I should have.

We sat next to each other at the morning meeting, largely because that was the way the seating arrangement worked out. She always tried to say something to me, though – simple pleasantries, but more than the mumbled "'morning" that we all give each other as a matter of course. We talked about the weather: "It's cold, isn't it? Is it this cold where you come from?"

It might not have been much, but in a place where I often felt (still feel, really) like an unwanted outsider, to have anyone go out of their way to be friendly meant a lot to me. She was one of the few people at the school to do that on a regular basis. I don't flatter myself that this was because she found my company that interesting – I think that's just the kind of person she was.

I don't know why I'm writing this. I don't know how much interest it can possibly hold for anyone else. I'm not fishing for condolences. I think those are better saved for her family and friends, the people dealing with a larger absence than simply an empty chair in the conference room and a space behind the library checkout desk.

I guess I just want to be sure that I don't forget.