I rescind my gloomy statement at the end of the previous entry. I do have something to keep my interest, for this week at least: my school is having a week of various English activities. There are recitals, competitions with other schools, plays and an English newsletter (for which I was interviewed last week, and had mostly forgotten about). And guess who gets to help judge all the competitions? That’s right, yours truly. I think half the reason Kassai organized the events was to show off their native speaker.
This afternoon was plays and poems by the 3rd and 4th graders of Kassai plus three or four (I couldn’t tell) other primary schools. There was no judging, because the children were too young, and they all got certificates of merit for participating. Highlights included:
- the 3rd grade girl in miniskirt and tank-top who recited with a cherubic smile, “I like coffee, I like tea, I like boys and boys like me.”
- when the wolf in “The Three Little Pigs” missed his line and improvised with “Rrrr! I eat you!”
- that Kassai’s 3rd graders chose “Brother John” (“Frére Jacques”) as an traditional English song.
- the big finale of Rákóczi School’s 3rd grade dance number: fire. They gave each little angel and devil (and old man, and granny, and cat, and dog) a sparkler to wave around in the dramatically darkened gymnasium. Amazingly, no one was harmed.
The other highlight of my day was when, in the course of talking about what we want for Christmas, one of my 8th graders offered to be my boyfriend. The conversation went something like:
me: For Christmas, I would like a digital camera, and some new clothes, and-
him: Underwear? A bra?
me, slightly thrown off: Um, yeah, maybe. Maybe my boyfriend will buy me some. I mean-
him: Maybe I can be your boyfriend?
me: I think that might not be legal. Among other things.
him: Yes, yes. I’m only joking.
me: Okay, moving on...
In most cases, this whole episode would make me terribly uncomfortable. Because it was this specific student, it came off as being just sweet and funny.
Fear and loathing in Harghita County
4 years ago
2 comments:
i giggled and heard gaines' voice in your telling of the 8th grader story, emily. i would have expected more out of the gal who'll make out with any Hungarian-man-meat. oh wait...that's only when you're drunk?
jj
whoa, whoa, wait. Before you falsely paint me as some sort of drunken nympho, I'd like to set the record straight: I was only drunk the first time.
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