On Results and Meaning

            There is a kindergarten class that I teach for one class, five days a week. The class is designed around a book that is intended for native English speakers in America. Naturally, when we read from the book the students have some difficulty picking up the finer nuances of spoken English (eg. Intonations, pronunciation, pace, etc…in case you were wondering). There is one girl, out of a class of five, who since the first day of classes, literally does not know all of the English alphabet.

            I’m aware that statement might sound privileged. Understand, though, that every five year-old kindergartener at the school can read English (albeit at varying abilities). At the end of the first week I had pretty much given up on being able to establish any kind of foundation for her while simultaneously keeping the rest of the students up to pace with the book. It should be noted that we focus on one to two stories per week, 40 minutes every day, and every student gets the opportunity to read as part of a group (one page per student), and as an individual. Progress has been discernible for the four other students on a day-to-day basis as they come to recognize certain sounds with specific words. For the first five weeks there was zero progress with the little girl.

            It should also be noted that this little girl is free-spirited, loud, and a little obnoxious, in a kind of endearing way. Her two front teeth are rotted to caramel colored nubs, and her hair is long and very wavy (which is unusual in Korean children). She is constantly laughing at something, which is incredibly frustrating (until I remind myself that I teach 5 year-olds who don’t speak the same language as me). She might very well be my lowest ability student.

            However, about three or four weeks ago, on a Friday, she surprised me. I walked into class, and I asked which of the students wanted to read first the story we had been studying all week. Only the little girl raised her hand. Rather curiously, I told her to begin. And she read. Perfectly. Every syllable of every word emphasized correctly (and beautifully). When she finished reading she looked up with this smile that said in quiet confidence “Look what I can do”. I damn near cried.

            The same thing has happened the last few weeks, and I’ve come to understand that isn’t reading so much as she’s memorizing the story over the course of the week. Whatever. I’ll take it. Then she surprised me again this last Friday. She recognized words from previous stories, and read them in the current one. My friends and family have assumed that this experience will be gratifying. If I could only make them understand. I can’t. The feeling is too pure.