Six, Sick, Sex

Yuka.

Yuka is 6 year old student of mine. She is, in addition to being so cute you want to punch her, extremely hyperactive. She can't sit still. I've learned to ignore her wigglies and teach her earnestly as she slides down her chair on to the floor, or when she pulls her sweater over her head and uses her hand to speak for her, or when when she hides under the table when I turn my back to write on the board.

All of these things I forgive. Not because she is cute or wickedly smart, but because she loves to learn. When Yuka acquires a new word, she can't wait to string it together with something she already knows, even if it doesn't make sense. But when it does, and she realizes that she understands, she explodes with joy. It's downright infectious.

For example, today I was teaching Yuka and her classmates, Minami and Rinon, the following pattern:

Is it a _____?
Yes it is.
No it isn't. It's a ______.

I held up a flash card of a flower and asked: Is it a fish? Yuka fell out of her seat. She was in hysterics. She could not believe that I, a certified ESL teacher, from America, actually mistook a flower for a fish. Once she finally composed her self she said: No it isn't. It's a flower.

She began to laugh some more, shaking her head and slapping the table. Then it hit her. The pattern clicked. She went berserk.

Yuka: [touching the chair] Is this a table? (cracking up)
Natasha: No it isn't. It's a chair.
Yuka: [touching her book] Is this a pencil? (doubled over in laughter)
Natasha: No it isn't. It's a book.

This goes on for about 5 minutes. By this point the whole class is in stitches, as was I. This group of three little girls derived an infinite amount of joy from something as simple as substitution. They even understood that the more ridiculous their assumptions, the funnier the questions became. So quickly chairs and tables, turned into monkeys, and bats.

These three little gum-drop-pudding-pop-sweetie-pie-apple-dumpling-cutie-patooties reminded me how much fun it is just to play. It made me so incredibly thankful to have the spirit of play so active in my life.

Once the class regained its composure, we moved on to learning the day's required dialogue practice:

What's wrong?
I feel sick.
That's too bad.

Shakespearean, I know. After breaking it down, demonstrating the vocabulary, practicing with the textbook and workbook, I called the students up in pairs to practice at the front of the class. I called Rinon and Minami first. They knocked it out the park. Then I called Yuka to the front. I asked Minami if she would be partners with Yuka. Minami obliges, realizing that Yuka is just as likely to do her portion of the dialogue standing at the front of the class, as she is to do it from under the table.

Yuka comes to the front, bolstered by the confidence she earned from the perfect completion of her workbook. She stands at the front of the class, surprisingly poised, and ready for her Oscar winning moment.

3, 2, 1...ACTION!!!

Yuka begins to whistle as if he hasn't a care in the world. She is then suddenly stricken with a pain in her stomach. She moans.

Yuka: Uuuuuuuuhhhhhh.
Minami: What's wrong?
Yuka: I feel SEX.

Minami pauses. She looks at me to see if she should continue, because clearly Yuka has mispronounced her line. I nod and Minami continues, begrudgingly.

Minami: (sighs) That's too bad.

Of course these 6 year old girls didn't realize how incredibly funny the scene had become or why their teacher was crying (trying desperately not to laugh) in the corner.