by Azadeh Amirsadri
Of all the jobs I have had over the long years of working, from being a salesperson, a waitress, a cook, a travel agent, a teacher (elementary school to high school, college, and night school for adults), a high school counselor, a school administrator and a mental health therapist, my favorite has been teaching high school. I was fired from only one job, as a waitress in an Italian restaurant, when I was told by the much younger restaurant manager that I was not taking my job seriously on a day I was a little late for the lunch crowd, due to having been on an interview for a better paying and more stable position. I told her I agreed with her and returned my uniform. She was nervous and I didn’t want to make her uncomfortable, so I reassured her that she is doing the right thing. At another waitressing job in Philadelphia, when I was 25 years old, I learned a lot about human behavior. My regular after-work drinking crowd would get louder and louder as the evening went on, flirting after too many drinks and oversharing their feelings. Random people would tell me their deepest secrets, especially in the early afternoons when the place wasn’t crowded. One guy whose fiancée went to the restroom asked me out and when I told him she just showed me her engagement ring, he explained that he is not going to marry her, but she doesn’t know that yet and that’s why we could go out. When she returned, he acted all normal again and when he paid the check, he added his phone number by the signature line in case I changed my mind.
The corporate travel business was like factory work, all of us in large rooms, connected to a head set and a computer. The supervisors distracted everyone by treating them to donuts some days, or after work drinks at the bar across the street from the company. I told colleagues that management was distracting everyone with free food and drinks, but my colleagues didn’t care because they were mostly young and care free and loved partying. I, on the other hand, wanted more money that the measly $180 I was making per week. After one year at this place known for being an established travel agency in Philadelphia, I asked for a raise of $20 per week. My argument was that I was a hard worker and I had a college degree. My manager, a beautiful blond who never smiled and did not have a college degree denied my request and said I had to jump through different hoops if I wanted a raise, specifically being more enthusiastic on the phone with clients about selling our name and brand. I saw her a few years later at a dentist office as a receptionist, after she was let go for probably not being enough of the cheerleader they were looking for.
When I finally landed a job as a teacher that matched my children’s school schedule, I considered myself very fortunate. I was now an ESL teacher (now called many other things) to students from kindergarten all the way to high school, and even adults in a night program. I understood what it was like being in a new country where you don’t speak the language and don’t know how to navigate the system.
My younger students learned rather quickly and were enthusiastic about almost everything I taught them, never wanting the class to end, begging for one more game, coloring or art activity. My high school students were the source of so much laughter, drama, moodiness and entertainment. Teaching in high school felt like being a member of a family that you see every day, whether you like to or not. I saw the same students every day and we knew each others’ moods like people who live together do. They could tell if I wasn’t in a good mood or was preoccupied, and I could guess if they were issues they were struggling with, or if they missed their families and friends who had stayed back home. I had students from all over the world with different levels of education from their home country. The high school where I taught, with over 3500 students before another high school was built nearby, was located in a suburb with a large Korean and Hispanic population and the contrast between these two cultures made for a lot of interesting communication. Some of my Korean male students were forever drawing their flag and coloring it red and blue, making precise geometric black lines that matched the sharp late 90’s style haircuts for boys. The Spanish boys gelled their hair stiff and made eyes at the giggling girls.
There were a few romances in class that entertained all of us. One Egyptian boy was enamored with Tupac Shakur and wore his Tupac shirt every day and added a blue bandana around his neck. He spoke by pursing his lips to look more like him. He had a crush on a girl from Taiwan whose family quickly moved to a different neighborhood and she attended school there. He got caught a few times around the girl’s house and school and I was in awe of his determination to get to her by taking an almost non-existent public transportation system to see her. He took a bus, got off too soon and walked miles, only to be found by her disapproving parents and warned by the school security officer. Another student from El Salvador who was much older than his registration papers suggested did underground boxing on weekends and would come to school bruised on Mondays. An angry girl from Peru found his toughness hot and exciting and they started dating. I saw her years later working at the airport. She said they had a baby together, but then separated and he went back home to his country and she was left raising their son alone. She didn’t resent him and was happy having her son to herself. I had identical twin sisters from Korea with the same haircut and glasses and I was very proud of myself when I could tell them apart. They were characterized as the fox and the bear by their mother and when I saw them as adults when they visited me, I realized they had switched and the bear had become more fox like and vice versa. They got a puppy for their mother when they went to college because they didn’t want her to be alone.
One of my favorite kids was a student from Sri Lanka who was 14 years old and had just arrived in the middle of the school year and had almost no education back home. Because of his age, he was put in high school in my level 1 class. He had lived with his grandmother who let him do whatever he wanted and one thing he never wanted was to go to school. When he arrived in the US to live with his mother and American stepfather, he quickly realized that he has to go to school and started acting out. He was always very pleasant in school but apparently not so much at home according to his mother who wanted to make sure her new life with the new husband and new baby were not going to be disrupted by her older son’s arrival. In the middle of class, usually right after lunch, he would announce that he is finished for today and would pack up to go home. All the students would tell him he has to wait for the last bell, taking pleasure in knowing more about how things worked than he did and being able to help him out. So he would just lie on the floor and try to take a nap. A sweet girl from India whose essays were writing repeating flowery paragraphs that never went anywhere, would cover him with a jacket and tell the others to be quiet. I would tell him he couldn’t sleep in class and would send him on errands with someone to get him to move around. He told me he missed playing with his friends in the gardens of his city and the monkeys roaming about. There was nothing I could offer him to make up for that type of life and freedom. The students were trying hard to all fit in yet they were usually understanding of each other, after they got over their initial shock of everyone’s otherness. I showed them compassion and patience when they were struggling with their studies and behavior. They showed me kindness and grace when I was going through a hard time in my personal life.
At one point, I started teaching adults in the evenings, to make extra money for all the months that I would not have an income after having a baby, as this country does not provide paid maternity leave to parents. Most teachers plan to get pregnant in a way so they can give birth in the spring if they can manage it. This will give them some time with the baby during the summer before returning to work in the fall. I was pregnant in 1992 when I taught adults. After teaching in the school system all day I was exhausted as were my adult students who were making a living in a new country. Most were older Korean and Chinese ladies and some had their teenage daughters with them to help them translate. I had a Serbian couple and a young Austrian student who disliked each other right away. At one point, the Austrian girl called the Serbians ‘gypsies’ and I had to talk to her privately. She argued that they have destroyed her country and spouted out every stereotype about immigration that exists out there. The irony of her being here!
The Chinese ladies were convinced I was carrying a boy, because my face looked like one they said. “You look like boy, you have hair on face” the Chinese ladies told me, being blunt only as second language learners are who don’t know how to cocoon the truth in softer ways. They pointed to my chin stubbles and said “See, boy!” The Korean ladies were much kinder and said it was a boy because of the way my belly had grown. One of them made me homemade kimchi, and told her daughter to tell me in proper English that I was her favorite teacher and all her teachers in Korea had been too strict and mean.
My younger sister Mercedeh, who lives in France is approaching retirement age and is thinking about what to do next. She is taking classes so she can teach French to immigrants coming to France. I hope she has as much fun and laughter, and the same amazing experiences that I did!