Nugget Alert!

I’ve never been very good at not playing favorites. As a camp counselor at Longhorn and Mystic I was the absolute worst. But when I’m in such close proximity to sheer adorableness, my judgment is clouded. I just can’t help myself. If favoritism in the classroom is wrong, then I don’t want to be right. Here’s a list of the little muffins that get called on a few more times (ok a lot more times) than the others - so sue me:

• Stuart: Book 3 (about 4 years old) at Zi Wei. Fittingly enough, he looks like Stuart Little; a teeny, tiny little boy with ears that stick out like a mouse. He’s also super smart, well behaved, and loves me – all the necessary trappings for a teacher’s pet (pun most definitely intended).

• Scott: Book 1 (about 3 years old) at Wu Yuan. He is a good six inches shorter than the rest of his classmates and has a tinge of munchkin in his voice. Sometimes I call on him just to hear him talk because it’s just about the cutest thing I’ve ever heard. He reminds me of some sort of wee animal, but I can’t quite put my finger on it. Squirrel, maybe?

• Odysseus: Book 3 at Zi Wei. The best part about his name (I know, “It gets better?” you’re asking) is that he wants it to be pronounced “OH-di-shoes.” At the start of the semester, when I was pronouncing it the right way, he would constantly correct me. (Oh really? It’s not like you’re a toddler who doesn’t speak English or anything. By all means, tell me how to pronounce the moniker of a classic literary hero...) He also has this little impish grin permanently plastered on his puppy-dog face – not to mention that he winks at me. I mean, how can I resist?

• Luke: Book 5 (about 5 years old) at Xiang Yang. This little muffin (too old to be deemed a nugget) was born in America before his parents moved back to Shanghai, so his English is bangin’. He feels like we have a special kinship since we’re from the same place and just loves on me with hug after hug after hug. Most of the time he’ll chase me out of the classroom to continue yelling, “Goodbye Hallie!” until I’m out of earshot.

• Sylvia and Ellan: Book 3 at Zi Wei. I had to include these as a pair because they’re a troublemaking tag team. Yes, they’re a bit naughty, but their near obsession with me trumps the bad behavior. As soon as I walk in the classroom they are attached to my legs like little leeches and fight over the chance to be my partner during the greeting song. Oh, and Ellan is a dude. Clearly he is supposed to be Allen. Looks like someone got their vowels transposed during the nametag making process.

• Ruby: Book 2 at Tian Lin. The classes I teach on Sundays are all mixed ages and levels, and Ruby is significantly younger than everyone else in class – but she’s a genius. She rocks a sweet bowl cut (or, as I like to call it, “bangs-all-around”) and wears especially puffy jackets that turn her into a marshmallow. I like to call her Rubina (what I call my friend Rachel’s dog Ruby, actually) and Rubylicious.

• Pretty: Book 5 at Xiang Yang. Well, her parents weren’t playing around when they chose her English name – she is really, really pretty. I want her and Luke to get married. Probably the best English speaker out of all my students; her pronunciation is spot on. The one day I put a little effort into getting ready (by forgoing my usual ponytail and exercise attire) she greeted me with “Beautiful teacher Hallie!” Compliments will get you everywhere with me, kid – especially on my list of favorite students.

•Lala: Book 1 at Wu Yuan. Lala is in my baby Book 1 class – they can’t be more than two or two and a half, tops. She likes to roll around on the floor and always sports a “pokytail” (a ponytail so short that the hair sprouts out of it like a fountain) smack dab on the top of her head. She is the spitting image of one of The Chipettes – you know, the female sidekicks of Alvin and The Chipmunks? (If you are a child of the 80s and have never seen The Chipmunk Adventure, you are doing yourself a great disservice). This class only recently got nametags, and I was truly disappointed to find out that her English name is Angela. So I still call her Lala, her Chinese name.

• Jeff: The same baby Book 1 at Wu Yuan. He and Lala are part of the cutest crew of kids who all sit next to each other. He has a surprisingly deep and raspy voice for such a little tyke and is also very clever. For the first two weeks of class, he would cry without fail from the minute I walked in the door until the minute I left. But one day he up and decided I wasn’t all that bad and now we’re besties.

• William: Book 5 at Xiang Yang. He isn’t the brightest crayon in the box, but he tries so hard. He over pronounces absolutely everything, with his tongue flying every which way like it’s numb from a trip to the dentist. I was really confused as to why he sometimes spoke through a smile with gritted teeth. Then I realized that he was mimicking me (I smile...a lot) in an effort to speak correctly. My heart just about melted right then and there.

But, it must be said, they are all pretty damn cute –and it’s a good thing I think that because they are the (little) people I spend the vast majority of my time with. Yep, my best friends in China are all under the age of five. I’ve been blogging a lot about the out-of-the-ordinary things we do here (traveling, holidays, adventures, etc.) but I haven’t said much about the muffin wrangling. A typical class goes a little something like this:

I walk into the freezing classroom (no centralized heating allowed below the Yangtze River – makes me long for the land of the free and the home of the warm) to a room full of marshmallow-jacketed, scarf-mummified children bombarding me with a symphony of “Hello teacher!” and “Good morning Hallie!” After singing the greeting song (each level has its own) we jump straight into the day’s lesson. This is when all of the funny stories are born. One time Buffin had a girl say, “I hurt my ass” instead of “I hurt my arm” during a unit on helping others. You can’t tell me you’d be able to stifle laughter with a cherubic pre-schooler unwittingly cussing and expecting a high five for it. When I was giving a mid-semester test to my kids at Zi Wei they were supposed to tell me what fruit or vegetable they liked best, but I got two especially clever responses: “I like Canada” and “I like rabbit.” Hey, at least it’s English.

Most of the lessons involve at least one game, because that is what keeps them interested and motivated. I think the all-around favorite would have to be the “tickle game”, where a student has to find a certain graphic (vocabulary word with a crappy clip-art picture on it) before I count to five or else they get tickled. Pretty sure that wouldn’t fly in America. Hmm, can you say sexual harassment?

But it’s not all fun and games – there is a decent amount of disciplining involved. My most effective method is something I’ve dubbed “The Death Stare.” If a kid is acting up or chatting, I walk over to their chair and stare at them with my hands on my hips. Enormously effective, actually. I’m sure a few ex-boyfriends would agree. Sometimes I attempt to do what the Chinese teachers do, which is sternly and loudly say, “Yi, er, san!” [“One, two, three!”], and the kids respond with something that translates into something along the lines of “Sit quietly!” The only problem is that they usually just laugh. I mean, can you believe it? Chinese. Coming out of a white person’s mouth. Incredible. But as the only English-fluent person in the entire room I think I get the last laugh in the language war, often entertaining myself by making comments that I know for a fact they can’t understand: From “Uh-huh girl, get it” to “You are all Satan’s children,” depending on the day.

Class comes to a close with a round of personal goodbyes. Each student gets to choose from these exciting options: high five, handshake, hug or tickle. That last option there is far and away the most popular. I have one student, Emily, who says “pickle” instead of “tickle.” I haven’t corrected her because it’s too darn cute. [And I know what you’re thinking. “Again with the tickles, Hallie?” Let me just say that this whole tickling thing is part of the curriculum that they’ve taught us to use.] This is the part of the day when I realize how much I’m going to miss them – when I really feel like they’re my kids. Because no matter how hard they’ve pushed my buttons during class, there is nothing like a hug from a Chinese nugget, all bundled up in their winter gear. Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Almost enough to counteract the fact that the classrooms are like iceboxes...almost.