Standin’ at the crossroads

Last weekend I went to the annual HITESOL (“high tee-sol”, the Hawaii chapter of Teachers of English to Speakers of Other Languages) conference, mainly to attend the jobs panel. Talk about a wake-up call. Sitting there amongst the other under-employed, we listened to reps from some of the major language programs in town recite the same bleak litany: $18/hr (classroom time, but what about prep?); no benefits; chance of part-time work available (dependent upon enrollment); send in your resume, we’ll keep it on file. The gathering felt like a transitionary, “back to work” program for the down-on-their-luck. It’s times like these that the reality of your situation sharpens into focus right quick. The epiphanic moment.

Plainly put, Honolulu suffers from a glut of ESL teachers. And it’s not hard to understand why: for reasons that may seem obvious (upon first consideration), not everyone who comes here in pursuit of a degree returns to their point of origin (myself included). You’d think this would make for an employer’s market, but with so many teachers shuttling from job-to-job with one eye constantly on the lookout for any opportunity, the labor pool is in such a state of flux that long-term planning is all but futile. (Just yesterday I was asked if I’ll be available to teach this July. Get back to me June 30th…)

There are a few coveted full-time teaching positions here, but snagging them often boils down to networking, being in the right place at the right time, and plain ol’ dumb luck, leading to one all-important question: is it really worth it? Do I love teaching so much that I’d be willing to chase down a few hours here and there for far less money than I could earn waiting tables or schlepping suitcases?

Of course I’m being facetious, but at some point — if you’re lucky — you reach a crossroads where it becomes necessary to choose which it is you’ll nurture: your passion or your pocketbook. The truly fortunate among us somehow manage both, while economic reality and family responsibility force others to worry about getting food on the table first. No dishonor in that. At the moment, however, I find myself in a curious position somewhere in between — about to face unemployment, yet due to that very fact, free to determine the arch and trajectory of my next endeavor. And while I still have a bit of wiggle room before things become dire (which is itself relative), I need to be honest and ask myself if full-time teaching is where my talents and interests truly lie. I’ve known some fantastic teachers over the years; I just don’t think I’m one of them. As I’m fond of telling people, I’m not very efficient when it comes to putting a class together: whether it’s a warm-up activity or an entire lesson, I spend way more time on preparation than is feasible and in the end I’m rarely satisfied with the result. That’s no way to go through life, especially if you have a chance to do something about it.

Don’t get me wrong: I really do love the creative challenge and interaction that teaching presents. That said — and in the interest of full disclosure — I should mention that I’ve been teaching on a reduced schedule over the past several years. (The balance of my time going towards tech / curriculum / admin duties.) Having the luxury of time to invest in developing a single class each term has been wonderful. However, I’m afraid that full-time teaching would result in more harried preparation, stress, and reduced overall-enjoyment on my part, which would surely manifest itself in the classroom. I had a taste of this recently and it wasn’t ideal, let me tell you.

One option would be to continue on to a Ph.D. Not too long ago, Brian landed a sweet job in Nagoya, Japan (with a much more favorable salary-to-teaching hours ratio than you could ever secure with an M.A.). My hat’s off to him, but I don’t think I could pursue another degree at this point in time in good faith. (I’m having a hard enough time as it is finishing up my current program.) The original plan four years ago was to return to Japan and teach at the university level, but now I’d have to reexamine any motivation for wanting to do so. A lot of people, it seems, end up teaching English under the oddest of circumstances — again, myself included — and accrue a kind of momentum that becomes harder to shake off the longer you stay in the profession.

Plus — and I hate to say this — I’ve just eclipsed the maximum “preferred age” for most university teaching positions in Japan (I won’t go into detail about why that is… We’re talking about Japan, after all). But I’m not going to use that as an excuse to feel sorry for myself. I don’t think I’d actually be very happy teaching in Japan; even at the university level, contracts tend to be short-term so there’s always going to be anxiety over where the next opportunity for work will be. And, the last I heard, I’m not the only one with a career in this marriage.

(As an aside, I was recently asked to return to Kurume — as an ALT [assistant language teacher] at a senior high school, no less; I had to think carefully about how to tactfully turn down the invitation. I’m not saying I’m above that kind of work anymore, but it wouldn’t be long before I’d be pulling my hair out trying to re-direct such a misguided approach to English-language education from within. No, I think I can be much more effective from outside the system.)

After the jobs session had wrapped up, I changed back into my cycling togs and started for home with a lot on my mind. I thought a ride up and around the Tantalus / Round Top loop might do me some good so I dropped off my stuff at the apartment and filled up on water before heading back out.

Right where the road forks, at Baker Park, there was a group of kids playing touch football. It was really weird because as I rolled past, settling in for the climb ahead, the ball was snapped yet not one among them said a word; all I heard was the skiffing of bare feet on the drying grass. It was a great sound, full of promise and good memories. Just what I needed.

Please, do NOT save Ferris

(First off, if you like Ferris Bueller’s Day Off or keep a special place for it in your heart, don’t take personally what I’m about to say.)

Oh my god, does this movie suck.

I don’t know what inspired me to request it from the library in the first place. (Perhaps it’s the fog of 80’s nostalgia I’ve been trying to negotiate my way out of after watching the entire run of Freaks and Geeks over Christmas vacation.)

I should have known better, too, since I remember not liking the movie back in The Day. Which is odd, too, since in 1986 Ferris had everything going for it that I should have identified with: suburban-Chicago kid in his last year of high school skirts the system to create his own adventure writ large and, in doing so, shows the adults it really is better to be 18, clever, carefree, immoderate, and iconoclastic — rather than submissively get in line to don the “square” mantle of adulthood without so much as a last stand. I mean, that was my life (only off by a year). So why didn’t I buy into it?

Probably because this movie sucks. (And it’s not that I just don’t get it, either, though I’m willing to reconsider. If anyone could forward me a critical review that elucidates some brilliant and subversive sub-text that I’m just not picking up on, please, by all means clue me in.)

Yumi and I suffered through the first 40 minutes before ejecting (both literally and figuratively). I can understand why Yumi didn’t connect, but I’d watched the movie in it’s entirety at one time and so had a history with it. Guess I’ve just outgrown the genre. Or, more likely, little that I identified with in 1986 has much relevance to my life these days. Duh.

While I was at it, I thought I’d also give Caddyshack a screening — seeing as how I’ve never watched it. (!) Fortunately I didn’t pay to see this movie in a theater because that would have been time and money out right out the window. That said, it was tough to watch — neigh, endure — in the background even as I busied myself with other things. At this rate I think I’ll forgo other “period” films in the same vein that somehow got by me. Porky’s, anyone? I think I’ll just stick with Turner Classics.

(By the way, this is why I don’t care to recommend films or books to other people. I know there are legions of Ferris fans out there — my cousin being one of them. For me, though, I know a film just isn’t working for me when all I can think about are the other things I could be doing instead of watching it.)

Truth hits (and hurts)

I’m a big fan of Transom.org, a site dedicated to encouraging, developing, and promoting “citizen storytelling” for public radio. One fantastic service they office is free (!) evaluation of audio works submitted for review. Feedback is given by long-standing professionals in the field, and those pieces which the reviewers find particularly intriguing are nominated for broadcast on Massachusetts public radio. Wow.

After I got word that Tom Wangler (Sr.) had passed away last January, I pieced together a kind of audio memorial from telephone conversations with Todd, Mom, Dad, and Grant. It was just my way of doing something to acknowledge the loss — the life — of Mr. Wangler, especially as I wasn’t able to attend the memorial. I was fairly proud of my finished work and must have listened to it daily for several weeks after final editing. A story that resonates so close to home will do that. But it can also inspire false confidence.

Still floating along in the warm haze of my afterglow, I decided to submit the piece for review to Transom: a gutsy move considering that I tend to shy away from criticism, constructive or otherwise. After several months of hearing nothing I gave up and simply forgot about it. They were probably too busy to bother with my little amateur-hour project, anyway.

Then, last week, I received an email. Several days passed before I raised the courage to even open it, as I pretty much found what I had expected: the truth. The thing is, everything they said was spot-on. The comments stung at first, but after I’d absorbed them I began to feel a lot better — mainly because I concurred with the feedback. Getting a second opinion isn’t so bad, after all.

(I present the following, for your reading pleasure.)

Hi David -

First of all – thank you for sending your work to Transom and apologies for taking so long to get back to you. We did listen to your piece but somehow our notes never made their way to you.

Our team has reviewed your work, and for editorial and/or technical reasons, it was not selected to be featured on our website. Hoping it is useful we have attached reviewers notes below, that might help to inform your future work.

As you know transom.org aims to help producers like yourself, so please take advantage of the growing resources on our site, suggest others, and pitch in on the discussion boards. We look forward to your continuing participation in the online work of the transom.org community.

Good luck in the future.

Kind regards,

Transom.org Editorial Team.

NOTES from reviewers: take them for what they are worth. They are only opinions after all:

Really like the idea, and as a memorial for people who knew him, it’s fine.

 

But as someone who doesn’t know Tom Wangler it’s difficult to buy in. What do you want to share that rises above the specifics of the 4 voices’ experience of this man?

 

There are lots of wonderful moments, but they’re a little buried in the amount we receive. A point strongly made once carries more weight than that point made over and over. And not everyone needs to comment on all aspects of Tom.

 

You’re painting a portrait, the colors need to be strong around the shape of his head, so we know it’s his head not anyone else’s. Not black and white, but strong.

 

To start with we need something to hang our ears on. Open is OK being vague at first… some guy Tommy’s dad has died and he drank a lot and people are thinking about it. And they knew him from the time they were young. And he had cancer. And he didn’t want anyone close…and OK, he was married, couple times.

 

And just when I get impatient, it goes onto something a little more concrete. The mysterious open could be a touch shorter.

 

Who are these people? How do they know him? Material needs to be shaped so we feel more powerful arc instead of feeling we’ve absorbed a volume of info.