The ELT's Guide to The Godfather.

If I have learned one thing in my time in Korea, when Anne wants something it is usually a good idea to do it. I am joking. But not really. She has been my mentor since I was a week old TEFL n00b and I am lucky enough to consider her to be my best friend. SO, if she wants The Godfather's guide to ELT, you had better believe that is happening.


Cue the violins, and Puzo fonting....

Michael Corleone: Fredo, you're my older brother, and I love you. But don't ever take sides with anyone against the Family again. Ever.

My classroom is my home and my students are my family. Rule two in my classroom is no fighting. If they hit each other, or call each other names or act in a way that I find akin to bullying, I stop them and explain that we are a team. We live or die as a team. Seriously, like Ben Stiller says, There is no time for no Lauryn Hills.

If your student are your family, don't kiss them.

Peter Clemenza: Leave the gun. Take the cannoli. 

This adlibbed, off the cuff remark occurs after Clemenza's man has killed someone. The gun is no longer needed. The food is still a necessary part of Clemenza's day. Pick and choose your ELT weapons in a similar fashion. Do not get tied to one set of lesson plans. It gets boring for both you and your students. By choosing only the correct ELT tools for each individual lesson, with its individual issues, you can make the individuals learning perform better.

Don't shoot kids. THAT should be on EPIK orientation.

Michael Corleone: [to Sonny] It's not personal, Sonny. It's strictly business. 
Some kids are little shits and that is just how they do. It's not about you and it's not about your lesson. They act that way to everyone they meet. Some kids are dumb. It's not about you or your lessons. Let's be clear, you should ABSOLUTELY do everything in your power to make these kids perform better. However, when that bell rings, you have to remove them from your mind. They removed you from their life equation;you have to do the same.

"Ohhhhh, I had a rough kickin it in class, kids out here are kicking my ass, But I clear my head when I'm playing banjo, yes my name is Marlon Brando-oh."

Sonny: We don't discuss business at the table. 
There is a time and a place for everything.Planning a lesson when you are in the classroom with your kids and during the time you should be teaching is disrespectful. It is disrespectful tot the kids who are there to learn, to the person paying your wages, to the ELT community who are only ever associated with the lowest common denominator of teacher. It is also disrespectful to yourself. Take the time to plan properly and do it at an appropriate time and place.

For example, this is the wrong time and place to start the screenplay for The Godfather.

Tessio: Can you get me off the hook, Tom? For old times' sake?
Tom Hagen: [shakes his head] Can't do it, Sally. 

If you have rules in your classroom, enforce them. If your favourite kid breaks those rules, enforce your rules. No one gets a bye. I don't care if a retest has them  start to cry. I mean, I care, I'm not a monster. However, I care more about the justice that is perceived by everyone else in the classroom. You slack off on how you enforce rules, pretty soon the whole classroom will feel justified (correctly) to slack off as well.

Though you should make sure your rule enforcement tactics are age appropriate. This is good for Middle schoolers, maybe?

Emilio Barzini: [during a meeting with the Five Families] Times have changed. It's not like the Old Days, when we can do anything we want.  

The Old Days. Long Time Ex Pats gathered around a bar table will reminisce about how great the Old Days were. Don't blame us, we're old with bad back and creaky knees. Time was, being an ELT teacher was rare. Being a foreigner in a Korean city was rare. Job retention was high and job security was good. Everyone loved a hagwan teacher. Now, academies close all the time, the job market is shrinking even as the teacher influx has swelled. You are no longer a hot commodity. Owners and managers look at your work ethic, your work output and your skill set and compare it to literally thousands of others.

"Even you, Al Pacino can be replaced," lied De Palma as Brando wondered where he left his keys.

Michael: My father is no different than any powerful man, any man with power, like a president or senator.
Kay Adams: Do you know how naive you sound, Michael? Presidents and senators don't have men killed.
Michael: Oh. Who's being naive, Kay?

There is a high likelihood your boss is an arsehole. He does not care about your well being, whether it is making you work if you have a sore throat and runny nose, or if it a refusal to turn on the air con despite your sweat is clearly making a mini ocean around your desk. Suck it up. If you are doing this job in this country, chances are no matter where you go, you will have the same trials and tribulations. This comes with a warning. Some managers are not arseholes. They are nefarious criminals who should be challenged in a court of law. Know your rights and compare with other teachers, both in your hagwan and in your community.  Most criminal bosses work on the fact you don't know any better and the fear of isolation in a foreign country. Stand up to them. It is not as if they are the mafia.

Kiss my ring, you son of a bitch.

A Very Public Apology For being Myself

So, look, here's the thing. You know me. You know a version of me. Everyone has a version of me in their group of social interaction, be it in  the workplace or in the classroom or in your actual free time. I am that guy people say is the 'the life of the party' while raising their eyebrows. Possibly in a manner suggesting said title is really the whole joke.

I never thought it was a joke, being a popular , enjoyed person. I took it in a deadly serious manner. I hate anyone not liking me. For mem that is a throwback to preteen and teen me, a shy, uncomfortable character that slunk in the shadows. I would throttle that version of me if I could, stomp on his head until I heard his teeth chip and break. I would set him on fire. I push myself on so many ocassions to talk to strangers, to listen to others talk about things that are not interesting or listen to genuinely unpleasant or worse, boring people. I needed their approval so much I gave mine up completely. Love me, my persona screams, if only because of how good a job I am presenting of loving you.

And that situation developed. People threw out terms like 'King' or Mayor' of Daegu. Honorifics which are truly horrific. And I lapped it up. I pretended to not notice the half smirks guileful people would throw at each other. I valued the love too much. I would wave a strangers when they waved at me, forgetting that we had already met previously and in their minds at least, I was  an acquaintance, a friend. I played a  part to perfection.

So now I find myself seeing my actions. And I loathe myself. I am stuck with empty vessels as acquaintance, unable to distinguish the people who are truly my friends and who is just playing along wiht the game started in my head and now played by everyone so much better. My confidence is paper thin, my skin less so. My ego is stretched wide like a balloon and needs only one acute observation to pop me into nothing. My every action is now scrutinised by my id , my super ego, my fake ego and by a committee of sub egos who all have a turn clamouring for attention.

And now I have so many ways t express myself to my new found lifelong friends. Hello, Facebook. Hello, Blogger. Sometimes they say hello back. I now have spent so much time on my friends. I have invested in them.; Surely it is time for them to invest in me. Surely they will all want to know about my day. Careful though, I better make it funny. People like my posts. I cream myself at the pleasure of seeing likes on a post increase over time. Of being witty and it being recognised. Not for the elctronic media the world of half smirks and rolling eyes. Here, it can be taken anyway I desire. Here, I am an urbane G-d.

And then I hurt myself. And it was a while ago. And I am down about it. I don't really feel like making a joke anymore. I feel lke being honest about my feelings. I feel like saying I feel awful, that my knee is punding acid into my foot. That I cannot stand up and i am afraid I will never do it properly again. That I may not run or jump or climb a tree again. These fears cloud my mind and blur my vision with tears of irreparable damage in potentia.

And I write these things not because I want the likes anymore but because I want to be heard. Because I want to be respected. because I want to be liked. Suddenly it is not the substance of the matetr but the matter which created the substance that needs appreciation. Because honestly right now, I feel no appreciation.

And no one cares. Not really. Not in the all consuming way I want them to care. Becasue that's insane. No one can care for you like a lovesick perfectly obedient, individual, clever, carefree, wise, sagacious, witty, fun way golem. They can send you commiserations but they re long distanced, weak by the time of arrival at your soul. They can visit you but you know they will go away again. You know it and they know it. It is part of the tacit arrangement.

All my friends have failed my ideal. And that is because my ideal is fractured, through decades of feverish study as to what is necessary to be popular, to being wanted. To having that transform into a ghoulish need to impress but never realizing the other half of the equation. To be impressive. And so, the reality comes to pass that I reach out to my friends in a way they find cloying, irritating, or worse, boring.

My apology is this. I am sorry for failing my friends in the hour of my greatest need. I shall, from here on in, not tell you a single thing about my day being terrible until it is something you ask for. I will not talk about things that upset me in my life. I shall not venture opinion on source material until it is asked for. I shall not ask for help in any way physical, mental, spiritual or emotional because it is clear you would not ask the same of me, even though I would have given it gladly. By repressing myself, maybe I can stop the microIDs, control my personality and make it a human being once more. Maybe I can find out what I want to listen to, to care about, to appreciated. And then I can gain the respect I deserve.



See, old me would have thrown a question at the end right here saying something like, Does any of this make any sense? I think new me would ask the same question.



Does any of this make sense?