coordination

Let's play a game!

Let's assume that you asked me this question: What are the three things that you will most remember Korean children by?

Well, I'm glad you asked, because that's the exact topic that I was going to write this post about.

1) No matter how many times you tell them to stop speaking Korean in the classroom, they will carry on speaking Korean.

2) They are very generous. If a kid has some candy or any kind of food, they will freely share it with their classmates and teachers.

3) They have the absolute worst hand-eye coordination of any living thing on the face of the Earth.

#3 is the truest of the statements I just made. In several of my classes, particularly with the younger ones, they like to play a game in which they steal several of my teaching materials...i.e. my markers, pens, or board erasers. Inevitably they return my belongings, but they like to do so in the manner of throwing them at me as hard as they can. Now, given that they are children, their arm-strength is pretty low, so I can catch anything the throw at me with relative ease. However, regardless of how easily I can catch a given object, they are quite amazed at my ability to do so.

Contrast to this, are the times when I toss something for them to catch. Without fail, they tighten up, and either flail their arms in a pathetic attempt to grasp the object, or quickly slam their arms together in a futile attempt to trap the object thrown at them. It's a paltry thing to witness.

Now, I've already stated their lack of coordination and their willingness to give pieces of candy to their teacher, and there's a middle ground to be found which directly relates to this post of mine.

When I really want to blow their minds, I'll accept a piece of candy from one of them, and, in full view of the class, I'll toss it in the air and catch it in my mouth. This, to them, is the greatest achievement in the history of mankind. When successfully done, the classroom erupts with emphatic "Ooooohs," and, "Aaaahs," followed by a polite round of applause. It gives me an empowering feeling, a feeling that vanishes at the end of the class, when I scour the room picking up the pieces of candy left behind after their failed attempts at emulating my accomplishment.

I can't think of a witty way to end this post, so instead I'll simply write this sentence.