Sitting in the front row, little fourth-grader J stares straight at the blackboard, mouth agape and eyes clearly revealing he is anywhere but in the seat of his classroom. Remembering how important it is to pay attention, though, J suddenly shakes himself back into attentiveness. It's not his fault the string of English words and phrases blur together in one ear and whiz out the other. He's never passed an English test, let alone a class quiz. Still now, after three years of failing, the voices of his parents and teachers and family members remind him to persevere and try harder.
Sitting the midterm test, J places pencil, rubber and highlighter on his desk. He carefully looks at each question, reading the English instructions out in a whisper to help his comprehension. He highlights the keywords like his teacher has taught him, and writes the answer in the box. Pencil gripped tightly, he copies the answer and catches himself making a mistake, changing the 'b' back into a 'd'. Completing the question, he straightens up, takes a deep breath and gets ready for the next. I glance over his shoulder to look at his answer...sigh... wrong.
How unfair is it that such a good kid, with such a great attitude towards his education, just doesn't ever pass? My heart breaks.
I collect the papers and walk up to the staff room. I take out little J's paper to see if he's shown any improvement. Oh, please, J, prove your teachers wrong. You may not be good at English but I know you can pass. Prove you're not that "hopeless student who never passes" that your teachers warned me about. I know you can do it!
Tallying the marks on the calculator, I begin to think about how sad it is that my biggest hope is for him to pass a test and not to write an amazing story or to tell me about a great book he's read. Yet, at the same time I also know there is a time and place for summative tests and assessments. My thoughts are interrupted. The calculator reads 64. He passed? I count again before getting my hopes up. Then, I turn to the front of the page and write a shining "64". He passed!
Passing the test papers back the next day, I ask students to line up in student number to collect their papers. J closes his eyes and holds out his hands. He darts quickly back to his seat and slowly peaks at the top right corner of his paper. He shoots up from his seat in disbelief and says to himself in Chinese, "I passed! I passed!" Another fourth-grader shows J his higher score, but J, unwavered, fixates his eyes on the "64" and begins to well up with tears. He glows with pride. Smiling from cheek to cheek, he finds his friend, hugs him and they jump up and down in happiness.
They say teaching is a hard job because you don't often see the rewards of your hard work -- especially in primary schools where children just aren't ready to explicitly say thank you to their teachers. Yet, biting my tongue and holding back the tears, I got all the reward I needed, and found myself promising to do everything I can to help this kid learn English and everything I can to make him know that he can and will believe in himself.