What Math Can't Measure

I work at an English hagwon, which is a Korean cram school or academy. I teach the highest level of 6th graders (elementary school) and first-year middle-school students. This means they are very proficient in English and score very well on English tests.

In our school, they spend half their time learning from a Korean teacher, who focuses on the fundamentals, like grammar, vocabulary, and reading and listening comprehension.

I’m here to assist with English production: speaking and writing opportunities and skills.

A unique part of my job is that I get to interview 6th graders to determine admission into my classroom. I meet all sorts of kids: Many have lived in countries outside Korea — either English-speaking countries or countries with English-based international schools. Most learned English here in Korea, either by attending English hagwons from a young age, teaching themselves, or (more uncommonly) with help from their parents who know English. Their backgrounds are so varied, but their language goals are mostly the same. My classroom is often the only place they ever get to speak English.

Today, I interviewed a kid who spent the first half of his life in Korea and the most recent half in Australia. He just returned to Korea in summer 2020. (Yes, he has a full-on Aussie accent!)

I have a few different interview styles, depending on the student. Today, we launched right into conversation — actually, he spent most of the time talking to me about his life in Australia and his experiences with the pandemic in these two countries.

After talking for about 30 minutes, I said, “Look, obviously, your English abilities are perfect! Why are you looking to come to my class?”

He answered, “Since I’ve come back to Korea, I’ve felt like I’m losing my vocabulary.”

“Right. Language is like a muscle. You’ve got to train it to keep it strong.”

We’d talked for 40 minutes, which is certainly longer than my average interview time. There was a really cool moment after our interview, when we were walking back to his mom at the front desk. I thanked him for his time and his stories.

He paused, mid-step, and told me, “This is the longest English conversation I’ve had since I came back to Korea.”

This small moment of my day had been such a significant moment for him!

He'd had so many stories to tell me during our time together.

“Can I tell you one more thing?” he’d asked me, around the time I became aware of the quickly-passing time.

“Of course.”

The nature of my job often produces these humbling moments, but it also makes me realize something: the little things we do can be so meaningful to someone. It’s not just a teacher thing; it’s a human thing.

How can we do this for others more often in our daily lives? <3