Category Archives: Hagwon

One Year in a Hagwon – Teaching English in Korea

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I’ve written an ebook.

As the title suggests, the ebook is about teaching English in Korea and my experience of it. It’s not always positive, but I’ve tried to be as balanced as I could. It’s sometimes funny, sometimes sad. It’s even somewhat interesting.

You can buy the ebook on Amazon US or Amazon UK. They list it as 79 pages. It’ll take you an hour or two to read.

If you do read it and enjoy it, I’d love it if you could email me (mrdanbaird@gmail.com) or comment here. If you really love it and think it’s the best thing ever, you could send it to a friend (or even review it on Amazon!)

 

One Year in a Hagwon: The Student From Hell

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To understand the problems of a hagwon, you must first understand the impossibility of teaching in one.

In a hagwon, the teachers wield less power than the children. When an especially bad child comes along they can make your life unbearable. These are more than just children, they’re the babies of Satan. The worst I ever taught was a girl named Serah.

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Cute Korean Kids

The greatest thing about being in your 20s is that you still have the opportunity to be a hypocrite. I’ve often thought that it’s fine for me to be wrong about things because I’m still deciding how I feel about them. Once you get older, once you’ve experienced the world, you should probably know better than to have ridiculous opinions. Being young gives you a free pass – you can be as wrong as you like and get out of it later by claiming “I was young and naive back then!”

One thing I was perhaps wrong about is children.

Children. Ugh, children. The only thing worse than children is parents. Parents. Ugh, parents. Children and parents equal one thing: pride. Is there anything more sickening than pride?

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Santa Teacher

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Christmas was approaching. Excitement building. At first the children spoke in hushed whispers, but as the day came closer their voices grew louder. Eventually they were shouting in hysterics “Santa is coming! Santa is coming!”

I wrote about lying to children in my last post. Well the biggest lie of all is Santa. And as Christmas approached it was my biggest problem.

Pity. That’s what I feel for any white male who works in a Korean hagwon at Christmas. Why? Because there’s a very definite possibility that you will find yourself tasked with being Santa. In a school filled with Korean women, the white guy becomes Santa by default.

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Daniel Teacher’s House on the Moon

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The best thing about working with kids is that they’ll believe anything you say. To children, anybody over 5 years older than them is an adult. Somebody to be trusted. Somebody who tells no lies.

I love a good lie. Something I can really sink my teeth into. Literally. The first time I lied to the children, I said I’d eaten another child.

One student had left the school to go to America. I explained that he wasn’t in America, he was in my belly. I’d eaten him.

At this point in the lie, the reaction is different based on the child. Some automatically believe it to be true. Some want more details (“What part of him did you eat first?”) Some shout out loud that I’m a liar. Then they say that they’re going to call the police and I’m going to go to prison for lying. Everybody laughs aloud.

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Sickness in Korea

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The lack of private toilet time isn’t the only problem I have with working in a Korean kindergarten. Every few weeks I seem to get some new illness. Either due to the lack of hygiene from the kids (Hey, I’ll just sneeze in your face, ok?!) Or more annoyingly the kids who do understand hygiene and decide to use it against you (Hahaha! I’m going to cough right in your face…so funny!)

Inevitably you get sick, but you can’t do much about it. The annoying thing about hagwons is they open before the hospitals and shut after them. The working hours are so long that there’s no time to go to see a doctor. Unless you want to be the stupid white idiot who goes to the emergency room after work with a sore throat.

Worse than this, there’s an immense amount of social pressure to not take a day off. The unspoken rule seems to be that unless you’re dying, you should be in work.

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The Art of Bullshit

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Once a month, I look at the school calendar and sigh with annoyance. It can mean only one thing. The monthly kindergarten reports are due.

Each month, I hopelessly search my brain for something to say about how my students are doing. Rarely do I find something satisfactory to say. Instead, I bullshit.

Back when I was a young boy, I got a school report every six months, I never got a report when I was in pre-school though. Possibly because my parents wouldn’t have known what to do with it. Probably because the people at the pre-school realised there’s very little you can write about a child so young.
 
Still, each month I struggle through my reports for kids aged between 3 and 7. Writing a school report for a 4 year old is hard. Writing a different one every month is impossible. What can you actually say about a child that is so young he could probably still be breastfed?
 
The challenge of writing my reports is intensified due to my working for a private school. Parents spend their hard earned money to send their kids to my school, meaning the parents and children have to be kept happy. My reports can’t be negative. Or honest. Heaven forbid I say something bad about somebody’s little angel. If Mother gets a negative report, she’ll be unhappy. Maybe she’ll send her son or daughter to another school. We’ll lose money.
 
Better to have Mother living in blissful ignorance. She can believe her child is a perfect student who comes into every lesson with passion and enthusiam. We don’t have to lie, just bend the truth. That way we’ll be able to take her money each month. The reality of her child will never reach her. Her daughter spends every lesson picking her nose and eating the treasures she finds. There are parrots with a better grasp of English.

After all this time, I’ve started to perfect the art of bullshitting. The key is to be believable. Otherwise Mother might get suspicious. If I have a child who constantly throws temper tantrums, screaming and shouting to get what they want. I don’t write “Your daughter is a little shit and she’s scaring the other children with her constant noise.” I instead write “Your daughter has a lot of energy which she is using in class.” Sure, she’s using that energy to argue with the other children and throw chairs at me…but she is technically doing it in the classroom, so it’s believable bullshit.
 
If a child is lazy, they suddenly become “comfortable in the classroom”, if a child spends the entire lesson shouting rude words at me in Korean he “enjoys speaking activities”, if a boy can’t concentrate he becomes “imaginative”, if a girl draws all over the desk she’s “creative”. Whatever the situation, there’s some bullshit I can use to spin it. If a child pulled down his pants in class and pissed all over the desk, I’d probably just write that he really feels at home in the classroom.

I’m sure a lot of mothers read this bullshit and believe it. Nobody wants to believe their child is a monster. The truth is a horrible pill to swallow sometimes. We’d all much rather be told we’re an “energetic people person” than a “crazy psychopath”. Parents can easily become deluded about their children. “My child would never come into your classroom and fart in your face! My daughter is an angel who does nothing wrong.” It’s best to just let them keep believing it.

At the same time, no mother wants to believe their child is devoid of personality either – despite the fact that most young children are. You can’t exactly have a deep conversation with a person that can’t understand that 1 plus 1 equals 2. Yet every parent believes their child is special and gifted, so as to not disappoint, I must pretend they are.

“Since last month, Ben has managed to learn the entire alphabet, as well as the words for some colors. Afterwards he also learnt the theory of relativity and independently solved the problem of global warming. He tells me he’s working on a cure for cancer now which should be finished by next month.”

In reality I should be writing:

“Since last month, Ben has learnt absolutely nothing. Every time I ask him to sit down he crawls under the desk and laughs in my face. I tried to teach him the alphabet, but he decided he’d much rather take a box of Lego and pour it over the ground. One positive is we managed to make it through one full day this month where he didn’t poop in his pants!”

Really, I am confused as to why a child that still uses nappies has to have a report card. A report card is used to report on the progress of a child’s mind. How their intellect is progressing. Kind of ridiculous when a lot of my children are so young that they are closer to being vegetables than they are adult human beings!
 
The downside to my bullshit is that those children that do need improvement inevitably don’t get it because the school and parents would rather live a bubble of ignorance. Even worse, criticism may hurt the child or mother which would only hurt the schools profits as the parents would take their child to a “better” hagwon: a hagwon that is better at lying.
 
The expectations from parents are completely unrealistic. But over time I’ve started to fall in line with them. At first, I was of the opinion that my school was asking too much of the students. Expecting 5 year olds to memorise long passages of English, read long books and generally be advanced speakers of English. It all seemed too much. Now I get pissed if a 4 year old can’t sit still for 10 minutes to read a text book. Really, a child of that age should be praised for doing pretty much anything. “Hey, you scribbled on a piece of paper?! I’m putting that on the fridge!” Instead the kids are pressurised to the point of exhaustion.

So maybe in a way, my bullshit isn’t just for the mothers, it’s for the kids as well. It gives them a little break. Those kids that spend all day drawing all over their books, ignoring me, learning nothing. Well…good for them. Isn’t that what they should be doing when they’re kids anyway?

By giving them a good report, I allow them to be little kids for longer, rather than bringing the pressure to be perfect onto their shoulders straight away.

Sometimes it’s good to bullshit.

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 Photo by Jeffrey James Pacres