As a TCK, do you remember that first year after high school graduation? Did you experience moments of awkwardness and even embarrassment? Faith Dea, a missionary kid, shares today the experience of a gap year teaching English to older people. This excerpt is from Faith’s new memoir, Unraveled, and is printed with permission.
Heat crept up my neck, flushing my cheeks. It wasn’t the weather; it was all nerves. My eyes narrowed, double-checking the notes in the teacher’s guidebook as my brain pressed on the internal question of how in the world this same exact lesson didn’t look anything like the lesson I used that morning with another group of students. My morning class had gone beautifully well. That group of ten had accepted me happily from the start, and my initial nerves had settled quickly as I melted into the friendly gaze of each one in my class. I was the brand-new teacher for the beginner-level English classes. Tonight was supposed to be a replay of what had transpired that morning. But this evening was not measuring up to the success I’d enjoyed only a few hours earlier. An uneasiness stirred among the first two rows. These were not fidgety children. Most were much older than myself— professional people, blue-collar workers, college graduates, moms and dads. Who was I? Just an uncredentialed missionary kid, barely out of homeschooled high school, trying to look and sound older as a professional ESL teacher.
Okay, let’s ditch the book, I said to myself. Let’s press play on the DVD lesson while I think of what to do next. This video is easy to follow. It’ll get the attention off me for a second. I can’t let them see how nervous I feel. I kept smiling and acting enthusiastic as the video played for the class. It was pretty corny, and it completely derailed the direction I would have liked to take the class that first night of the eleven-week course.
Then she spoke up. Not the lady in the video lesson; the woman in the front row. Her words sounded totally unfamiliar to me. But her tone was clear and universally understood. She was not happy, not one bit! She continued talking louder than the video volume, which was set high for those in the back of the room to be able to hear. Competition ensued. Let this person keep talking over the video lesson, or crank it up to hush the perturbed student? I debated within. Others answered her, but nothing was being resolved. Instead, a sharply argumentative debate set in. I had no way of answering the woman’s dilemma, and she seemed to be pointing out the obvious fact that I was in over my head. The situation spun out of control while my amygdala kicked into high gear. What am I supposed to do? I thought. This lady is forcefully expressing her dissatisfaction to the whole class, unhindered by her emotions. I’m not prepared for this eruption in any way whatsoever, and I have no way of explaining anything with the language barrier between us. I lamented. Not one soul in the room was able to translate, to intervene, to explain the misunderstanding, to patch things up so we could move on. My enthusiasm and sense of success stemming from victory earlier that day completely vanished.
The facade fell, just as she wanted it to, exposing the fact that I was not a real teacher, not qualified, fit, or capable of teaching anything. Clearly, I did not belong in that position. I stood there, alone, stunned at how chaos had escalated so quickly right before my eyes in the white-walled artless room. The stupid video played, prompting the class to stand. Stand for what? I looked back at the screen. It was teaching the word stand. Apparently, when you first learn English, you’re supposed to know the action verb stand. English 101. No one is following the lesson, I thought, and no one cares. Can I dig a hole right below my feet, crawl in, and hide? My mind pleaded, desperate for an escape. Can I run away? Will anyone notice if I dash for the door only a few feet from here? This isn’t what I signed up for. I can’t do this. She is showing it like the light of day in case some others hadn’t noticed. I bewailed my plight.
Just then, a man in the second row stood to his feet without saying a word. He rose just as the video continued prompting with hand motions. Really? I thought. He visibly demonstrated cooperation, silently defying the raucous scene, supporting his new failing teacher. He squared his shoulders and looked decidedly to the front of the room. Standing alone among the class of confused students, all apparently strangers to one another and to me, the teacher. The heat that had risen up to my forehead drained just a tad. Tears threatened to fill my eyes, but I refused to let them. Not in front of everyone, not in this unresolved chaos! This is a language school. These people are paying good money for me to teach them something. I willingly accepted this position. For about two seconds, nothing else mattered. Someone believed in me. Someone understood the madness wasn’t about me or my lack of ability to be the teacher. I observed the solo participant with admiration. Thank you! My eyes spoke into his. I hadn’t even learned his name yet, but his one move reminded me I could do something about the threat I faced. The next pressing question: Would the rest of the class shift direction to stand with my hero, defying the lady’s power struggle over the class?
Faith lives in the United States with her husband and three children: the eldest by birth, the younger two by adoption. She holds a Master of Religious Education in Biblical Studies. Faith published her first book in 2024. She enjoys writing, connecting with people, serving in her church, gardening, hiking, and getaway trips with her family. She has lived all over the United States, Hong Kong, China’s Hainan Province, and South Korea.
