Who is Avril Levigne? Heck if I knew until I read about the Canadian singer/songwriter in one of the LIKE textbooks. Kim Hee-Man, director of the Yongsan school, had written it himself and so it was part of the curriculum. He thought the middle school students might find her life interesting, so there were several pages about the young woman. I thought that segment and indeed the entire book were of very little value—the students concurred—and eventually quit using it.
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I found numerous reasons to be displeased with the Chilgok LIKE school. As I have mentioned earlier, it was dirty and I sometimes took it upon myself to come to work early so I could sweep and mop the hallways and classrooms. When I realized there was no toilet paper in the girls’ bathroom, I went out and bought some myself.
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After the Chilgok school closed and I went down to Yongsan, I was quite surprised to find that two students had made the move with me. Their English names were Angelina (maybe 12) and Eric (10?). Although I think they were sister and brother, I am not entirely sure. It is not a criticism but a statement of fact to say that Angelina would not have given me the time of day. She had a personality, though. She would sometimes spontaneously sing a line from one of the Wonder Girls’ songs and even do a little dance in her seat right there in the classroom. Eric was one of those students who I loved very much. He was smart, spoke English well and seemed to crave my approval. On the monthly forms that went home to the parents, I often wrote on his: “Eric is an excellent student.”
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One of the Korean teachers at Yongsan, whose name I have forgotten, was quite impressive. Her classroom adjoined mine and thus I often heard her drilling her students in a rhythmic, almost musical way. I sensed that she never had the slightest problem maintaining discipline. This contrasted 
starkly with the situation in mine where all too often I had to raise my voice to get kids to stop yakking, draw their attention back to the supposed educational process or otherwise play the classroom policeman.
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In several classes with younger students, we read aloud from the textbook, followed by them doing written exercises, after which they lined up and I graded them. During the second part—as they worked with pencils in hand—they often kept up a running commentary (in Korean, of course) mixed with outbursts of laughter. One little girl sat on the front row and gleefully took part even as she observed me, wondering just how much Teacher would put up with.
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One of my least pleasant memories of teaching at a hagwon in Daegu came from a class in which we were supposed to read from The Adventures of Tom Sawyer. Hee-Man thought that a good teacher would be able to spontaneously come up with questions and points of discussion. Did he really think the students would be engrossed by this book? It was a difficult if not impossible task. As we slogged through page after page, I asked questions about Tom, his brother Sid, Aunt Polly, Huck Finn, Becky Thatcher and other characters, and the things they did on the banks of the Mississippi River. It just did not work, and I think my students were bored out of their skulls.
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I had students challenge me in a number of ways. One of the most blatant took place at Chilgok where a boy used to come into class and set his head down on the desk as if to sleep. That did not last long. “Hey! Sit up! You are not going to sleep in here!” He heard me loud and clear, but we had to go through this time and again.
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While at Chilgok, Eric (see above) was in a very small class. There were exactly three students—him, Tom and Leo. They were quite lively and managed to find all kinds of things about which to chortle. One of them, which I heard a great many times, was “Are you crazy?” When those words were spoken, Eric, Tom and Leo all busted out laughing. For this reason alone, I soon began to call them “the crazy boys.”
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I really do not know why this incident touched me so deeply, but it did. One class had concluded, we had our 10-minute break and then another commenced. There was a knock on the door. I opened it to find a young boy who was quite concerned, almost crying, because he had lost his pencil case. We looked 
throughout my classroom and were unable to locate it, so he went on his way. Although I was disappointed not to be able to help him, it was interesting to be in this children’s world where a misplaced pencil case was so critical.
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How could I forget 7-year-old Su-Mi? The sole student in a beginners class at Chilgok, she was sometimes lazy or refused to take part but such behavior was forgiven because she was so adorable and I loved her a lot. We ran through most of the little kids’ textbooks, regardless of whether they were meant for her class. Su-Mi could be quite spontaneous; one time she seemed a bit lethargic and then out of the blue she sprang to life, threw her arms up and yelled, “peaches!!”
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