Vignette # 2: Back to School

            For the past month I’ve been volunteering at an Italian elementary school in a third grade class. Choosing to do this has been one of the best decisions I’ve made since coming here. I don’t think I can adequately express how refreshing it is to step into my classroom to see most of the class jump to their feet and throw their arms in the air while shouting my name. I specifically chose the third grade because I wanted to go back to the same grade that I started Italian school in. Eight and nine year-olds are just such a great age and it’s an added bonus that they are all speaking in adorable little Italian voices.

            Gualtierro is by far my favorite. He sits in the back of the class with Greta (the responsible girl) and doodles quietly, only drawing attention to himself when he looks up and catches my eye to give me a small smile.

            Mohammed gets in trouble far more than he should; the scapegoat of the class, I often find myself trying to walk by his desk and help him with his English homework, because he is dreadfully slow at copying notes. He is so sweet and gets really excited about everything, which inevitably leads Aleladin to make fun of him.

            And Amanda is the cutest girl ever. She also gets bonus points because after my first day of class, I was in such a good mood that I stopped by Gelatauro (a local gelato favorite) to treat myself and she was also there. She pointed me out to her mom and told her that I was the new “maestra d’inglese” (English teacher) and her mom—who is officially the coolest person ever—promptly bought me a gelato and told me that she was looking forward to seeing me in the upcoming weeks. So in addition to her 90’s scrunchies and sweet little voice, Amanda also has a cool mom. Kudos to you, kid.

            Italian elementary school is, unsurprisingly, completely different from American elementary school. The children are much sassier (although maybe that’s just their age) and the teacher is much more…vocal. By vocal I mean she will often scream at the top of her lungs, slamming her hand on her desk repetitively like a Judge Judy with anger management issues, for approximately ten minutes straight. Although the classroom is overall far calmer than my own Italian school experience, Maestra Giovanna is from southern Italy so there are definitely a few minutes in which I have serious flashbacks to my times behind those little desks, terrified of where the teacher would direct her anger next. Ironically, during these outbreaks of fury, Maestra Giovanna turns to me for confirmation—as if I’m about to stand up in front of these little terrified munchkins and tell them how right she is in yelling at them. This is ironic because, as a 21 year-old, I still side with the kids and I usually just end up smiling nervously and refusing to join in on the screaming match since I consider most of them overreactions anyways.

            Overall, though, you can tell that the teacher loves the kids, despite how much of a challenge they are. I definitely was landed with the troublesome class and I can understand why Maestra Giovanna gets frustrated with them, but she also has a great sense of humor and I often catch her hiding a grin after she’s yelled at someone, which is then followed by an affectionate sort of eye-roll and a shared, knowing look that she sends my way. The kids’ English (and, admittedly, the teacher’s as well) is very limited and most of my responsibilities have involved talking to them in English (with very basic sentences) and correcting their own pronunciation and sentence structure. We struggled through the first day in which my introduction of, “My name is Danielle. I am twenty-one years old. I am from Virginia, in the United States. I have no brothers or sisters and my father is a pilot” became “She has a sister named Virginia. She’s thirty-eight years old and is a pilot from Australia. She also has a father.” They’re still learning a few things.

            I also lead them in class sing-a-long’s with the teacher’s book of British nursery rhymes in which the words color and favorite are spelled colour and favourite and I have to say “chips” and “granddad” instead of “French fries” and “grandpa.” We also play a game called “Stand Up-Sit Down” which is played exactly as it sounds: I stand in front of the class and say either “stand up” or “sit down” and the kids have to listen and be sure to have heard me or understood me. If someone does not do the correct motion, the rest of the class turns on them and waves, yelling rather obnoxiously: “BYE-BYE!”

            There’s also some drama within the class. Besides the usual small fights and scruples between friends, there’s also romance. Yes, you heard me right. Love is in the air within the halls of the Zamboni school. One day, Maestra Giovanna was criticizing someone’s artwork on their English homework (ironically, the quality of someone’s bubble letters becomes a higher priority than their spelling of the English language in this class) and Amanda came up to the desk to ask to go to the bathroom. Without really looking at her, Maestra Giovanna waved her away and continued to point out the lack of effort and color her student had demonstrated on the cover of their booklet titled “Yummy Food.” Soon after, Giacomino came to the desk and also asked to go to the bathroom; again, Maestra Giovanna waved him away impatiently and continued her extremely necessary art-critique. A few minutes later, her lecture was over and she turned back to me.

            “Who asked to go to the bathroom?” She demanded suddenly in Italian.

            “Um…Amanda and…I think Giacomino?” I responded, unsure. She grabbed my arm, her eyes widening comically, and she whispered:

            “They’ve going to go kiss each other in the bathroom.”

            “What?”

Maestra Giovanna proceeded to rifle through her desk and withdraw a crumpled note with messy handwriting that said clearly, in Italian, “Let’s both meet in the bathroom to kiss today.” Maestra Giovanna leaned forward and eagerly informed me that she had found this note under Amanda’s desk and she was almost certain that it was Giacomino’s handwriting. She then giggled and, almost gleefully, repeated that they were going to go kiss each other and then informed me of all the different couples that were currently together in the class (these kids do not mess around—out of the 13 children in class, there are 3 couples).

            “They’re probably kissing right now. Go look!” She promptly shoved me out the door and demanded that I go catch them in the act of smooching between the stalls. It was clear that she did not want to get them in trouble, but merely wanted to know what was going on—the elementary school teacher’s Days of Our Lives equivalent. By the time I made it out into the hallway, Amanda and Giacomino were already making their way back to the classroom and both of them were very red in the face. The mystery remains whether or not they are currently together.

            I love teaching the class in English. I’ve always loved kids but I have no experience in teaching so this is a completely different world for me. I really look forward to my weekly lessons with them, even if I am forced to sing songs by myself in front of a room of fourteen people, since I’m the only one who can pronounce the lyrics properly.