No sooner had we reveled in the joy of the festivities
commemorating 'back to school', than we had the opportunity to do so again. This time we were to be honored as
teachers in Russia on October 5th. Friends, colleagues and acquaintances in
different parts of Russia posted Happy Teachers' Day messages on social
networking sites, with or without pictures or smiley faces. All had a reason to
bring in goodies to combat the munchies when they could finally take a breather
from their heavy schedules – it would be the time to share a joke or two about what
Masha, Dasha or Sasha said; or what Misha or Grisha had done; or what Denis didn't
do. Every class seems to have one or two of these names so their ears must be ringing all the time.
I was in an exuberant mood as I braced the strong winds on
my half-hour walk to work; more because it was Friday and another hard week had
come to an end. I was anticipating the busy weekend ahead of me during which I
would be able to take care of personal errands and attend a cultural activity or two. As I walked on, I looked at the poor trees
gradually shedding their green-turned-yellow leaves, shedding their protective
shield and beauty, soon to become stark trunks and sticks covered in icicles. However, that was yet to come, so I was enjoying the crisp morning weather all
muffled up. Children going to other schools in the vicinity were laden with
different sizes and colors of bouquets and gift boxes, obviously for their
beloved teachers. My earlier mood piqued even higher to see such appreciation from
caring students. Were they caring, or were they atoning for all the grief
they'd given the teacher just this first month of school, and paving the way for
all that there was to come?
At the gate, I was welcomed by a 'Happy Teachers' Day' from the
security guard, sans smile of course, but I was still
thankful for the acknowledgement, and showed him my gratitude as I wished him
the same. I hadn't expected anything else until I walked into the basement
where the faculty room is located, or at least as it is known by name, to be
received by a sumptuous spread in the work area. Maria, the kind, lively,
friendly retired worker now turned cleaner at our school, welcomed me with a
warm smile as she wished me a Happy Teachers' Day. I can’t generalize that people here are unfriendly – there are all sorts. She had come in earlier than
usual to clean up and set the table before the teachers arrived. I thanked her
profusely for her hard work and her kindness, then we exchanged a few niceties and a
few laughs about mundane issues.
The table, which under normal circumstances is never big
enough for more than six teachers to sit around at a time to do any work, was
laden with all sorts of treats squeezed next to one another - all sugar and flour-based. Usually an early bird,
I was the second to arrive that morning. Perfunctory greetings exchanged
between the first arrival and me, he went on to make his morning coffee, ready
to help himself to a giant portion of cake, or cookies, or pastries, or all
three to keep the spare tire growing. Knowing I could not partake in this
feast, I took a picture as a reminder of this important occasion in Russia which I don’t
remember experiencing anywhere else. That done, I headed to the third floor where my
lessons usually take place.
At the summit, I yelled my wishes across the hallway to my
colleague and friend Vera Nikolaevna who volleyed them back at me. We had our
usual discussions about the day, what lay ahead of us and back to our
rooms to get on with work. Our students started arriving, likewise laden with bouquets
and gift bags, as I’d seen on my way in. I wasn't particularly looking
forward to receiving anything; a day without having to raise my voice or send
anyone out of class, or a promise not to do so for the rest of the semester
would have been enough for me, and actually the best gift I could receive – but
alas! We don’t always get what we want, do we?
A student I’d sent out of class more than once this week and threatened to go further handed me a small carrier bag. I accepted it
graciously and thanked him, however, he refused to give me a hug in exchange. At the end of
the day, I opened the bag to find a beige, long-sleeved, polo-neck lycra top - surprising. He saw me everyday and knew my size but I
didn't expect that. A later discussion with some other teachers revealed they
got the same item from the same student. Was it from their shop and not selling
well? It certainly didn't look cheap.
I received more gifts from the same class where the same
students have caused me, on numerous occasions, to lose my voice; the same three
I could live very happily without. One of them presented me with a gold and red
gift bag containing items from a cosmetics store which uses natural products
for soaps and creams. They were nicely wrapped in a yellow and black kerchief with a bumble bee tag. It felt soft and mushy, and smelled very nice. It
would come in handy for the long, relaxing, nicely-scented bath I was
anticipating at the end of the day, thanks to those three. The icing on the
cake was receiving a gift from the most behavior-challenged student in that
class who actually abused me verbally a few months ago. He had clearly
manifested his dislike for me and the language I teach, which he was not
interested in learning or speaking, for that matter. I wasn't sure whether to
accept his gift which would be a reminder of a very unpleasant, ongoing
situation with no prospects of improving, but I did. I thanked him to be
gracious, but clearly expressed my surprise, and would have given my left arm
to know what was going on in his head.
Every time I descended to the bowels of the school building
for copies, books or other business, there was a number of teachers sitting
around the table, happily savoring the spread which no longer was. It had been
gradually dwindling as teachers in their free time sat to chat, mull and munch.
By the end of the day, the plates were
wiped clean, except for the crumbs left around. Maria would
stay behind to take care of that, just like she had come in earlier to set it all
out. I thanked her for her work, although I did not have a single bite of any
of the food. I made sure she felt appreciated too, and gave her one of my
several boxes of chocolates which I hope she could enjoy by herself, or with
her coworkers when she put the mop in its place to take a breather.
At the end of the day, I sat down to take care of the usual administrative duties a teacher is responsible for, in addition to planning and
delivering lessons. My inbox was graced with a group email to all the teachers
from the general director in poor English as usual, acknowledging the event and
asking the teachers to enjoy the food provided. I could't help but think that the
departed head teacher would have had an assembly with the teachers and
students, reminded the students about the significance of the day and reminded them that it wasn't just about gifts and food. It is more about cooperation, hard work,
respect, trust and creating an atmosphere where all are happy to work and learn. It is too late now to go back and celebrate the European day of Languages
which was not acknowledged. I have decided that wherever I am next year, I will
take it upon myself to celebrate it, even it is just in my classroom, to raise
awareness.
The celebrations continued over the weekend, although in honor of different occasions. I had been invited to break bread with some of my colleagues for Canadian Thanksgiving. Unfortunately, I took a rain check because I had also been invited to Vinzavod. I felt a quiet walk around art galleries, art and antique shops appealed more to me than more merrymaking. At the end of the day I was glad I chose the latter. Tonight, it's the Kremlin Palace for another ballet - the Gala of Russian Ballet Stars.
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