The Unexpected Joy of Being an English Teacher: Lessons from the Classroom

I remember the first time I was asked by my coordinator to take a class of young children and become their English teacher. I honestly didn’t want to. I always had a prejudice about teaching young learners and knew that teaching them is a challenging task that I was not ready for it. I never thought in my wildest dreams that I would actually enjoy working with young children. It’s true—they’re noisy, and naughty, and some of them can be a bit rude. They run around, hardly listen, and don’t seem to care about studying at all. Yet, to my surprise, I find the time I spend with them refreshing—dare I say, even enjoyable.

I’ve thought about why I feel this way, and I think it's because they are so authentic. They may be mischievous and annoying at times, but there’s something incredibly innocent about them. They haven’t yet been struck by the harsh realities of life, nor have they been burdened down by the disappointments that so many of us carry. For them, regrets don’t exist, and past memories aren’t painful. Happiness is as simple as a coloring activity, and hope is something they naturally possess. They laugh more than we do, and at night, they sleep soundly—no sleepless nights haunted by broken dreams. They infect you with their niceness, kindness, and joyfulness and you can't help but be uplifted by them It is really hard to be surrounded by so much love and sweetness and not have them on you.

Children unlike us don’t wish for death, nor is living a burden to them. They don’t take life too seriously, but they also hold no contempt toward it. They are whole, unbroken, filled with enthusiasm and joy. They’ve yet to understand the feeling of constant failure or what it’s like to be stuck in place. Anger does not make them aggressive and sadness does not turn into bitter resentments. Making friends is just a matter of simple request and forgiveness is just a hug away.

Sometimes, I look at them and imagine their lives twenty years from now. What a gloomy and depressing thought. Life, inevitably, will crush them, silence them. Even the loudest, most defiant child won’t survive the battle against time. How many sleepless nights will it take to mend their broken hearts? How many times will they bite their tongues to keep from crying in public? How many lies will they tell about being okay? How much courage will they need to keep going, to keep enduring life?

I don’t know the answers, but I do know one thing for sure: they’ll have to toughen up to survive, or life, with its appetite for cruelty, will devour them whole.