Volunteer Explorer

One thing I never really think about in the ESOL classes where I volunteer is politics. Of course, last year when I learned that Project Learn changed all of its classes to a schedule of six weeks on--two weeks off, due to budget constraints, I knew it was a political decision. But generally, the refugees I work with do not have the vocabulary to discuss politics, and that is more than fine by me. The time in these classrooms is an oasis for me, a tightly-focused escape from all the irritating realities of everyday life, a bubble of time and space dedicated only to vocabulary and syntax. Last Tuesday, that bubble was burst by the City of Akron. Have you heard about the sales tax increase the city wants to put on this November’s ballot?   Have you heard about the new sports arena The University of Akron and the city want to build downtown? Have you heard about how the tax increase is linked to paying for both the new arena and safety services, like police and fireme...

The man whose office is off the conference room where we have ESOL class is very, very patient and tolerant. We are not generally a quiet group. This week, I kept my half of our class working on the alphabet. I brought in a set of “tactile” letters from Project Learn, cards of single capital letters that are made of various materials, like fuzzy pipe cleaners or velvet or thick foam. I also brought in a canister of small plastic letter tiles, so the students could search for letters and match what I wrote on the board, then return the letters to the pile and start again. These were fun and got everybody out of their seats for a while. The side discussions in Nepali were overwhelming at times. Three new volunteers came to class this week: Joyce, a white woman just a little older than myself; Carmesha, a tall, twenty-something black woman with lots of eye make-up; and Rayshawna, a sixteen-year-old who goes to a year-round high school and volunteers for class credit. They have al...

Preposition usage is one of the most difficult aspects of learning a new language. When I studied French as an undergrad, my colleagues and I were always confused about which verbs require de after them and which require à . There was no rule for the choice, only an ambiguous guideline about the intent of the verb. Very French. English is crazy with preposition use. I once made the family I lived with in France laugh wildly by running down a partial list of how the meaning of the verb to get changes with different prepositions: we get up in the morning, get down with our bad selves, get in on a deal, get out of work, get over a loss, get under the covers, get around a problem, get to the point, get behind a candidate, get out in front of a crisis, but can’t get next to you, girl! Get it? So I can understand how confusing prepositions are for new speakers of English. I helped Rebecca’s class work on before and after this week. First, I wrote out the entire lower-case al...

It’s always unsettling for a woman alone in a secluded parking lot to encounter a loitering man who does not appear to be simply parking a car and going about his business. I don’t think most men understand how vulnerable women sometimes feel in situations like this. I’m certain the man I encountered Tuesday morning in the ASIA, Inc. parking lot doesn’t. He—tall, Caucasian, with thin, graying hair and wire-rim glasses—was standing between two of the half dozen or so minivans already parked in the gravel lot when I pulled in. The lot is secured inside a perimeter of chain link, but the low, burnt-out factories behind it create a bleak, lonely landscape. I’m glad I only come here during daylight hours. As I got out of my car, locked it, and walked along the chain-link fence toward the sidewalk by the street, I made particular eye contact with the stranger. “Morning,” I said, hoping he got my tacit message of I see you; what are you doing here? “Morning,” he replied. ...

When I was six or so, I had to memorize a string of nine numbers. About a year earlier, I had learned to count to one hundred by rote as a requirement for entering kindergarten at the public school. My oldest brother, Mike, helped me with both of these tasks, as well as tying my shoes, another pre-req for kindergarten. The string of nine numbers was broken into chunks of three numbers, two numbers, and four numbers. Mike had me repeat each chunk over and over until I had each one tattooed on my mind and could call it forth on command. Of course, I was learning my Social Security number. There is little a person can accomplish in the US without a Social Security number. School enrollment, bank accounts, any kind of credit, and all interactions with local, state, and federal government require it. In grad school, we graduate assistants had to type the last four digits of our SSNs into the copy machine for it to function. And it tallied our paper usage according to the number, re...

I think Karma has a vision problem. That sounds like an incredibly deep statement, until you realize that Karma is the name I am using for one of the adult students in the Basic Life Skills ESOL class I volunteer in. He is tall and thin and shy, usually seated next to his wife, who is much more adept at speaking and understanding English, and who always feeds him the answers to questions in class. I include him in my small group work when I can—sometimes he won’t join us or goes to the bathroom for half an hour instead. I once had him copy all the letters of the alphabet on his own; it took him forty-five minutes to get through letter G. Yesterday, we worked on the days of the week. Susan had distributed a hand-out with calendar grids that had different days of the week marked with an X, topped by the question “what day is it?”; the students were to identify which day of the week was marked, then write the sentence, “it is Monday (etc.)” after it. I circulated among the ...

So I graduated last week. I mean I really graduated: wore a cap and gown and Master’s hood, listened to speeches, heard my name called after the words “receiving the Master of Fine Arts,” walked across a stage, and shook the hand of the university’s president. My family took me out for a special dinner afterward; we took pictures and exchanged cards for my graduation, mother’s day, my husband’s birthday. After that heady weekend of lofty speeches and heartfelt congratulations, I’ve experienced a lull. I am now officially unemployed. I do not know how to handle that. I’ve been a student for almost eight years. Before that, I went from job to job with no downtime in between. From the time I finished high school until last weekend, I was unemployed for maybe a total of three months. And that’s over a span of some twenty-five years. No wonder I feel at loose ends now. A lot of people have asked me over the past few weeks: “what’s next?” I’m sure these people have the best of inten...