Ole’ Man Seifert

Last year one of my favourite things that happened in my classes was the advent and writing of the school paper; Second Beach Stag Party. Our boardroom sessions hold a place in my heart and I hope to continue with something similar when I get back, but in the meantime Ole’ Man Seifert has evolved.

In two weeks time I will be accompanying a class on a study trip to Dublin, and as we approach the trip our focus in class has shifted to all things Dublin and Irish. As I was doing my own reading I came across a column in the Irish Times written by a fictional character (http://www.irishtimes.com/ross-o-carroll-kelly-7.1837434), and I was reminded of Ole’ Man Seifert (who was a fictionalized version of myself, a little older, a little grumpier).

So now my students have created fictional Dubliners who are writing columns reflecting what we have been learning about Ireland and the whole process is a lot of fun. Our invented characters make us consider what an Irish character might be like, and through these characters I will be able to read what they have learned. A little fiction, a little creativity, but we still have writing reflecting thoughts on the materials studied.

Today’s class will start with a sharing of what their fictional character did on the weekend; Breen O’Sullivan (my character) works at Guinness with his father. He started Friday after work with a couple of pints with his da, and he stayed on after his da went home to have a few with his mates. He managed to pick up some food at the chippie and stumbled home knowing that if he went back to join his mates he wouldn’t make it home. When he got there he started watching his old tape of the Ireland vs. England match from Italia 90 when they tied 1-1 and Ireland went on to appear in the quarter finals where they lost to Italy 1-0. He sang himself to sleep (mostly The Fields of Athenry) well before half time. Saturday was a write off cause he felt like shite all day and Sunday he spent with the family celebrating the baptism of his sisters fifth child, finally a daughter. (My own character and his actions owe a lot to the recent influence of Roddy Doyle who writes Irish English so you can hear it)

Portugal

We recently put another stamp in our passports (metaphorically speaking since we haven’t seen a stamp since arriving in Denmark) when we went to Portugal on our winter break. For the boys it was love at first site, palm trees, ocean, and a guy playing the accordion on the subway with a small dog on his shoulder. This trip was planned with the kids in mind, not that they all aren’t, but this one even more so. 

We went to a town called Cascais, which took maybe an hour to get to from the airport in Lisbon.

The hotel was near the ocean and it had a pool, these being the two things the boys insisted on. Most of our time was spent either in or around the pool, or walking along the oceanfront. We were lucky enough to have our accommodations upgraded and on the days we had sun we saw it nearly all day from our wrap-around balcony on the top floor. The weather was mixed, but one day it was nice enough that we sat on the balcony in shorts and luxuriated in the sun.

The oceanfront was largely rocky with a few beaches here and there, but the rocks were beautiful and the crashing waves were dramatic. The times we could descend to the shore we had fun climbing and were thrilled with the proximity to the powerful waves whose fallout provided us with the occasional shower. 

On sunny days we saw lizards (one bit Gus’s jacket and wouldn’t let go) and even a snake.

Our one ‘tourist’ day we took a bus to a region called Sintra which is built on a large forested hill where we visited the remains of a castle built by Muslim occupants in the 8^th or 9^th century and the Pena National Palace (far more recent- 18oo’s). 

The bus ride was a ride I will always remember, the bus going quite fast down impossibly narrow and winding roads. We stopped off at the western most point in Europe and took some pictures, exchanging cameras with a girl and her mother and taking pictures for each other.

We stayed one night in Lisbon on our way back and enjoyed walking through town where at one point I was separated from the boys and Leanne for a few moments, long enough so that someone asked if I might want to buy some joints. Leanne thought it was funny because I also seem to attract the people selling religion, I had been targeted a few days earlier in Cascais, I guess I must look like I’m looking for something.

That was Portugal, a quick visit and one more country to add to the tally of countries visited. Strange how we can visit so many countries but if we were back home and travelled the same distances we could still be in Canada.

Captain Canada

These days I find myself thinking about being an ambassador for Canada. I’m not considering a career change or anything but somewhere in the paperwork that got me into this exchange situation it was mentioned that when you are a teacher on exchange you are an ambassador for your country, you are representing Canada. That made sense on a surface level but now it makes a whole lot more sense and I find myself thinking about it perhaps more than I should.

Take for example the staffroom. I remember when I was a student teacher that we were encouraged as practicum teachers to use the staffroom, I didn’t. I mean I went a few times but then it just started to feel like unnecessary pressure. It didn’t help me to be surrounded by swimmers when I was flailing about in my paddling pool. At home I always go to the staffroom, it’s like eating lunch with family in there. Here I started going to the staffroom but found it so difficult to eat, and talk, and think…. it is a big room, buzzing with Danish and picking out the English from all the buzz was too much for my ‘too many loud concerts’ damaged ears. Now I find myself wondering: “Does not going to the staffroom make me a bad ambassador for my country?”

Okay, so that might be a lame example, but I think it illustrates a point. If my students think I’m a hoser, then by extension the Canadian education system is a holding tank for hosers who are no doubt turning out another generation of hosers (Wikipedia suggests that the term ‘hosers’ is primarily used by people imitating Canadians as opposed to being a term Canadians themselves use). Likewise if the Danish teachers think I’m a hoser…

It’s a lot of pressure, for some I am the only Canadian they have ever met; their impressions of Canada and Canadians will be shaped by their interactions with me. 

So now I am faced with a dilemma, do I teach the content I had planned this week or lecture on the glory of double gold in both hockey and curling?

F*ck Skolen

I wish I remembered Catcher in the Rye better. Twice this week I have sat in the same bus seat and looked up to see the phrase F*ck Skolen; you don’t have to know much Danish to figure that one out. I wasn’t upset by the sentiment as Holden was, but it lingers with me. The first morning I saw it I shared it with my first class and they wrote the story behind it; sometimes F*ck school was written by a student who was bullied, sometimes one who was having a bad day, in other versions a teacher wrote it. I liked them all, I related to them on several levels (none more than the teacher who realizes what a phony they have become), but my favourite part of the experience was hearing F*ck school repeated again and again on a Monday morning.

Going for a walk

Recently in class a group did a presentation on British Columbia. They were given the task of selling a province as a tourist destination to the rest of the class, the idea being that this allows for a focus on being persuasive and that connects to the four kinds of writing required for the written side of the assignment…. The point I am meandering toward is that the video they showed had so many images of the coastal landscapes I love that I felt an ache; a longing to walk through a B.C. forest, stroll on a Haida Gwaii beach.

This year a typical weekend walk features the local creek. One thing I have grown to appreciate in Ringsted is the reminder of childhood that comes when walking by the creek (which was a river growing up). While the walk is usually to the same place and often follows the same direction there is always something different, largely owing to the recent seasonal changes. We have finally had some cold weather and snow and this has created much of interest to look at on the route along the creek. This weekend I walked the creek 3 times, once with Leanne, once with Gus, and once with Jesse.

It was Jesse who got me writing. I told him that it had been awhile since I last wrote and that I couldn’t think of anything to write because I felt like I was just waiting for the next school break. Who wants to read about my bus trip to work again, or my progression (or complete lack of) in the Danish language? I think he was joking when he suggested that I could write about my walks with my family, but he was onto something.

One thing that we knew going into this was how much we as a family would need to rely on each other, we knew the language differences (despite the high level of English) would be somewhat isolating, but we probably didn’t understand what it would be like everyday. Walks have become really important to us, I think a big part of it is the comfort found in walking, but we can also be anywhere when we walk. When we walk we are just walking together, we aren’t walking in Denmark, well we are, but we walk together everywhere we go, walking is not place specific. When we are walking it becomes easier to go anywhere in our thoughts, and in our conversations. I know that boys are better at talking when they are doing something and never is this clearer than when I go for a walk with the two of them. They are often so eager to talk that I have to tell them whose turn it is and have a hard time getting in what I want to say while letting them have their turn too.

On our walk Jesse and I talked about his writing too, he doesn’t write a lot this year, writing in English just doesn’t happen as much in a Danish classroom as it does in a Canadian one. I have been encouraging them to write a journal, to put their I-pads to a use in a new way, but as Jesse said, “What should I write? ‘Today I went for a walk’”. Not necessarily a bad place to start, you never know where a walk might take you.

Revisiting Lessons

I wrote once before about how I am now having the opportunity to repeat some lessons (they are better the second time around), most of what I am doing this year is new, although certainly at times based on things I have done at home, variations. I have been doing my introduction to Canada lessons over again recently and found myself in a position where I had to write another poem, this time it was suggested that I write an ‘I’m a Canadian’ poem. I guess I have written often enough that it is now expected that I too write when they are writing, as a student said ‘that’s how it works.” Here is my poem.

I’m a Canadian

Justin Bieber and Celine Dion,

that girl on “How I Met Your Mother”

when you talk about Canadians

I wish you thought of others

I’ve never built an igloo

though Whitehorse got pretty cold

I think I say ‘about’ pretty normal,

but that’s not what I’m told

I had a pet bear named Barney

I’ve put a saddle on a moose

A beaver dammed the crick again

I’ll have to shoot it loose

I hear that I am friendly,

I might be too polite

are these really qualities

that describe what I am like?

When I think about what’s Canadian

It’s really hard to know

But what I can tell you is this:

Denmark could fit into Canada 231.7 times

Dystopias and my first zombie novel

I just finished reading my first zombie novel, ‘Rise Again’ by Ben Tripp. I have no idea if it is a good zombie novel because I am ignorant when it comes to this genre, but I liked it. I think it appealed on the same level as a lot of novels for adolescents, I was entertained but it also made me think about humanity.

One of my classes has started novel studies with a focus on dystopias. A student suggested that zombie books are dystopian, and though I hadn’t really looked at it that way before I supposed they must be and it fits so nicely with the trend of zombie books and dystopias if they are all lumped together. In class we aren’t reading a zombie book, students are in groups reading ‘Fahrenheit 451” by Ray Bradbury, or Margaret Atwood’s ‘The Handmaid’s Tale’. This has led me to search for supplementary materials on dystopias, and Bradbury, and Atwood, and I was delighted to find a zombie novel co-authored by Margaret Atwood: http://www.wattpad.com/8283993-the-happy-zombie-sunrise-home-chapter-1-clio#!p=1. Now I have more zombies, and more Atwood, life is good.

One of the things I am growing to appreciate this year is my increased use of web- based resources, almost everything I do in class is on-line content, the novels are the first real exception. No one is burning or banning books so I don’t think I’m in a dystopia but without the print sources I am accustomed to having at GMD, resources are almost all computer based. This has made me think about the paper vs. screen arguments, is paper still the best way to go for learning? While I think that maybe it is for now, I’m not convinced that it will stay that way, we are still learning how to use the screens after all and for many of us paper is still more familiar, not so for our juniors.

In another class we are watching ted talks from a playlist titled: Our Digital Lives, in the last one we watched Clay Shirky makes reference to how the printing press gave us erotic novels 150 years before it gave us scientific journals, his point (I think) being that we have yet to see what the internet can really do for us. I think the screen reading issue might be the same, given time I think we will learn to get more out of it than we currently do and the longer we cling to paper the longer it will take us to make the transition. But what do I know?

For the record, I prefer books, lying in bed and reading on my computer just isn’t the same as reading a book, it’s just not hygge.