Lessons to be Learned

Spent an engrossing 95 minutes Tuesday afternoon watching The Gatekeepers, the Academy Award-nominated documentary that interviewed six former heads of Shin Bet, the Israeli internal security service.

I won't bias your opinion of this film by injecting my analysis of the merits of what was conveyed by them.  I urge all to see it. It’s a refreshing presentation of ideas and events from key participants in Israel’s history since 1967. I was captivated by the candor of these six men, especially when I compare two interviews I saw and heard with former Supreme Court justice Sandra Day O’Connor this week. She's promoting a new book she wrote about the Court, but when pressed by Leonard Lopate of WNYC-NPR or Jon Stewart of The Daily Show for specific insights into the inner workings of the Court, the best they were able to elicit was the fact that when the justices get together for lunch they individually order food from the Supreme Court building cafeteria.

What I do want to highlight from the film it how fragile relationships between peoples—especially enemies—can be. They can turn on a phrase spoken with casual sincerity but unintended consequences. Shortly after Israel took control of the West Bank and Gaza and their more than one million Palestinians after the Six Day War in 1967, Israel undertook a census of the territories. As one of the Shin Bet directors recounted, Israelis would knock on Palestinian doors, announce themselves, and say in Arabic they were there to “count the men.” But the word for “count” sounds disastrously close to another word that would not instill confidence or bonhomie. That other word is “castrate.” Whether it was Israeli mispronunciation or Palestinian mishearing, a casualty of understanding ensued.

Which brings me to my own experience with language, in my case, English. If you’ve ever tried to teach English to anyone from a non-English speaking country, you would know that English is a darn hard language to learn. Too many words sound alike. Too many words have multiple meanings. Too many words, depending on their usage, can be either nouns or verbs, or adjectives. 

For more than a year I have been tutoring English as Second Language students at our high school during their study hall. I stay away from math assignments. English. History. Geography. Simple science lessons. I'm pretty good at imparting some knowledge in those subjects.

But the lessons aren’t always easy. It doesn’t help that my Spanish (most of the students are from Latin America) is limited to 20 words or so. I had a major breakthrough today. Trying to explain “cowgirl,” I made little headway saying it was a female cowboy. The student had no idea what a cowboy was. Fortunately, all those years watching westerns paid off. I said “vaquero.” A connection was made.

It’s not always that simple, or lucky. Today I was helping a student study vocabulary. He had to identify words as nouns, verbs or adjectives and define them. Sounds straight forward. Only trouble was many of the words crossed over into multiple designations. Words like “cheer.”  Or “refuse.” How did you read refuse—as a verb (re-fuse) or as a noun (ref-use)?   

What about homonyms, such as profit and prophet. The other day a girl asked about Judaism, Christianity and Islam. When I started to tell her about the prophets Moses and Mohammed, she became bewildered. She wanted to know why I was talking about money.

Learning to master a language means learning idioms. Today’s idioms included “putting one’s foot in one’s mouth,” “get out of the car and assume the position,” and “no good deed goes unpunished.” 

I try to spend two hours a day, several times a week, tutoring. Sometimes, real estate work intrudes on my time commitment. So do food deliveries to seniors on Wednesdays. Don’t presume going to the Tuesday movies does—school ends hours before the first screening of the day. Helping these kids gain a better understanding of their new surroundings is among the most gratifying work I’ve ever done. When it’s your turn to retire, you could find few pursuits more fulfilling, rewarding and necessary than spending time assisting ESOL students acclimate to America.

Back to School

I started teaching again this week, or more precisely, I returned to the English as Second Language study hall at White Plains High School to offer assistance to students who need help mastering some of their assignments (I stay away from math and most science tutoring). I did not, however, return to my driver’s education seat next to budding motorists.

You probably weren’t aware of my tutorial pursuits, especially the latter endeavor, so I’ll begin there. 

Last September, in search of something to get me outside the house, I decided to become an in-car driver’s ed instructor affiliated with a company hired by numerous school districts in Westchester and surrounding counties. Though I didn’t sign up for the pay ($12 an hour), there were quite a few in my training group who clearly were relying on this opportunity to buttress their household incomes. I was content to teach two or three classes a day, 6 to 12 hours, three days a week; they wanted to sit next to the kids behind the wheel at least 20 hours a week. 

Teaching in-car driver’s ed (there are separate classroom instructors) is not as dangerous as one might think, though I won’t downplay the potential for mishaps. The first day was the most apprehensive, as you had no idea how much experience the students already had. One girl last February started her first lesson by stating she had no desire to learn. She was there because her parents forced her. She related her father took her driving the previous Sunday in an empty parking lot. She hit a light pole!

After the three other students in the car and I gulped and giggled, I confidently told her that wouldn’t happen in driver’s ed because unlike her father’s car, the training car had a dual brake. I would always have my right foot resting on the brake. In an emergency I’d also be able to reach out and seize the steering wheel. That explanation seemed to reassure the other students. She, however, lived up to, or should I say down to, expectations. Halfway through the semester she transferred out of my class. I don’t know if she ever passed a road test. For everyone’s safety, I hope she abandoned her parents’ quest for a license.

Students receive just six hours of driving instruction, usually meted out in 22-1/2 minute sessions per week over the course of 16 classes over four and a half months. New York State requires 50 hours of drive time, including 15 hours nighttime driving, before one can take a road test. Prior to the first day of class many students have logged time behind the wheel. It’s those anxiety provoking students whose parents fear for their lives and automobiles, and who subsequently do not let them practice in the family car (which here in Westchester is often a Mercedes or Lexus or some other luxury vehicle they’d rather not dent, or worse), that made my time as an instructor a potentially challenging experience.

Still, over two semesters we never had an accident. Except once. We were stopped at a traffic light on North Street in Harrison, right across the street from the police station. The three boys sitting in the rear of the Ford Taurus—most of the cars were that model, usually with 150,000 to 225,000 miles—wondered aloud why there were no headrests for the back seats. I had just finished saying headrests weren’t required for these older cars when WHAM!, we were hit from behind. An elderly man driving a new Acura confused his brake pedal with his accelerator and slammed into us. Two of the boys suffered mild whiplash. Both cars sustained no damage, but we spent the next hour in the police station filling out reports. All in all, one of the better real-life driving lessons worth experiencing.

I’m not teaching driver’s ed any longer because an old basketball injury to my right knee flares up when I keep my leg hovering over the brake. By the end of the first class of the day I could barely sit without yelping in pain. It’s too bad. I really enjoyed (most of) the kids, even the ones who put the rest of us in jeopardy when they first got behind the wheel. I enjoyed the satisfaction of seeing them turn into accomplished drivers.

Tutoring English as Second Language students provides even more personal satisfaction. One of our friends runs the program at WPHS. Over dinner at a mutual friends’ home last January, in a moment of weakness, I agreed to spend several hours a week helping out. Though some of the students are less than thrilled to be in study hall, or school in general for that matter, the vast majority are interested in improving their learning skills. 

They come from many countries. This week I tutored students from Haiti, Mexico, Guatemala, Peru, Jamaica and Saudi Arabia. Aside from helping them with reading comprehension, grammar, vocabulary and social studies, they instruct me in some of the customs of their native lands. Once we overcome their initial guarded feeling, after they comprehend I’m not a disciplinarian but rather a helper, they can be eager to share their thoughts. Unsolicited, one girl asked me to read a poem she wrote about the loss of her father. It was beautiful, better than anything I could have written. 

I’ve filled my retirement with a variety of interests. Helping people in need, whether it be delivering food to the elderly, or tutoring students, provides the greatest return on my time investment.