You know, back in Australia, there was something that I absolutely loved doing. Something that made me forget about almost everything else.
Well, two things.
One is writing. Hence the blog.
The other is being around kids.
I was a Brownie Guide when i was a kid: I had the stylish 1980s brown and gold uniform, complete with school shoes on a weekend, and a whole collection of cool badges. The works. I was a Girl Guide too, but when I finished Guides, instead of moving on to Rangers, the next age group in the Guide movement in Australia, I switched from being one of the kids to being one of the leaders. Suddenly I was the one running activities, making pancakes on a Tuesday night in a local guide hall while a bunch of twelve-year-olds played Jacob's Ladder, coordinating holiday excursions to science museums, and weekend camps for thirty pre-teen girls, and I loved it!
I guess it was a natural transition for me. I had started babysitting when I was about twelve: the kids next door were about two or three years old at the time, and had a full-time nanny. I was over there a lot, helping out with the kids, and I also loved helping my aunty with my three young cousins, so as soon as I was old enough, it was logical that I take this on for myself: at one stage, I had four regular families I would babysit for.
I've never really had a favourite age group: school age, toddler, early high school. You can have a lot of fun with them all. But working with kids in general is what I missed in Germany. I didn't notice it for a while. For the first year I was here, I was teaching anyway, so I didn't really want to spend my hours away from school with kids. I went on a few church youth group camps, but I didn't have the regular contact that I got used to in Australia, and when I finished up at the school, that was pretty much the end of my regular contact with kids.
I guess it was a natural transition for me. I had started babysitting when I was about twelve: the kids next door were about two or three years old at the time, and had a full-time nanny. I was over there a lot, helping out with the kids, and I also loved helping my aunty with my three young cousins, so as soon as I was old enough, it was logical that I take this on for myself: at one stage, I had four regular families I would babysit for.
I've never really had a favourite age group: school age, toddler, early high school. You can have a lot of fun with them all. But working with kids in general is what I missed in Germany. I didn't notice it for a while. For the first year I was here, I was teaching anyway, so I didn't really want to spend my hours away from school with kids. I went on a few church youth group camps, but I didn't have the regular contact that I got used to in Australia, and when I finished up at the school, that was pretty much the end of my regular contact with kids.
After a few months, I realised something was missing, but I couldn't put my finger on what exactly it was. It wasn't until the opportunity practically fell into my lap that I realised what I'd been missing.
A friend of mine had been working at a community centre in southern Berlin for a couple of months, tutoring a group of about eleven children two nights a week in English, German and multiple other subjects. She asked me if I might be interested in taking over her hours there, since her own workload had significantly increased to the point where she couldn't keep up the twice-weekly commitment. "Sure, why not?"
After the first hour there two weeks ago, I knew this was something I wanted to do. Something I needed to do. This was the something I had been missing.
The kids are a mixed bunch. They all have African backgrounds, but almost all of them were born in Berlin, which makes their German better than mine in terms of slang, but I still have the upper hand when it comes to spelling, and surprisingly enough, articles and gender.
There's Laura*, a pint sized powerhouse who has all the personality of Queen Latifah and demands to be the centre of attention of all of the other kids, despite the fact that she's the youngest and the smallest. Or more likely, because of both of these factors.
There's Rene*, one of the youngest boys, who cannot decide if he wants to be the cool slacker, or if he actually wants to use his intelligence for good, not evil, and give some of the other kids in his class a run for their money.
And there's Tanja*, my secret personal favourite, described recently by the friend I took over from as "the kid you would most want your own child to be like" - charismatic, confident, intelligent - someone you just know has a very bright future in front of them.
But all of them have this strange yet wonderful ability to make me check my baggage at the door. Once I step inside this makeshift classroom, it's all about these kids for the next two hours: making up homework for kids who forgot theirs (either deliberately or not), explaining the solar system in German to a fifth grader, quizzing a twelve-year-old on the countries of the world, and simultaneously helping T revise for an English vocabulary test the following day while helping her friend M complete a written assignment in German at the same table.
Never underestimate the power of a group of kids to make you forget whatever's getting you down for a whole two hours. Even if it's only two hours, twice a week. That's four hours more than before.
A friend of mine had been working at a community centre in southern Berlin for a couple of months, tutoring a group of about eleven children two nights a week in English, German and multiple other subjects. She asked me if I might be interested in taking over her hours there, since her own workload had significantly increased to the point where she couldn't keep up the twice-weekly commitment. "Sure, why not?"
After the first hour there two weeks ago, I knew this was something I wanted to do. Something I needed to do. This was the something I had been missing.
The kids are a mixed bunch. They all have African backgrounds, but almost all of them were born in Berlin, which makes their German better than mine in terms of slang, but I still have the upper hand when it comes to spelling, and surprisingly enough, articles and gender.
There's Laura*, a pint sized powerhouse who has all the personality of Queen Latifah and demands to be the centre of attention of all of the other kids, despite the fact that she's the youngest and the smallest. Or more likely, because of both of these factors.
There's Rene*, one of the youngest boys, who cannot decide if he wants to be the cool slacker, or if he actually wants to use his intelligence for good, not evil, and give some of the other kids in his class a run for their money.
And there's Tanja*, my secret personal favourite, described recently by the friend I took over from as "the kid you would most want your own child to be like" - charismatic, confident, intelligent - someone you just know has a very bright future in front of them.
But all of them have this strange yet wonderful ability to make me check my baggage at the door. Once I step inside this makeshift classroom, it's all about these kids for the next two hours: making up homework for kids who forgot theirs (either deliberately or not), explaining the solar system in German to a fifth grader, quizzing a twelve-year-old on the countries of the world, and simultaneously helping T revise for an English vocabulary test the following day while helping her friend M complete a written assignment in German at the same table.
Never underestimate the power of a group of kids to make you forget whatever's getting you down for a whole two hours. Even if it's only two hours, twice a week. That's four hours more than before.
