JUNE 2024 - Vision

In the spring of 1992, I was invited to teach English as a foreign language at a university in Hungary. After the first session I realized I was facing cultural, political, and pedagogical issues I’d never faced as a professor in the US. When the Russians were in charge, teachers dictated; students wrote what had been said, repeating words they didn’t understand. Papers were marked for accuracy. Essay topics ranged from electrical transmission lines to dog licenses, but nothing about people or feelings or dreams. Although the Russians had left two years earlier, authoritarian teaching was still the rule. According to my students, my way of teaching was not only strange, it transgressed what was permissible in a classroom. 
​

In order to get to know people in my class I always begin by having students say something about their lives. But now, when nobody offered to speak, I asked what I thought were casual questions, if they had brothers or sisters, did they have a pet . . . Their response was to tell me some version of: “Your question is too personal.” They let me know my job was to teach them how to read and write English, that their personal lives didn’t matter. As if conversation wasn’t part of learning a language?

Initially, when I asked them to paint and sculpt responses to the world tales I told, and then to share what they’d made, they complained. They were not children. This was not kindergarten. They were grownups, many of them working parents returning to school to get a professional teaching degree. I finally resorted to the pedagogy they were used to—authoritarianism. “This is how I teach and this is what you will do.” They understood this language and did as they were told, even though they didn’t like the activity and especially disliked being required to participate.

As the Easter break approached, the Provost announced the last class before vacation would be on Thursday. A few days later, he amended the schedule; spring break would begin on Wednesday.

Our Wednesday class was cancelled. Our last class before students left for Spring Break was at 1pm on Tuesday. As part of their language development, I asked them to tell me about their vacation plans if they had any, and if they didn’t, how they would spend the time. When the session ended, I wished them a good holiday and told them I’d see them when classes resumed in ten days.

The next morning I woke up feeling weird. I couldn’t figure out what was wrong, or why I kept seeing the classroom in my mind’s eye. The vision wouldn’t go away. I became increasingly irritated. What was wrong with me? The Provost had clearly announced vacation would start today. The students had been excited about their plans, more than ready to leave. I tried to ignore the image of the classroom but it wouldn’t budge. I cleaned the apartment. I shopped. I washed clothes by hand since I couldn’t read the Hungarian instructions on the washing machine. Nothing dissolved the image.

Feeling stupid and cross, cursing the part of me that wouldn’t quit imaging the classroom, I walked to the university and entered the now empty halls, increasingly annoyed at myself. Climbing up the stairs, hearing no sounds, I almost turned around, but I’d come this far, I might as well go to the classroom and pick up some books I’d left.

I opened the door. Stared. Disbelieving. Grinning faces welcomed me. “What are you doing here?” I asked. “It’s spring break.” All but one of my students were sitting in the circle of chairs we usually formed from the normal setting of rows. 

“We’re here,” said Ivan. “You’re here. Let’s have class.” He laughed. “Petra’s going to be furious. She left early so we couldn’t tell her we’d be here.”

After Tuesday’s session they decided among themselves to come on Wednesday, even though class had been cancelled, sure that I would be there. Why they were so certain, no one could say. Why I had such a strong image of the classroom that I felt forced to go to class remains a mystery. 


Have you had a vision that made no sense but compelled you to act? If so, what was that like?

​

---

JUNE 2024 Monthly stories