In Practice
In this section, I reminisce about small events that have influenced my teaching pedagogy and ideas with some anecdotes. Clearly, anecdotes are not evidence, but I feel some teachers may relate to some of the things I have observed in practice.
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This is a short anecdote about two boys, 5 and 7, whom I taught in Beijing. They were not very interested in learning, but we managed to cover all the phonics, and both students performed exceptionally well, when they could be bothered.
The older boy picked up my Ph. D.-level econometrics book, opened it at a random page, and read the first paragraph flawlessly. I was amazed, the kid was 7! and exceeded my expectations. His mother looked at me and said, "But he doesn't understand it!" I couldn't help but smile; I answered that I didn't understand any of it until I was thirty. She completely missed the fact that a 7-year-old can read a Ph.D level text on a subject that is non-trivial in language use.
Anyway, we were all on holiday in Portugal when some kids came to stay in the villa next door, and I swear to you, the boys' English improved more in that one week than in all the years I had been tutoring them. From that week on, they were as close to native speakers as you could imagine. The message in this tale, it's the usage experience the learner has that makes their interest levels increase and teachers and parents need to organize more events where cross language opportunities are available.
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During my years as a supply teacher, I intentionally sought out a wide range of teaching experiences before settling into a full-time position. I wanted to be exposed to different environments, practices, and challenges. One particular interaction at a state comprehensive school has stayed with me ever since.
The day's cover work was simple enough—students were tasked with drawing and labelling a diagram of a volcano. This assignment allowed them to engage creatively while learning about the parts of a volcano, a blend of art and science that I appreciated.
Walking around the classroom, I noticed one student who stood out. Unlike the rest, who were focused on drawing the volcano with colourful pencils and markers, this student had drawn a meticulous diagram using only a single ink colour. Her approach differed—it was less about "art" and more about understanding the volcano’s structure. What struck me even more was the beautiful cursive handwriting she had used to label her diagram.
Curious, I asked how she had learned to write so elegantly. She casually explained that she was from Latvia or Lithuania (forgive me, I don't recall exactly) and that they were taught to write that way from kindergarten in her country. To her, it was nothing special.
Just then, the girl sitting next to her, a typical British student of the time, looked up and asked me something that hit me like a bullet to the heart: "Why can't I do that?"
It was a simple question, yet profound in its implication. Why couldn't she? What was it about her schooling that left her feeling incapable of producing something that, in another part of the world, was considered fundamental?
That question has stuck with me. It made me reflect deeply on my teaching and the broader system we work within. We sometimes take things for granted and assume they are too hard, time-consuming, or unnecessary to teach. But in doing so, are we limiting our students' potential?
Since then, I’ve made it a point to offer more to my students than just the required material. I try to sprinkle in skills and knowledge that might seem small but could inspire curiosity or pride in their work—whether it’s how they present information, the design of their projects, or the depth of their understanding. I believe it’s our responsibility to help students see what’s possible, even if it’s outside the standard curriculum.
And even today, I still ask myself, "What can't they do that?"
