Blond hair

A few months ago, I was standing in the kitchen of the Polish-American Culture Center. I think I was chopping some carrots or maybe peeling potatoes. Other teachers and some mothers from the Paderewski School of Polish were there too. I looked around and it hit me. Everyone in that room was blond. I started thinking, and I couldn’t remember when was the last time I saw so many blond-haired women. Where I work, if I see my students’ hair at all, it’s predominately black.    

I remember that I was a bit scared when I first started teaching English as a Second Language at ELS Cleveland. Would my colleagues accept me? Would I be treated equally? Would I be able to teach people from all over the world? Would I be respected?  Would I be able to communicate with Chinese speakers? I heard crazy stories told by my friends who had taught Arabic students in Poland. I had met Arabs before, but teaching a whole class of “those people”?

Two and a half years later, I can laugh at those thoughts. I’ve never felt discriminated because of my accent or origin. My boss is German, I used to have a Scottish Academic Director, and now one of my coworkers is Polish. Some of “those people” have become my friends. My students come from all over the globe, but mostly from Saudi Arabia and China. When they refuse to speak English in class, I speak Polish to them and then they understand how important communication is. I tell them about Poland, or the land of Lewandowski (a famous soccer player), as they address it.

I’ve learned a lot since I started working with them. I know how hospitable they are. I know how important family is for them. I know how demanding their parents can be. Although they are adult, some of them have never read a book before. They sit next to our Korean students, who are used to studying for 14 hours a day, and therefore being in the USA is like a vacation for them. I’ve talked to my female Saudi students and I know that some of them would like to stop wearing their hijabs, but most are very proud of what they symbolize. I’ve never seen (and most probably never will) some of my students’ faces. More often than I would like to, I see and hear how uncertain about their future they are. All my students tell me that people stare at them when they speak their languages in shopping malls. I occasionally break fights. I see people eating food with forks, chopsticks, and their hands. I smell and sometimes taste delicious foreign dishes. Finally, I see interracial and interreligious love.

It’s a crazy job. I’m usually exhausted and often ask myself why I do it. Then I think about this melting pot. This patchwork of nationalities, cultures, religions, opinions, and languages makes it all