| Dear Family and Friends, I always knew I'd be 'famous' one day. I just never thought that my 'fame' would come while I was in Bulgaria. What is it like to be a STAR?! What is it like to have hordes of eager fans groveling at your feet like a pack of wild boars?! What is it like to be bathing in the waters of notoriety and dining on the fruits of distinction?! Don't ask me, I'm too busy trying to appease all of those agents who keep trying endlessly to knock down my door! My story begins in a little town called Panagyurishte in a little country called Bulgaria as I eagerly awaited the first day of my second year as a teacher. The first day of school in Bulgaria is like no other. Why can't the first day of school in American schools be such a CELEBRATION?!!? Students and teachers huddled together outside my new school in eager anticipation as music blasted from the loudspeakers, their peers danced and sang, and the school year was rung in with a bang. "It's a cel-ebration!" the music from the loudspeakers declared as the MC, a spry, bubbly young thing with energy coming out of her EARS, danced gaily up to the microphone. I listened carefully to her Bulgarian as suddenly my name was announced, "Miss Chantel Alyssa Sloan!" YIKES! I was up! It was time for my grand debut, my moment of truth, my big speech for all to hear, scrutinize, and destroy. I approached the microphone and stared at the adolescent faces towering above me, suddenly causing me to realize just how puny I really am, and I wondered if maybe I should have allowed someone to interpret for me after all. "Zdravete," (Hello) I wavered into the microphone. "Kazvam ce Gospozhitsa Sloan e az sum ot America . . ." (My name is Miss Sloan and I am from America . . .) So, there I stood. The new American teacher, the first ever American teacher in Panagyurishte, giving a welcoming speech in Bulgarian as the "sound crew" stood off to the side whispering through gritted teeth, "Get closer! Get closer!" I finished my little speech by wishing everyone "kusmet" (luck) for the new school year and, with a little wave, I stood back to watch the young 5th graders, new to the school, receive lucky clovers, dip chunks of bread in oil and special spices, and then pass through the rickety arch coined the, "door of knowledge." Later that day, I stood amidst the silence of my new classroom, knowing that it wouldn't stay that way for long. Yes, I finally have my OWN classroom. No more scavenging for whichever classroom is free, no more engaging in endless hunts for my students each hour, no more lugging everything I need to teach with from one room to the next. So, what does this mean? It means that I spent the entire week before the start of school getting back into that GROOVE of being a teacher. I stared at the blank walls and rows of old desks of the commonly Bulgarian classroom and I knew that something had to be done . . . now that I had those liberties. I made signs and posters (I was even able to post my rules!), I was finally able to hang the materials that were sent to me last year by my college friend Jessica, I posted an English alphabet above the chalkboard, and I was like a mad woman tearing across the room labeling everything with its English name from the windows to the light switches. When I posted a big map of the United States, I was even inspired to construct this area into an entire center, complete with magazines, pictures, flags, interesting U.S. facts, the Pledge of Allegiance, etc. For an entire week, my classroom became Grand Central Station as everyone from school directors to custodians popped into my room to see what I had done as I worked busily, using GOBS of tape and carefully putting the desks into neat groups. I often found myself greeting one colleague, only to greet him or her minutes later as he or she popped back in with a friend or two. "We have never seen anything like this," my Bulgarian counterpart breathed. And then she told me, "I come in just for a minute to tell you something and I end up staying for 10 minutes because I find something new to look at!" Truly, my room isn't any different from any classroom you might find in America, it's probably STILL much more dull than the typical American classroom, you just have to see a typical Bulgarian classroom in ALL grades (1st-12th) and you might understand why my room is such a hit. It was a couple of days after my decorating frenzy had begun that I found out that word had leaked out to the local news crew, and I was requested to appear on the local news station with my "different" classroom. It was my first day of actually teaching some of my classes that the Panagyurishte news crew decided to make an appearance. I woke up one morning last week to a telephone call from my school director saying that the crew had decided to show up that day, as I gulped back my nerves and prepared to teach my sixth grade classes. This year, I am fortunate enough to teach four 6th grade classes, one intensive English 8th grade class, and two 9th grade classes. I am excited about teaching the older grades because of the experience it will give me. Last week, I struggled through the Bulgarian "beginning of the school year disorganization" and daily changing schedule (I mean WHY can't they use the 10 weeks of summer to come up with a working schedule for the entire year?!) and, upon my first meeting with each of my classes, I was AMAZED at how well behaved and angelic they were. I'm sure that will change, but it was nice while it lasted! In fact, I remembered several of my students from our practice teaching "Model School" during training last summer! Anyway, before I knew it, the news crew was pounding down my classroom door and I was confronted with . . . THE INTERVIEW. The cameraman, with his little video camera, bounced in to my room jovially, pointing his camera this way and that, filming my signs and posters and labels like there was no tomorrow. Then, in an instant, I was being scooted over to my little American center like a celebrity, I was thrust into a chair next to the reporter, and a microphone was being shoved dangerously into my face. "Wait a minute," I thought nervously as my fingers made my way to my mouth to appease my nervous habits. "Where are the makeup artists? The hairdressers? The acting coaches?" "Please speak a little slow," I begged the young, female reporter before the filming began. My counterpart sat nearby in case I needed help with Bulgarian (she was there for emergency situations only!), but I knew I primarily had to rely on my own knowledge of the Bulgarian language . . . it was either sink or swim from here on out. "Humma drumma mecca moo, abra cadabra lickety split?" the reporter shot at me in rapid fire, like a fully loaded canon. HUH?!!? WHAT LANGUAGE WAS SHE SPEAKING?!!? My mouth gaped at her as if I had no idea where I was, spittle slid carelessly down my quivering chin, and, for a moment, I completely forgot everything I had ever learned in Bulgarian AND English. And, then, I smiled my best "soap-opera-actress-waiting-to-happen" smile which was FULL of teeth, I leered at the camera as if testing it to make ONE wrong move, and the Bulgarian just came shooting out of my mouth in one breath like little bullets searching helplessly for a target. But, despite what I'm SURE was hopeless grammar, I somehow made my point and reporter-lady breezed on to the next question. "Your room is very different!" she stated. "Did you have any help setting it up, or did you do it all alone?" Alone. "What do you think about Bulgaria? What are the differences between Bulgarian and American culture? Do you like it here? What is the hardest part about learning the Bulgarian language? What Bulgarian towns are your favorites? How often do you take a shower? What Britney Spears song is your favorite? Have you ever milked a cow? What size underwear do you wear? HOW many cats have you had since you've been in Bulgaria? How many teeth DO you have? Would you consider staying in Bulgaria for another year?!!" And on and on the interrogation went, with that darned microphone about to take my eye out, as I grinned my BEST toothy grin and answered her questions like a pro, now and then glancing at my counterpart for a whispered word or idea. I'm not Wonder Woman, after all! After the interview, the news crew also filmed me teaching just a bit, as I greeted my next class and ran through my rules and introductions like a pro. Later that night, I thought I was going to faint at any second as I waited on baited breath with the rest of Panagyurishte for my television debut. I was at the home of one of my colleagues, and she, too, was overcome by my fame and illustriousness. And then, the next thing I knew, MY FACE was on the screen. SOUND THE ALARM!!! :-O I attempted to hide under my colleague's dining room table as the reporter talked about me and my classroom and I cringed delightedly as the camera made its way to the big interview. I listened to myself speak like a middle school student hovering anxiously over a tape recorder thinking, "Do I REALLY sound that stupid?!!?" And, to top it off, I bit a hole in my bottom lip as I listened to myself speak Bulgarian, continually thinking, "I should have said that like this!" But, overall, a wicked grin lit up my scheming face as I thought, "I WAS ON T.V.! I'm famous! I'm a television star! Look at me, I was on T.V." And, there I sat, with my left hand poised, ready to give out autographs. I bet none of my students ever thought that their new English teacher would be a celebrity. On second thought, heck with Bulgaria . . . I'm going to Hollywood!!! Here's to a good school year, Marilyn Monroe |
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