“Do you think that I have a lot of money?”  I’m shaking my head slowly, and almost laughing at the idea.  Native Speaker Teachers like me are among the worst paid educators in the city of Vienna.  The kids understand the question, and can read my facial and body language.  No.  Nein.  No.  “Am I wearing a skullcap?” I twist my neck to give everyone a peek at the back of my head.  Nein, Dave.  Dave ist ein Jude.  Echt?  Echt!  “I have a beard, but is it a big beard?”  I scratch at my whiskers.  The class is beginning to boil over as the hour is ending.  “Am I dark around my eyes?” I ask for a second time, already sure of the answer I’ll receive.

I know they can barely handle any more, so we tell the kids it’s time for their break.  They get up to eat, chatter, jump ropes and compare YuGiOh! Cards.

But Viktor, Hamsa, Ibrahim and a few of the other boys crowd around me as I try to head out for my next lesson.  “You are okay!” they take turns telling me, and shaking my hand.  I smile at them, but cannot help thinking that this is more about trying to assuage their own guilt or embarrassment than it is to express their admiration.  But, of course, the bottom line is that it doesn’t matter even if it is to assuage guilt.  They’ve learned something today, and that is what I am employed to see to.

Nikola, though his requested theme has only been grazed comes to tell me that he was very happy with the lesson.  Perhaps seeing through the language barriers, perhaps seeing through my polite acceptance of his friends’ assurance of my okay-ness, modifies it with his own clever spin: 

“You are English teacher, but you are okay.” 

He wins my warmest smile of the day.

*          *          *

Walking home I reflect that I didn’t want to explode during class.  I’d had a brief numbing sensation when I first heard the interpretation of Viktor’s story, but, emotionally, I only felt the desire to reach him.  That’s got to be a good thing, doesn’t it?