Unclear What the Foreign Teacher Said

I recently came cross this article published in The New York Times more than a year ago. Here is the nutshell: in some American universities, many undergraduate's science and engineering courses are taught by the graduate teaching assistants, many of whom are non-native English speakers.

Some of them speak English so poor or with such a heavy accent that student can hardly understand them. Frustrated or even anger, student campaign for the state legislation to set a minimum standard for allowing non-natives to teach. Several teaching assistants cited in the article are from China and India.

A controversial topic; an interesting story.

Since student foot a large portion of the bills that run most of the universities, they may see themselves more as customer than student; their frustration is legitimate and their anger understandable.

Those teaching assistants, however, should congratulate one another for their good luck; the angered students could have gone to lawyers, not law-makers, to seek the remedy. Many teachers get sued for the lesser crimes, such as this teacher from Massachusetts, who angered the parents of her students, not for her spoken English, but for the content she talked too well.

In my observation, those from China tend to have a relatively tolerable accent, but the usage of the language is often broken; those from India tend to command the words and grammar well, but usually peppered with an accent as heavy as curry powder; and all tend to avoid the eye contacts with a roomful of studentsat all costs.

So the logic solution: send Chinese to the spoken English class, Indian to accent reduction workshop, and tell them all that staring at others is perfectly all right.

But to make it a complete solution, also send some students back to high school math class. If all you know about the differential is a gear in truck, you will get frustrated in any calculus class in college no matter who teaches.

Why Chinese Is So Damn Hard

15 years ago, David Moser, then a Ph.D. student majoring in Chinese Studies at the University of Michigan, wrote an essay titled Why Chinese Is So Damn Hard. Upon receiving the degree, he moved to Beijing, married a Chinese, and had since conquered the damned language.

He became a sort of celebrity in China, often appearing in the Chinese TV scenes as a poster boy for “Big Nose” Laowai—foreigner—speaking flawless Chinese. He can entertain Chinese by performing Xiangsheng, a traditional Chinese folk art similar to standup comedy. It requires an adept spoken skill challenging even to the most Chinese.

Around the same time Moser penned the essay, I was in China cursing why English was so damn hard. If I had read his essay back then, I would be much less self-pity and much more sympathetic to him. By birthright, I didn’t have to learn how to speak Mandarin. But understand, or try to speak, several dialects was no less different from learning a second language.

While venting his frustration, Moser consoled himself with a vindication that it’s even hard for Chinese themselves to read and write Chinese. In the list he came up for explaining why it’s so damn hard, I can add one more: the boring learning materials; while in school, I rarely read a book or an article in Chinese that’s interesting enough that I could finish it in one take.

Let me skip the period of elementary school. It’s nothing but the period of massive coercion and senseless repetition to memorize hundreds of characters, mainly drawn from the slogan like “I’m a young pioneer with a red heart, ready to defend our motherland”. But from middle school and on, the textbooks leapfrog from slogans to mainly three genres.

The first: the essays written by Chairman Mao and his comrades; typically the thoughts of communism’s moral superiority, the eulogies to revolutionary martyrs, and occasionally the poems that's supposed to reflect the great leader’s romantic spirit while in dire hardship.

The second: non-fiction accounts of the heroes who died in wars; a 16-year-old girl killed for not yielding the Party’s secrets to Kuomintang, a soldier in Civil war who threw himself on a machine gun to spare the mass casualties, yet another soldier in Korean War burned live while remaining absolute still and silent in order to keep the battalion’s camouflage intact.

The third: the tedious description by a few famed writers; the colorful clouds changing to various shapes, the unpredictable rains falling in four seasons, and the breathtaking scent of the lotus in a pond.

If still not bored to death yet, then take a crack on classical Chinese literature, or Wenyanwen, mandatory in every textbook. No one had talked or written like that for at least a hundred of years.

Learning it, as we were told, would remind us of the proud cultural heritage of our motherland; reading it, however, only made me wished that Emperor Qinshihuang had burned them all thousands of years ago.

The Update: Follow Me

Here is the interview that Katherine Flower did with a Chinese news media in 2003. From the transcript (in Chinese) I've learned that:

1. She's still with BBC today, working in a division that produces English learning programs.

2. Her second visit to China was in 1988. Unfortunately, her husband died of respiratory disease in Beijing during the trip.

3. She was invited to host Follow Me again in 2003 for a remade in China.

4. When asked what the biggest changes in China from what she saw in 20 years old, she said that back then: (a) the color of the clothes that Chinese wore was either dark blue or grey, and all women were alike; (b) after 8pm, there was no place to go, all the stores closed; no bar, no cafe existed; (c) Chinese were quite guarded to foreigners, suspecting they were spies.


The original Follow Me that was aired in China over 20 years ago is available online (audio only). If you want to hear the whole episodes, here is the link.

Follow Me

The best known western woman in China in early 80s was Mrs. Thatcher, then the British Prime Minister; she inked the Sino-British Joint Declaration in Beijing, returning Hong Kong to Mainland. The Central Television (CCTV), a Party’s mouthpiece, had featured the ceremony so prominently that even a blind person must have seen Thatcher shaking hands with Deng Xiaoping in the Great Hall of the People once.

Her fame in China, however, was matched by another British woman, a BBC staff unlikely known by more than hundred people outside China. Her name is Katherine Flower.

Unlike Italian reporter Fallaci, Katherine didn’t achieve her fame by asking Deng Xiaoping tough questions; she did it by hosting tamely a BBC-produced English learning program called Follow Me, aired daily at 6 pm on CCTV since 1982.

The timing was perfect. The Party had just hinted that, despite of China’s walking on the socialism road for decades, only the capitalists had developed the “advanced science and technology”. To catch up, the Party encouraged us to study English.

In a short period of time, Follow Me became wildly popular in China. In each 30-minute long episode, the main characters, a handsome middle-aged Francis and a cute blond Jane, acted as if in a real life scene, delivering the lines as the examples for learners to follow.

Francis was always funny, Jane naughty and innocent, and the stories light-hearted. It’s brilliantly made. You didn’t have to understand it to see it’s much more entertaining than all the drags produced by CCTV.

That only partially explained the program’s popularity. To become such a gigantic hit, something else must have been going on. And I had my hunch. Take following two episodes as examples:

First:
Intended lesson: Can I…, May I…, and Would you please…
Setting: a upper scale restaurant.
Plot: the first day on the job as a waiter, Francis was very nervous. He made several mistakes when taking orders from a snobbish couple and serving the foods.

In my young but Marxism-doctrine mind, it’s the bourgeois life style unrolling right in my face: the impeccable tuxedo and bowtie Francis wore, the neatly placed silverware on the white-cloth covered table, the whiskey and ginger ale the couple sipped, and the three-course entrée they consumed. Gosh, I had even detected class inequality.

The lesson learned: (a) when talking to others, be polite; (b) comparing to how we lived, I liked theirs better; as hard as I tried to resist the temptation of appalling bourgeois, I secretly longed for the day of eating a three-course meal.

Second.
Intended lesson: the past tense.
Setting: a beach resort in Mediterranean.
Plot: Jane described her vacation in the summer in a vivid detail to Francis.

I couldn’t get what Jane was talking about. But it didn’t matter. The scene was worth of thousands of words, in English or Chinese. The close shot: long-leg Jane wearing a tight bikini wandering on the sand; the medium shot: several sparsely clad couples lying on the beach sunbathing; the long shot: a pair of seagulls flying over the placid sea.

By my conservative estimate, at least half of the total Chinese population had watched this episode, despite most of them were as clueless as I.

Lesson learned: (a) none; (b) I was afraid that my mind had been either polluted or corrupted; on the second thought, I liked to being polluted.

Feel It, Taste It, And Enjoy It

“The most common mistake the talented young musicians make”, said the legendary violinist Itzhak Perlman, “is that they rush in practice. If they want to make a progress, they need to slow down.”

According to the master, when our brain takes in the beautiful thing, like music, it needs to feel it, tastes it, and enjoys it before really gets it. Once reaching that point, mastering it is only a few technical steps away.

I always take the words of true masters—whichever the field he's in—very seriously. Although I know next to nothing about classical music, I can relate well to Perlman's insight from my experience in learning English.

To me, spoken language isn’t just a mean of communication; it’s an art too. When great communicators speak, the words flow in a perfect rhythm, often paint a vivid picture in our mind, and can provoke the deep emotion in our heart—exactly what the great music accomplishes.

Here are some of my favorites:

“that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom -- and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.” (text and audio)
–Abraham Lincoln, Gettysburg, 1863

“We shall pay any price, bear any burden, meet any hardship, support any friend, oppose any foe, in order to assure the survival and the success of liberty” (text and audio)
—John F. Kennedy, Capitol Hill, 1961

“I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed; we hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal.” (text and audio)
–Martin Luther King, Jr., Washington D.C., 1963

"Come here to this gate! Mr. Gorbachev, open this gate! Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall!” (text and audio)
–Ronald Reagan, Berlin, 1987

Just as the music buffs feel intoxicated while listening to Beethoven’s symphony or Chopin’s piano, I sense a thrill in my spine whenever I hear those great communicators talking.

But those words used to fall deaf on my ears; I could hardly recognize any rhythm nor appreciate the beauty. Because, like the impatient violinists, I was in a hurry, and thought that shear will and hardworking would carry me through.

So I tried hard to expand my vocabulary; I paid extreme attention to gerund and infinitive; and I stubbornly broke the paragraph into sentence, and sentence into phrase, for depiction. Yet, I failed miserably. It’s like beating a dead horse.

When I finally realized that horse was well beyond dead, I began to slow down and went with the flow. Gradually, I started to get a feel, followed by the pure joy. That was the tipping point. The rest was history.

I only wish every aspiring violinist, as well as every language learner, has taken the master Perlman's words seriously.

The Recipe For Getting High Score in TOEFL

Any college professor in the U.S. who deals with a lot of foreign students can tell you this: one’s high score in TOEFL seldom translates into his well commanding of English, particularly spoken English.

Some frustrated professors blame the Educational Testing Service (ETS), which designs TOEFL, for the flawed test; other blames the students for possible foul play in the test. But the imperfect test and a few bad apples of cheating can’t explain such prevalence.

For whose who went to New Oriental Language School, a wildly successful English test prep school in China, the explanation is quite obvious. No one, even not so smart ones, in the school are kidding themselves: they were studying for an English test, not studying English.

To do it well in either, you don’t mix two. Or you would fail the both.

Study English well usually demands a few things, such as a strong motivation other than getting good test score, and the good learning materials. The passion for the language also helps tremendously. And it takes time. Anyone who says that you can master a language in three months is worse than a snake oil salesman.

But study well for an English test is highly achievable in three months. In fact, anytime longer than that might be waste of time, if not money. Why? Getting high score in TOEFL, or any English standard test, takes one thing only: discipline.

Chinese students may not be known for being creative, but they are disciplinary to the core. I’m not even talking about being disciplined to work hard. That’s given. I’m talking about the self-discipline they apply to solving the problems in the test. Here is the proven recipe:

Study for an English test as if it were a math test; approach all multiple choices with pure logic thinking and rational analysis; drill it hard and often until it’s a part of your subconscious; and never, ever, let your intuition or common sense get into your judgment.

That's how you beat ETS.

Unfortunately, intuition and common sense are the vital ingredients to study English well. And it takes longer than three months to hone an intuition and develop a common sense in a new language.

The Baby Advantages

Ever since her first word, Mom, our daughter has never ceased to amaze us by how able she is to pick up language, seemingly effortlessly. She now knows more animals by name in English than I do, like giraffe; lion seems to be her favorite, though.

She can only baby talk now, like “Dog, bow! wow!” But I have no doubt she’ll grow up to speak at least two languages well. My confidence isn’t out of a thin air. Most of the immigrants’ children who live in America long enough are bilingual, albeit in many cases they speak English better.

What makes a child to speak a new language so easily than we adults? A linguist might speculate that kid’s brain works differently from grown-up’s. But I have simple explanation.

Kids enjoy two advantages over adult. First, they have no shame. Or, at least they aren’t aware of any. Think about it, the most routine thing they do everyday is to poop in their pants. If this doesn’t bother them, what else matters?

That’s a perfect mindset for acquiring new language. My daughter listens to our talks, then she imitates. Many times she does it so wrong that we laugh hard at her. Her reaction? Goes on and does it again as if she’s encouraged. Sooner or later, she gets it right.

If it were me? I don’t wait till saying something stupid and watching others’ ridicule; I imagine it beforehand, then, for safe, keep my mouth shut; if I have to talk, I’m always mentally busy of matching subject with verb before I say it out loud. Still, I get it wrong often.

Second, they get treated well. When we talk to kids, we slow down, use simple words, and are patient with them. That, I believe, enables kids to pick up language naturally without rush.

I say to my daughter “Eat apple. Yummy yummy” now; I may say “Eat apple, sweetheart, it’s delicious” soon; and I might say “Have a fruit intake to satisfy your taste bud” in the future, if I want to be silly, and explain it in case she asks.

Adult rarely gets that kind of treatment, in learning language or else. For me, hearing an American shooting at 60 words per second is a norm. I only get the scant breaks when he pauses with “like” and “you know”, which confuse me even more. I can only “pardon me” so many times before being given a look.

How sometimes do I dream to be a baby again! Even having to poop into pants is worthy for the advantages gained in learning language.

The Survival Instinct

“You Chinese are so good at math!”

The first time I heard it from an American, I wanted to hug and kiss her, on behave of all fellow Chinese—Taiwanese included. Only my inherited virtue of modesty downgraded it to a mere nodding; but after hearing it million times, I always do the math mentally.

Statistically, with 6% of error margin, I can tell that half of those who said it are true admirers; they are genuinely awed by Chinese’s math might; “No wonder your ancestor invented abacus first”. Another half are true sympathizers. They can't help but pity on Chinese’s language deficiency. They meant to say “You Chinese so suck at English!” but chose to be responsible global citizens.

Either way, let me set the record straight: Chinese is neither superior in math, nor inferior in second language, to any other ethnic group.

For those admirers, the math myth can dissolve easily. Picture this: starting from the first grade, in school and at home, teachers and parents drill you with the discipline only marveled by the People’s Liberation Army, remind—no, threaten—you of dire consequences for failing the tests, and punish you—the threats were often delivered—in public for maximum humiliation and drama.

You don’t have to be lucky me, who actually went through this, to get the idea.

For those sympathizers, the language myth does have some smokes. After all, we Chinese get the same royal treatment at school when studying English. But why no language wizard?

With 96% of confidence level, I’d say that studying language has little to do with logic and abstract concept, but a lot to do with psychological experience and social environment.

Here is my wild guess: when our ancestors first got off trees, walked by two feet, and hunt as a group (bingo! the social environment), they had a need, or a desire, to talk with one another.

Before they did, nobody tried first to memorize 2000 words, or study any grammar—there were none; they just made them up as they went along.

In the beginning, it's no more than a few sounds uttered out, but an instant pleasure of conveying a message sparked. In turn, such pleasure drove out more sounds and exchanges, which sparked more gratification (Aha! psychological experience). Overtime—we might talk about million of years here—they developed a language skill that separate them from apes.

If Darwin is right, then such process was deeply ingrained into our human genes. It became the most effective way, if not only one, for our brain to pick up a new language. What made us math wizards in China—fear, dreariness and rigidity—contradicts directly to that survival instinct, thus, made us language idiots instead.

Being a modest person, I might win a Nobel Prize in neuroscience someday for coming out with this plausible theory.

A Full Circle

I gave up The Young and The Restless and David Letterman easily, because their false, or unrealistic, projection of average Americans proved to be less ideal for improving my English skills. Instead, I returned to a ritual that I followed religiously in college: listening to radio.

Not that I didn’t try in the first place; unfortunately, I missed the program similar to the World Service of Christian Science Monitor. I picked up an AM station, with a slogan of “all the news all the time”. It’s more like “all the traffic and weather reports all the time”, plus the reports from the scenes of shooting, fire, and accident”. Opposite to the TV’s soap opera, it projects an American life that’s too realistic for me to bear.

Then, I bumped into the right station—National Public Radio, or NPR. (“Bumped” was almost literally true; I was stuck in traffic and surfing radio in the car. The moment I fumbled on NPR, I was about to rear-end the vehicle before mine.)

NPR is even better than the Monitor Radio. Its signature programs, the Morning Edition and All Things Considered, are similar to the Monitor’s World Service in style, but cover much broader news, domestic and international. The topics are so diverse that each day I bound to hear at least several pieces that interest me, sometimes even the on-the-ground reporting from China.

The length and style of each piece are optimal for learning English. A typical item lasts at least several minutes, allowing an in-depth of coverage of the issue. The texts are often concise and easy to follow. Sometimes, the anchor talks to the report on the scene, giving a flavor of an impromptu talk.

During the day, NPR presents a few talk shows. The formats are almost identical: a host interview one or several guests in the first part, then open a phone line for listeners to call in for questions or comments. Each session, one- or two-hour long, usually focus on just one topic.

I often tuned into the Diane Rehm Show. A rare vocal disease causes her to speak slowly, which also usually slow down the guests and the callers. This makes her show perfect for those non-natives who are not yet used to a rapid-fire talking by some Americans.

From Christen Science Monitor to NPR, I came to a full circle.

A Couch Potato

The first year I lived in the U.S., my spoken English slipped. Culture shock had little to do with it, but another shock played a role.

A well-intentioned American suggested I watch TV to learn how “real” American talks. He looked like a wise man, and I liked the idea; it lifted my guilt for watching TV instead of sitting in library.

My classes were in the late afternoon or early evening. So I usually sat in front of TV around noon or midnight. 12 hours apart, TV presented two drastically different types of American talkings.

I watched The Young and The Restless, a soap opera, during lunch time. At first, I was shocked by how frequent the commercials interrupted the show. They always came on right in the middle of a dramatic scene, and almost half of which were the variations of a slim lady walking out a shower, half-naked, one hand grabbing a bottle of shampoo, another hand combing her long blond hair, and, with no exception, waving her head back and forth.

In the opera, the leading roles often talked in a deadly serious tone; most of the dialogues were boring and similar, reflecting the emotions mainly of jealousy, revenge and betrayal, such as:

“John, if you ever see her again, I’ll kill you.”
“Lily, don’t be silly, she’s your sister.”

I’ve yet to hear anyone talking like that, on campus or elsewhere, up to this day.

The show in midnight proved to be useless too. A bald guy was either talking in a monologue beside a band, or interviewing a person sitting on the couch. Only later did I learn he’s David Letterman, or Dave, as everyone calls him.

When he was talking, the audiences laughed every other second. At first, I had no clue what people were laughing about; then I began to get his jokes, but it’s no use to me. You need at least 16 joke writers working for you if you want to talk like him. It can only happen on a TV show, not in real life.

The interview segment resembled little with the reality I was living in. Besides laughing along with Dave, the interviewee—often a movie or TV star—basically just dropped other famous names or exotic places here and there in the conversation.

After many guilty-free TV hours, my guilt reemerged. It’s clear to me that TV never delivered much of the daily talks by real Americans; but watching it had made me like a real American—a couch potato.

Accent, What’s Wrong With That?

One piece of old news: a Chinese couple sent his 7-year-old son to hospital, not school, to cure his accent in speaking English. He had a painful surgery done in his tongue that’s supposed to do the trick.

My greatest sympathy to the boy. Comparing to his nightmare, my recent unpleasant experience in an accent reduction class was nothing but like taking a Tylenol to get rid of headache.

My total outrage to the boy’s parents. Many Chinese parents, as well as many Asian parents, do crazy things to their kids, usually in the name of seeking better future for the children. Let’s be clear on this: they do it for their own selfish motive and, worse, often the stupid one. Forcing such cruelty on kid to eradicate accent is no doubt one of the stupidest things that parents do.

What’s wrong with speaking English with an accent?

Absolutely nothing. Accent itself doesn’t stop you from achieving great things in life, particularly in America.

Listen with your own ears.

Here is a speech by Henry Kissinger, the former Secretary of State under Nixon. His German accent is as thick as Munich dark beer. Somehow, he had no problem teaching Ph.D. students in Harvard; he was trusted by the president to talk about the U.S. foreign policy to other world leaders; and he gave a lot of public speeches in English and was welcomed like a rock star.

Want to hear more?

Here is a speech by Arnold Schwarzenegger, a former star in Hollywood and current in politics. His accent is so funny that, as the governor of California, he pronounces his state “Cal-ee-fornia”; his accented English in acting ( “Awh will be bark” in Terminator) never hindered the movie’s performance in ticket office; his accent, along with his muscle, might have even helped him charm one of the Kennedy women into marrying him.

It’s the parents, not the boy, who really need to undergo a surgery. In their brains.

Accent Reduction

I went to see a college professor the first time a few months ago. On our meeting day, she was to teach a class on accent reduction. That got me curious. I asked to sit in her class prior to our meeting. She graciously agreed. Little did I know then, it opened me a Pandora’s Box.

Having lived in the U.S. for years, I’ve heard just about every possible accent by non-natives from every corner of the globe; and I speak with a trace of the accent unique to Chinese. It doesn’t bother me. I seldom saw Americans were bothered much either. I guess they get used to it. Living in the country of immigrants, many Americans probably talk to a grandma— almost certainly to a great-grandma—who speaks accented English at home.

So what’s the class all about?

Over 50 eager foreign students showed up. The teacher is the nicest and most articulate person I ever met. Ten minutes into the class, I could tell she's a great teacher—patient and responsive to students. And she’s very, very serious about the subject.

Toward the end, I figured out what the fuss was about: it’s about whether you should ask for a “hut dug” or “haut daug” when you order a sandwich with a sausage in it from a street vendor. Only one correct answer, she insisted.

To make sure we got it, she opened her mouth wide open to show where the tip of the tongue should land (before, behind, or above your gum; I forgot the correct position). The way she did it, it wasn’t a pretty scene. I tried hard not to laugh. At least not to laugh out loud.

I must have failed. And I was soon being punished.

After the class, I walked up and introduced myself. I thanked her for letting me sit in the class. She rolled her eyes immediately and corrected my pronunciation of “thank”. This time her mouth wasn’t wide open; her lips were. I did her way a few times. Each time she shook her head. Eventually, she gave up so that we could get on our business.

Except that I couldn’t.

For every sentence I uttered, she pointed out the vowel I missed or the consonant I cut too short. By chance my pronunciation was all right, she told me which article “the” I had left out.

Within the minutes, I became very self-conscious, busy and mentally checking each sentence before letting it out. It’s getting so bad that I couldn’t say a complete sentence with cohesion. It sounded like I was stuttering, which never happened to me before. I was panic, and had to conclude our meeting prematurely.

It took me another week or two before I could finally put the genie back to the box.

Family Matters: A Friend's Story

I recently found out one of my long time friends also shares my passion of language learning. She was from China too. She said she enjoyed reading my blogs because she had similar ups and downs in learning English.

In her words, what influenced her most (in learning English) is not a particular school or teacher but her family.

It started when she was a 2nd grader. Grandpa demanded she listen to English learning programs broadcasted on the radio. Time was different then. English wasn't being taught at an early age as it is now in China. The program was dry and boring.

When she described how she tried to outsmart grandpa by sneaking comic books under her English textbook and inevitably got caught, she couldn't help laughing. Surely she wasn't laughing when she sat in front of the radio and all she could hear was other kids playing outside. At least she thought she didn't learn much. Nevertheless she had a head start over those kids.

Her eyes sparkled when she recounted how her dad read English books to her when she was a kid. "Christopher Columbus", "Around the World in 80 Days", "Gulliver's Travels", "Robinson Crusoe" ... The list went on.

Her dad was a young doctor who had a crazy schedule. That didn't stop him from reading her daughter stories, including English ones. He carefully selected titles that not only were appropriate for her English level but also incubated a genuine love of learning and stimulated her imagination beyond the rigid education system.

As she grew into her high school and college years, Dad introduced her to VOA and BBC radio programs. They since paired up to listen to the news and reports. It left her indelible memories what seemed to be the longest summer nights when they put their heads together listening to what was on the airwave from a foreign land.

For all she could remember, her role model has always been that elegant lady who appeared on CCTV English Education Program every Sunday afternoon. She was her loyal audience. In days when there were no superstars in China, she wanted to shine like that English teacher when she grew up.

She didn't turn out to be an English teacher. Her English have come a long way since these days. She attributed her motivation and confidence in English study to a stubborn grandfather and an affectionate father.

How Could I Explain This

I was making a steady progress in my spoken English while in college, thanks to the English Corner. If talking my fellow Chinese could help me this much, I reasoned, I would do much better when talking to native English speakers.

If I wasn’t completely wrong, I was off by at least two years of timing.

I came to the U.S. soon after graduating from college. In my first year, I noticed my spoke English worsened. It took me about year or so just to get back to the level where I was when I left China. Two years after I arrived in the U.S, ironically, my spoken English stood almost still.

That puzzled me. If I had been living in a Chinatown, eating Chow Mein, and reading Sing Tao Daily all the time, then I wouldn’t expect my spoken English rival Bill Clinton’s. But studying in a graduate school, where even the janitor I met spoke native English, all I got with my spoken English was no better than talking to fellow Chinese back home, none of whom spoke English better than the janitor?

Something wasn’t right.

I only made a sense out of this paradox after I read a theory by Dr. Stephen Krashen, a retired professor of linguistics in the University of Southern California. Based on his research on language acquisition, Dr. Krashen came up with a theory called “Input Hypothesis”.

You need to read his paper to get a full flavor. Here, I’ll spare you academic jargons and simply put it this way: to best improve your spoken English, find someone whose skill is slightly better than yours; talk to him often on the real topics that interests you. Do it consistently, and learning would take care of itself naturally; it’s more effective than any other method.

The insight behind the theory is simple: because you two are in about the same skill level, you understand each other most of the time. You enjoy it most of the time rather than feel frustrated otherwise. That gratification drives you to do it more and often. No one needs to push you. The more you do it, the better you get. Bingo, over time, you’ll be amazed by how much you learn.

Or the opposite: you talk to someone well above your level, either you get frustrated because you don’t understand much in discussion, or he gets impatient because you can’t keep conversation going in a meaningful way. As a result, you won’t get much joy out of it. Pretty soon, you avoid it, or may stop doing it altogether.

Those were exactly happened to me; English Corner in college positively, and the life in graduate school negatively. Native speaker or not was a much minor factor.

I wished I had understood this when I first arrived in the U.S.

My Gratitude For Being Cornered

For transforming me from an English loather to a lover, I thanked a teacher and a gadget; for turning me to an addict of the language, I owed my greatest gratitude to a place.

The place is the passage, outside the entrance of the library on campus, where many gathered on Saturday night. No one organized it; no one coordinated it; no one even knew how and when it first started. But everyone came for one purpose: practice spoken English with one and another. The place was thus dubbed English Corner.

The first time I heard about it, I thought that’s a neat idea. Nobody had ever learned how to swim without getting into water, no matter how hard he trained along poolside. The English Corner would be my swimming pool.

My logic thinking was sound; my behavior was not. I was completely freaked out prior to my début. Many times on Saturday night, I descended from the library steps, glanced at the scattering crowd, and heard the chatter humming in the air. So near! So attempting! Each time, I thought just to glide in, sort of effortlessly; each time, I slipped away as fast as I could without looking like running.

I felt disgusted for being such a chicken, and vowed not to yield next time. But the chicken head always came out with one excuse after another, ever more convincing.

In the end, either I had stumbled while descending the steps and tripped over to the crowd incidentally, or I had run out of excuses when the semester was almost gone since my first chicken out. The former explanation seemed to be more palpable.

The climax, however, was classical. Although I could remember vividly the agonies I endured during the days and weeks leading to my début, I had only a slim memory of the first night, like “Hello, my name is Bee; who are you?” I suspected that’s the only line I uttered before I fled the scene.

In any case, taking the first plunge was a milestone; that I was a chicken no more. If that’s still in doubt, at least I could stick the chicken head out, which I did in the subsequent weeks. I soon found out, a lot more chickens were out there as nervous as I was. That revelation helped ease up my nerve. Before I knew it, I could handle the top three mostly asked questions—What is your major, Where are you from, and When are you graduating—like a pro.

Once passing that stage, sky was the limit. Swimming in it, I was completely addicted; the conversation was spontaneous, the gratification was instant, and the struggle for understanding and being understood was exhilarating. For the rest of my college years, I would give up just about anything to simply showing up each week, rain or moonshine.

As Woody Allen once quipped: “80 percent of success is showing up”. Success or not, I treasured those moments my happiest in college. Only playing soccer came close.