Korean Language Class

Isabelle and I started Korean language classes last Saturday.

One of my new years resolutions is to learn better Korean.

I was super excited to go to class. 
I have missed being in a classroom setting as a mom.

I was excited to have a teacher and my own little school book.

Yes I know this sounds pathetic, but still it's the truth.

All of this excitement vanished around 9:30 the night before class.

Excitement was replaced with nervousness.

"Wait a minute" my brain said.

"You like Korean people, but have you forgotten that they are very scary.

Have you forgotten the stories of getting hit with rulers when you get an answer wrong?

Have you forgotten that according to every Korean on the planet Korean is the easiest language to learn,
 and only a truly idiotic person wouldn't be able to do it?

Have you forgotten that you dropped out of Japanese in high school because your tiny brain couldn't handle a language from the East?

Do you even know how to get to the building?

What if they refuse to speak any English at all?

Aren't you aware that you will have to get up very early
EVERY Saturday morning? Just give up now."

These are all of the things the mean little
voice in my head kept whispering.

I refused to listen...this may have been a good or bad choice,
I am still undecided on that.

I woke up bright (not really) and early Saturday morning.

I really wanted to go back to bed.

I showered and tried to make myself pretty, assuming this would
somehow help me learn a new language.

Well at least it might curb some of the
laughter that would surely be coming my way.

I loaded Isabelle into her car seat and waved to my proud husband bidding us farewell at the door,
at least someone was still happy about this decision.

I discovered that when I am very nervous
I might have just a touch of road rage.

I apologize to anyone I may have nearly ran over.

When we got to the building, a Christian center, I saw lots of Korean people walking in.

"What are they doing here?" my brain started up again. "Don't they already speak Korean?  Where are all of the other American wives of Korean men?
Shouldn't they be here too if I have to be?"

When we got inside my hopes got dashed even more.

There weren't even any mixed kids like Isabelle. 
I was actually a little more surprised about this, but what is a girl to do?

We were there, and there they  were. 
Many Korean people speaking Korean,
and writing in Korean, and staring at me like I just walked off Mars.

"This is going to be a fun two hours" sneers my brain.  "Shut up" says one of the other voices in  my head.  They quickly make me pay for may class and brain says "You are actually paying to be humiliated? HA HA!"  After paying they whisk Isabelle off to her torture.
She looked at me like I had just sold her for $5.00.

I had to hang out in the foyer for a few more minutes to let people stare at me.  By this point I had decided that showering and getting pretty was the only sane idea I had that morning.  Then a lady says "come with me". I follow her up a staircase into a small classroom with a blue wall, a red wall, and one of the ugliest crosses I have ever seen. 

"Hey an American!" my brain yells!  It was true there was an American man in my class.  He is older than me and his name is Steve - this couldn't be bad if he has the same name as my Dad. This is what I thought up until the minute he informed me that he lived in Korea for 6 and a half years.  The only other student in my class was a college student girl named Stephanie who is half Korean and she speaks Korean with her mom all of the time. 
So one of my worst fears has been confirmed, I am the only beginner.

Our teacher seems nice enough and
I don't see any rulers for her to hit me with, so that's a big relief.

I can read, a little, in Korean.  My teacher thinks this means I should also be able to write full sentences in Korean after she reads them to me. You have got to be kidding me.  We wrote a lot in the first hour of class.  I misspelled about 70% of my words and another 10% of the words were completely omitted from my work.  My teacher starts to think I need some help.  She brings in a boy who I guess is a college student to help me.  She tells him to help me with my writing.  They both must have thought that laughing at me while I was trying to write was very helpful.  He just sat there and was like "Nooo, you silly lady.  How OLD are you anyways?  Maybe you should just give up."  He didn't actually say that, but I can read in between the laughs. 
Of course it could have just been my brain speaking up again. 

I was happy to find out that I do know more vocabulary than I thought.  Sentence structure - not so much.  Then the teacher had us play a memory game where we go around the circle and name a fruit and then the person next to you says one and then adds on and so on and so forth.  I am doubtful I would be good at this game in my own language.  I got up to about 15 which was not bad I thought. 
 When it would have been my turn again
I would have had to say about 20 fruits.
My teacher mercifully stopped before my turn.

I was literally sweating when we got our break time.  I never realized learning a language was a new sport.  Another shower would be in order if I made it out of this church alive. During break time I went to check on Isabelle. If it was this bad for me,
it must be just horrible for her.

Then I saw it.
My daughter sitting at a table with about 10 other children. 
Drinking juice and eating cake and getting ready to watch a cartoon. 

"Hold the phone!" my brains excitedly yells.  "How much more money would you have to pay to be in this class?  THIS is totally the level you are at. Quick find out before they make you go back to the red/blue room."  They didn't let me stay, I think they thought I was crazy.  Maybe by this point I was, I have blocked it from my memory.

Back at my class we moved from writing - Hallelujah -
 to speaking - bummer.

Also 2 more Korean people came and sat behind me, to observe.  I am thinking to observe me, that's just great!  That won't make it harder for me at all to concentrate.

I survive one more hour and after my teacher tells me my writing is "really....really"..."bad" I say.  Uncomfortable silence. "No, no," she says " you just need a little me practice.  Try to catch up on the last 13 chapters by next week.  Have a nice day!"  I got to leave then.

I went and picked up Isabelle from her class.  She asks if we can come back every day.  I shoot laser beams from my eyes.  We head downstairs to see if I can get the workbook I need to "catch up" on. Of course they are sold out, but she politely says she'll have one for me next week.  Super, I guess then I'll have 14 chapters to "catch up" on.  I need some air.

I pretty much ran out of the door to the car. 

As I am loading Isabelle in she starts doing the potty dance.

"No" my brain says. "You just escaped from that building, once a prisoner breaks out, you should never go back."

You should try explaining this to a five year old.  They don't get it.

So back in we went.  Nothing bad happened.

I drove home listening to Isabelle tell me how cool her class was and how she had no idea what the other kids were saying to her and "Isn't that funny, they kept talking to me, but I had no idea what they were saying."  I am still trying to find out where the humor is in that.

Tomorrow I am due back there. 
The people were so nice and my teacher was nice.

I just hope they understand I didn't have my workbook to get "caught up" as if that's even possible in a week anyways. I won't give up.  I hope that I will actually learn the language after going through this!