On my first day of school, in December over a year ago, students pointed at me. Every student I passed whispered “Americanka” excitedly to their friends. I felt like a rare animal in the zoo, something that people had heard of, but never seen. I was something of a spectacle.
Since then, the students have become used to me. Sure, they still shout hello or good morning to me every single time they see me, but there are few things that I can do to really shock them. One was when I walked to school with a whole pumpkin for Halloween. Students stopped me every few feet to ask why I was carrying a pumpkin. My St. Patrick’s Day socks made carrying around a whole pumpkin look like something anyone would do.
For St. Patrick’s Day, my cousin sent me a bright pair of green socks in the mail. I was instantly inspired to teach my students about the traditions and history of St. Patrick’s Day. I put together a slide show with some pictures from different St. Patrick’s Day parades, a dog that had been dyed green and the river in Chicago that also gets dyed green every year. To top it off, I decided to wear my green socks and explain that you have to wear green on St. Patrick’s Day or everyone else can pinch you.
In order to show off my socks, I wore my capris with a pair of black pumps. I looked a lot like a leprechaun. Walking through my city in such an absurd outfit, I expected people to give me some strange looks. I was not disappointed. People turned to stare and even laughed at me.
When I got to school, it only got worse. My students literally pointed at my socks and laughed. One student even called to another so he would turn around and see my socks. It was amusing to see teachers and students gawking at my fashion faux pas. Without understanding that I was wearing the socks to give a cultural lesson, they were left to believe that I thought neon green socks were in.
By the middle of the day, the whole school was talking about my socks. I once again heard students whispering while I walked by. Only this time they were whispering шкарпетки (socks) instead. Even when I entered the teachers’ room I could feel every eye on my feet. I passed our school’s director in the hall and his eyes fell straight to my socks. I didn’t have time to explain, so I said good morning like usual. He gave me a pat on the back and I hurried off to class.
Later in the day, while I was talking to my friend who also teaches English at the school, she admitted that almost all of her students had asked about the brightly colored socks. Her students wondered if it was a new fashion from America. We joked together, imagining everyone at school wearing neon socks and skirts to show them off. I would have been excited to start a new, horrible fashion statement. It would have meant that I’m more of a role model than I expected. Of course, that didn’t happen.
As I walked around that day, I told myself that this was a good lesson for the kids. They would see that I was different in a culture that so often encourages conformity. I reassured myself that it was worth being laughed at if I was teaching a lesson. The more I think about it though, the only lesson I probably taught that day was this: If you wear bright socks, 1,000 people will laugh at you.
Posted on March 20, 2011
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