Good-bye, Marian

The first time I saw Marian, I was shocked.

Even in the United States, where so many people are overweight, Marian's girth was extraordinary. Surely, I thought to myself, this woman must be lethargic in the extreme.

I was then into my third week of an English course at the adult education center, and the sight of my new teacher made me regret that I had asked to change classes.

I handed her my registration card, shook hands, and with an uneasy feeling looked around for a place to sit. She told me I should wait a bit before buying the textbook.

"After all," she smiled, "you might not like my class." Had she read my thoughts?

During a break, she took me out of the classroom for a private chat. She handed me a list of classroom regulations, one of which stated: "Anyone who arrives late to class will be fined 25 cents."

Seating herself on a post, Marian said: "This is something the class and I worked out together. If anything strikes you as unreasonable, you're welcome to raise the matter for discussion."

Within a week I was hooked on Marian's English class and felt really bad about my initially biased reaction.

In addition to daily work on vocabulary and grammar, Marian had developed all sorts of creative teaching techniques that I had never been exposed to before.

Once a week we worked on a specific topic assigned by Marian. We did role playing (bought and sold stocks, for example), prepared a newspaper column, visited a local junior college, and picked wild strawberries. We even carried out a mock American-style election by printing out election ballots. Marian brought her shower curtain from home to set up a voting booth in the classroom.

We once sat in on a few court cases at a nearby courthouse. After returning to the classroom, Marian asked us what we thought, and a fun discussion ensued, though we were often only semi-coherent in our statements. Marian, however, shook her head and said with a frown: "I didn't think that judge was very good." With everyone in the class wondering why she felt that way, Marian asked: "Didn't any of you notice that he was a racist? That's not right!"

On Halloween, Marian dressed as a witch and took us to a Halloween party at a nearby kindergarten. On Thanksgiving, she baked a big turkey, while Christmas was the occasion for a gingerbread cake. Every time we had a party at the school, she put a big basket outside the door so we could donate canned goods and other packaged foods to charity. She always took our donations to the homeless people at Samaritan House in her van after class.

With each outing, I learned more about American culture and became increasingly charmed by Marian's vibrant personality. There was no resisting her charisma.

Once she told us about the time she was set upon by a robber at a beauty parlor. She fought back, chasing the robber and beating him with her purse. She got hurt, and her picture was in the newspapers the next day. "There was just one thing that made me really mad," said Marian with mock seriousness. "The newspaper shouldn't have told the whole world how old I was!"

The whole class roared. We couldn't stop laughing at the thought of big Marian rumbling down the sidewalk barefoot in pursuit of a robber. Our indefatigable teacher gave of her own free time to help a bunch of tongue-tied foreigners overcome all sorts of challenges in a strange new country, and it was without the slightest embarrassment that the class declared, "We don't just like you, Marian, we love you!"

The only time I ever saw Marian get really angry was when the class was getting ready to take a regularly scheduled test issued by the state government. One student ignored her instructions and opened up the test booklet before the rest of the class.

Though Marian might be mistaken most of the time for a laughing Buddha, on that occasion her smile disappeared as she chastised the scofflaw in front of the class: "When they put you in the electric chair some day, don't go crying that you didn't understand the rules because you're a foreigner."

Everyone looked at each other in surprise as they came to a new realization: this laughing Buddha has got principles. On a table at the front of the classroom lay two baskets that were often full of letters written on green stationery. One basket held letters from us to Marian; the other was for letters that she had already checked and commented on. We had to write at least one letter a week on any subject of our choosing. Prompted by Marian's mix of encouragement and coercion, I once used my limited vocabulary to write a few poems for her.

"I don't want to go on to a higher class. My English isn't good enough. . . ."

Marian was known for pushing her students on to the next level, so near the end of the term many students in our class pleaded daily with Marian to let them repeat her level. I was one of the ones bugging Marian about staying in her class.

Shaking her head emphatically, Marian said: "Nope. Sorry. You have to keep making progress." She then gave me a handmade card. In it she had written some words of encouragement and attached a class photo. "Oh, Marian, I'm going to miss you!" We gave each other a big hug. "Of course! We're friends for life."

A lot of others were waiting for a chance to say good-bye to Marian, so I reluctantly left the classroom.

As I walked outside into a beautiful, sunny winter's day, I felt a rush of warmth within.

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On Halloween, Marian (center) dressed as a witch and took us to see a Halloween party at a nearby kindergarten. (The author is on the far left.) (courtesy of Sung Su-fen)