I’ve finished teaching kids, possibly forever. On Sunday I “taught” six last classes, each one involving a couple of games and a protracted awards ceremony. For the last half hour of each class the parents were allowed into the classroom. The fact that I can now bear three hours of scrutiny from mostly unsmiling Cantonese tai-tais without going to pieces even slightly probably marks an achievement, as does the lack of the relief I was expecting to feel. For a couple of the classes I even feel a little sorry that they have ended – both went perfectly all term and I think I actually did a good job of teaching them. Even the two troublesome classes in the morning ended well, maybe due to two of the three possible A.D.D. cases being away. Before I get carried away with congratulation for myself though, the last class of the day ended as it started – a complete failure. Something just didn’t click from the start and it was only out of a guilty feeling of partial culpability that I didn’t fail half of them.
Tomorrow is my last adult class, barring unexpected extra ones I may be given over the next two weeks. The end of my time here is getting very close indeed.

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