After I had introduced myself to the class, I passed around a sign-up sheet that showed some twenty-five names when I got it back. I called the names one by one, with the idea that I would know everyone by face and, in turn, everyone would know everyone else in class. I discussed the course requirements, described what we would be doing in our group, the bases for grading, and how the grades would be computed. I would say that I got my baptism of academic fire in the American classroom that day when a student sitting in the middle row turned to the students sitting beside him and behind him and, with a dumbfounded look on his face, blurted aloud repeatedly: “What did he say? What did he say?” It hit me hard right there in front of my first American class that my strong Filipino accent had intruded into the clarity of my articulation of my otherwise well-prepared class notes. The dumbfounded look on that one student’s face became etched permanently in my classroom memory, and I thought about it every time I stood in front of a class. What I did, then, became a part of my teaching style every time I taught a class. Like a runner who had been running too fast and had to slow down, I spoke slowly, deliberately, and even redundantly. I made sure that I was pronouncing every word correctly and, if I felt unsure about my pronunciation of certain words, I would substitute them with easier-to-pronounce words, or, better still, write them on the board. This was the beginning of my career-long preoccupation with clarity in the classroom. At the end of that semester and in all subsequent semesters at UW and other campuses where I taught, I would pore over my written class evaluations looking for student reactions to the clarity of my lectures, explanations, and discussions. Initially, I received many negative ratings in these areas but, after a period of time, these ratings turned positive. I kept doing what I found worked well in the classroom, and discarded those that elicited negative student complaints and comments. I cannot say that I found the formula for effective teaching in the American classroom by an Asian professor, but I believed I had developed a teaching style that worked for me and my students. At the end of my first class in the American classroom that morning, the student with the dumbfounded look appeared relaxed and enlightened as he made his way to the door. He threw me what I thought was a grateful and apologetic smile before he disappeared into the long hallway. As I watched him leave, I couldn’t help wondering if his changed demeanor was indicative of how American students would rate and react to my future performance in the classroom.
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