Parenting & Family Archives - Sonia Marsh

Children Debate Major Cultural Differences-Gutsy Living

April 27, 2016 by Sonia Marsh 11 Comments

Team A proposing that "Yes" teachers are to blame for the poor performance of students. — Team A proposing that “Yes” teachers are to be blamed for the poor performance of students.

As a Peace Corps volunteer teacher in Lesotho, I’m discovering major cultural differences, even in the classroom. What may seem, “normal” in a school in Lesotho, would be cause for jail, in the U.S.

I’m helping grade 7 prepare a debate on, “Are teachers to be blamed for the poor performance of students?”

While brainstorming points on the affirmative side, one girl, Lineo, who is smart and ambitious, brought up the following points which no longer shock me, as I’ve heard them before.

“Teachers fall in love with their students. This can lead to the poor performance of learners as learners would concentrate more on their affairs with teachers, than on their school work. Apart from that, it would not be easy for teachers to correct their learners when they are in love.”

Some male teachers will fail female students who refuse sex or who report them. I have not had anyone at my school report this, but this seems to be common in high schools as well as with professors in college. The problem is that once the girls fails, they lose their tuition fees in college and are forced to quit. One woman told me about this at the college level and is helping college girls win a lawsuit.

There was a scandal recently when a teacher killed one of his students in high school, after she told her parents she was pregnant. He wanted to “hide” the evidence.

Lineo also wrote about alcohol.

“Use of alcohol by teacher. When drunk, a teacher would not use the appropriate language or examples to learners. In addition a teacher would not prepare his/her work well.”

Lineo brought up a third point regarding teachers checking their cell phones during class, and not paying attention to their students.

In my school, none of the children have cell phones; their parents cannot afford them, however, all the teachers have one. I agree with Lineo, they are addicted to their phones, and although they don’t use them to Google lessons or to show children photos relevant to what they are teaching, they are constantly checking their phones.

Some of the other points the students brought up:

The teachers are not interested. They are bored.
Teachers test their students on topics they have not taught
Teachers arrive late at school, or do not bother to show up
Teachers hit the children with sticks. (I’ve seen this happen.)
Teachers don’t speak English to the children, even tough the curriculum is in English
The teacher is not qualified, or does not teach well
The teachers are often in conflict with one another

We did a mock debate, and I was teaching the kids how to project their voices, and become more confident in expressing themselves. I can see light bulbs going off in Lineo’s head. I cannot believe her mother died a few days ago, and yet she doesn’t seem to show any sorrow. How come? Was she not close to her?

There are so many things I’m learning about the Basotho culture, and many that I cannot understand.

Differences Between Teaching a Thai and a U.S. Kindergarten

August 27, 2015 by Sonia Marsh 1 Comment

IMG_20150826_122729797 — The wonderful and enthusiastic Kindergarten teacher, Mrs. I.

What a difference between my volunteer teaching in Thailand, and what I’m observing and learning in a U.S. Kindergarten. I’m sure I shall be in for another surprise in Lesotho, southern Africa, where I am co-teaching in January 2016.

Sometimes I wonder how I can use the skills I learned from teaching elementary school in Koh Samui, Thailand, with those in Orange County, California, while I serve in the Peace Corps during my two years in a school in Lesotho.

Each country is so different, especially the cultural differences, the expectations, and the rules and discipline procedures.

In Thailand, the children are so loving. They come up to you for hugs, even in fifth grade, and unlike the U.S., the teachers use a thin bamboo stick for corporal punishment.

In the U.S., the Kindergartners are adorable, but there is no hugging and fewer smiles than I experienced in Thailand.

100_3088 — No chairs in Kindergarten in Thail class where I taught

I feel the “stress” on our children in the U.S., to be high achievers and to obey the rules. In Thailand, the children are often distracted, and I accepted this. We had to get their attention with games; standing up and sitting down and touching their toes, etc. We often shouted and got them to do the same while teaching them to repeat new vocabulary words.

In the U.S. Kindergarten, I observed the expertise of the teacher in how to apply “classroom management” skills which are so important in establishing order and guidelines for children to follow during the school year.

As stated in the well-known book by Harry and Rosemary Wong, The First Days of School, How to be an Effective Teacher.

“Effective teachers MANAGE their classrooms.

Ineffective teachers DISCIPLINE their classrooms.”

Mrs. I. is the Kindergarten teacher, and through positive reinforcement, she manages to control her new Kindergarten class with thirty students. She says things like, “We’re here to grow big brains, who wants to learn to read? Who wants to learn to write stories?”

She thanks her students, by name, who sit still and announces, “I like the way Logan is sitting still,” or “Get up, give yourself a hug and walk quietly to the door.”

She says, “When Mrs.I.is talking, your mouth is not,” and when a child answers a question correctly, she says, “Kiss your brain” and they kiss their hand and tap their head. I just love that.

There are playground rules like counting to 20 when someone is on the slide and your turn is next. Then there are lunch rules, about asking for permission to be excused to play,and rules for entering the classroom. It seems the kids have to follow so many rules in the U.S., but I can see the results of how well-behaved the kids are.

As you can see, everything is neatly arranged, including the box of crayons with each student’s name labelled on the box. You can tell the teacher has spent time getting the classroom organized.

I want to learn new skills on how to get young children to listen, and to do so in a calm manner. During my teaching in Thailand, I felt like I was yelling to get the children’s attention, and although they did keep quiet when I put my right hand up, and my left hand to cover my mouth, most of the teaching was done with shouting the new vocabulary words and getting the kids to repeat, and copy from the board. I did not like teaching this way, but followed the curriculum.

I realize that co-teaching in Lesotho, will be a new adventure that will require being flexible. The best part is I love seeing the differences between cultures, and learning to adapt.

Let’s hope that whatever the method, the kids are always learning.

“My Gutsy Story®” Suellen Zima

August 12, 2013 by Sonia Marsh 13 Comments

A Hummingbird Life

Unexpectedly, but very clearly, I heard myself thinking, “I know what the next 20 years of my life will be like.” Immediately, and also very clearly, I heard, “But I don’t want to know what the next 20 years of my life will be like.” That realization didn’t make much sense to me since I was living the life I had always wanted to live. I was in my mid-30s, happily married to my high school sweetheart, full time mom to a healthy son, doing meaningful volunteer work, and all was well – wasn’t it?

I had lived a mostly traditional lifestyle, except for consciously choosing to adopt rather than having a biological child. I had been a foster care social worker, so it made more sense to me to take a child without a family rather than create another child. We were white, and our son was black. We were a somewhat unusual family, but a happy one.

About the only thing my husband and I disagreed about was how long to go away on vacations. I loved traveling in a way he didn’t. I wanted to go longer, and farther away. While my son was still a toddler, although I had no intention of ever doing so, I signed up for a community college short course called “Traveling Alone As A Woman.” What I remembered most from that short course was seeing a woman who had done such a thing. A visiting guest from Israel casually mentioned that it was possible to be a volunteer on a kibbutz in Israel. I felt a shiver of excitement.

Something deep, powerful, and unrelenting inside kept pushing me out of the cozy confines of the life my husband and I had created together until, by the age of 37, I had destroyed what I had spent so many years building. Our 12-year-old son, unable to feel secure with the mother I had become, chose to stay with his dad when I moved away. In the summer break from getting a Master’s degree in Social Work, I finally got to see Israel for the first time as a volunteer on a kibbutz. I was the oldest volunteer there. In 1983, at 40, I started life as an immigrant in a new land, with a new language to learn, and a new culture to decipher.

I also had chosen a new name for myself – one I fashioned from a Swahili word that incorporated my pain at leaving the husband I loved, and my hope for the future. Unfortunately, I found out when I moved to Israel that it was, coincidentally, a very bad word in Hebrew.

Five years later, when my savings were down to $5,000, I thought, “I need to go around the world before I run out of money.” Simple curiosity made China a priority. What I didn’t expect was that China’s complicated society would intrigue and magnetize me for the rest of my life.

I found that the hummingbird and I shared several characteristics. We both plant our feet firmly in mid-air, hover, drink deeply, and then flit away. We are very independent creatures who live life quickly and intensely. If someone tries to hold us, we will die. But we can fly backwards as well as forwards at will.

I was content and, indeed, often elated living as a hummingbird throughout the world for over 16 years. Continuous new experiences challenged me. Although there were many discomforts and inconveniences, especially in third world China, I knew I tired of the “known” much more than the “unknown.” From my first teaching job in China, found by knocking on doors and saying, “Hi, I’d like to teach English,” I knew I’d found my happiest career.

My journeys were geographical, but also explorations into deeply personal, emotional, and cultural dimensions. There were many truly magical moments of serendipity along the way, as well as pure luck. I am grateful I found what my soul craved. I don’t have to say, “I wish I had ..”

I discovered the parts that made me whole – my personality was American, my homeland was Israel, my heart was in China, and my spirit was in Bali. I turned into a sculptor of sorts, able to carve out niches for myself wherever I went. I was at home being housemother in an Israeli boarding school to newly arrived Ethiopian Jewish teenage immigrants, then living and working in an Israeli-Arab town trying to promote mutual respect between Israeli Arabs and Israeli Jews. I loved the adventure of finding teaching jobs in China, Taiwan, Macau, Bali, and Korea that allowed me inside the cultures.

From inside China, I saw the tumultuous changes in the lives of my students over more than two decades. By continually nurturing the relationships I made with my students through frequent letters and visits, I stayed in their lives and they remain my friends today. Six of my students asked me to be the honorary grandmother to their children. Being in their children’s lives as they grow up has been a continuing joy in my life.

The journals I kept as my constant traveling companions turned into my first book, “Memoirs of a Middle-aged Hummingbird,” published in 2006. The book is the link with that life that can never die.

My son never forgave me for leaving the family, and often refused any contact with me. However, he did re-establish contact when he knew he was dying of AIDS. He died in 2003. I recently published “Out of Step: A Diary To My Dead Son.” I have to live with a lingering guilt for having left my husband and son, but my nomadic years traveling solo to unusual nooks and crannies in the world were undoubtedly the most fulfilling years of my life.

I am now a more settled senior hummingbird who only sometimes wanders, still wonders, and often writes.

SUELLEN ZIMA: One lucky Friday the 13th began the unusual journeys of my life as wife, mother, social worker, world explorer, English teacher, and author. My journals captured the details of my travels, published in “Memoirs of a Middle-aged Hummingbird.”

The need to make my dead son come more alive to me became a diary. “Out of Step: A Diary To My Dead Son,” attempts to repair our damaged relationship by interweaving past and present, interracial adoption in the 1970s, divorce and guilt, HIV-AIDS, homosexuality, and one mother-son relationship.

I continue to wander, wonder, and blog as The Senior Hummingbird. You can find both books on Suellen’s Website.

Please join Suellen on Facebook. Also on Twitter: @SuellenZima

Suellen Zima Book cover — Click to go to Amazon

suellen zima 2nd book — Click to go to Amazon Kindle

SONIA MARSH SAYS: Suellen, I think you are such a courageous person to share your story and the guilt of “abandoning” your family as well as being true to yourself. I understand your “hummingbird” desires to explore and experience as much as you can in life. I hope to see you at our September 26th event and meet Marybeth Bond, the “Gutsy Traveler.”

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“My Gutsy Story®” Jennifer Richardson

June 24, 2013 by Sonia Marsh 11 Comments

The case of the missing biological clock

In 2005, I quit my job in Los Angeles and moved to London with my British husband. You might think moving to a new country is the heart of my gutsy story, but it’s really just a backdrop. My real gutsy story is about how, while living in England, I finally made the decision not to have kids.

This is a decision that may not seem gutsy to all. Accusations of selfishness abound for the childless by choice. And as if societal pressures weren’t enough, my own self-judgment was also a factor. Did my lack of desire to be a mother make me less of a woman? What was wrong with me? And where the hell was my biological clock and why had it failed to start ticking?

In fairness, there had been indications earlier in my life that I wasn’t destined for motherhood. Take, for example, how as a teenager I used to stand in front of the microwave when it was on and proclaim I was radiating my uterus to prevent impregnation. (In retrospect, I’m pretty sure I did that because I enjoyed shocking my mother.) Then later, as my friends started to have babies, I was not blind to my uncanny ability to make infants cry instantly upon contact.

But still some part of me held out for the possibility that I would change my mind. This was what was supposed to happen, right? After all, I had grown up in the eighties when well-meaning feminists were still pushing the belief that women could and should do it all: husband, kids, and a glass-ceiling-breaking career where you got to wear jewel-colored power suits with linebacker-worthy shoulder pads. Convinced I, too, could and should want to do it all, in my late-twenties I even went as far as to threaten to break off my engagement to my anti-children fiancé if he wasn’t willing to leave open the possibility that one day we may have kids. He caved, and I was a married woman at twenty-nine.

Then, in what seemed like the blink of an eye, thirty-five arrived and there was still no sign of my biological clock. This state of affairs made me uneasy. I knew beyond that age I was entering into high-risk territory for a pregnancy, my parents were highly vocal about their desperation for grandchildren, and my husband—eager to know once and for all if his life was going to involve children or not—was becoming as vocal as my parents in expressing his desire for me to just make a decision already. This is where my story takes a not-so-gutsy turn: I caved to the pressure and, that Christmas, my husband and I announced to my parents that we were going to “try” for a baby in the next year.

But even this game of chicken I had played with myself and my poor, unsuspecting family was not enough to kick start my biological clock. This became clear as the next year wore on and each month I somehow ended up at the pharmacy to pick up a refill of birth control. Despite the fact that I was still uneasy, I was finally starting to admit to myself that I didn’t really want to have kids.

Later that year I ended up in a neurologist’s office with what turned out to be symptoms of multiple sclerosis. It was a development that left my husband and parents as shocked as I was, and temporarily took the focus off the fact that I still hadn’t tried to get pregnant. As I grappled with the nature of that disease, which is unsettlingly mysterious in its cause, treatments, and prognosis, I tried desperately to get my neurologist to articulate something I could do that would lessen my chances of developing the full-blown ailment. After evading my previous attempts to pin him down, he finally caved at a follow-up appointment, half-heartedly mentioning a study that had shown some evidence pregnancy would reduce my risk. I couldn’t have been more shocked if he had said voodoo might help.

And that’s the moment when I realized I didn’t want to have kids. This was as good a reason as I was ever going to get to have a child, and yet my gut instantly said no. (Not to mention that as a strategy for lessening my chances of developing a chronic disease, pregnancy seemed at best risky and at worst unethical.) It’s been four years since that day, and, although I have since been diagnosed with MS—which in my case just means I have had a second bout of temporary and relatively benign symptoms—I can honestly say I have no regrets about my decision, other than the fact that I didn’t have the confidence to make it sooner.

JENNIFER RICHARDSON is the author of Americashire: A Field Guide to a Marriage, the 2013 Indie Reader Discovery Award winner for travel writing. The memoir chronicles her decision to give up city life for the bucolic pleasures of the British countryside whilst debating the merits of motherhood. Americashire is out now from She Writes Press, and you can find Jennifer online at:

SONIA MARSH SAYS: Throughout your story, I sensed your “gutsy” side to be left alone and not influenced by what others may say or think. Interesting how your MS diagnosis strengthened your decision to not have a baby despite what the doctor said.

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NOW is the time to submit your “My Gutsy Story®,” to be considered for our 2nd Anthology. Please see guidelines below and contact Sonia Marsh at: sonia@soniamarsh.com for details.

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You can read all 4 stories for the month of June 2013 start of Anthology #2

The Used Car From Hell

January 17, 2013 by Sonia Marsh 15 Comments

“Mom, my car just died,” Josh, my eighteen-year-old son texted me at 4:37 pm, last Monday.

“Where are you?”

“About 80 miles outside Phoenix. Not sure. No signs.”

Why the hell didn’t my husband return this damn car to the dealer?

Duke said he test-drove it, checked the various things you’re supposed to check on a used car, and on the 50-mile drive home, the oil-change light flashed bright red.

To me that’s a clear message: “Warning, I’m a problem car. I just pretended to work while you drove me a couple of miles around the dealership.”

So Duke drove this 2003 Nissan X-Terra, with 60,000 miles on it, straight to Don, our mechanic in Orange County.

Don checked the oil and flushed the engine, which happened to have metal shavings in it.

I don’t know much about engines, but metal shavings don’t sound healthy in your engine.

“Drive it around for a couple of hours and I’ll flush the engine again first things in the morning,” Don said.

At least Josh will get two hours of training on how to drive a stick shift.

Did I forget to mention this car has a manual transmission, and our son has never driven a stick shift before?

As with many decisions in our family, we tend to procrastinate; then at the last minute, we take action. It’s not like we hadn’t looked at car ads during the Christmas holidays; we just hadn’t found anything affordable, with low mileage. Plus Josh wanted a used truck with a V8 engine, to which Duke and I said, “Absolutely not.”

I offered Josh my 2007 Kia Rio, with 67,000 miles, but my husband agreed my car was not suitable for driving long stretches in New Mexico where powerful gusts of desert wind can lift your car off the road. How do I know? I rented a Kia Rio just like my own when I visited Josh, and my rental almost blew off the road to Roswell. Perhaps the aliens saw me coming, who knows.

The following morning, which happened to be the Friday before Josh’s National Guard training, Don opened his garage early in order to flush the engine one more time before Josh headed out.

I climbed onto the passenger seat and asked Josh to practice changing gears down our street. I wanted reassurance before his 800-mile drive.

My first impression was not good. A musty smell hit my nostrils and a collection of crumbs, dry grass and other stuff you find underneath your shoes covered the gray floor mats. How come the dealer sold a dirty car? Hadn’t Duke noticed?

Josh turned on the engine and it sounded like an old smoker clearing out his lungs. He tried to press down on the clutch, and put it into first gear, but he couldn’t.

“Let me try,” I said.

We changed seats and I had the same problem. The gear wouldn’t engage.

I ran inside for assistance. Duke was getting dressed for work.

“Looks like the clutch is gone,” Duke said.

He succeeded in thrusting the stick-shift into second gear and I followed him to Don’s shop in my reliable Kia Rio.

“The clutch could probably have lasted another year, but with Josh learning how to change gears, I’m not surprised,” Duke said. “Book him on a flight.”

I debated whether or not to book Josh on a flight. He desperately needed a car to get to his training, plus the freezing temperatures and icy road conditions, made riding his bike hazardous.

Don said it would take all day to replace the clutch, and re-flush the engine.

“I’ll leave tonight,” Josh said.

The car was ready for pick-up at 6pm. I met Duke at the repair shop and almost fainted at the cost of a new clutch.

“Aren’t you going to call and yell at the dealer?” I asked Duke. “Ron says we have 72 hours to return the car, and since it’s a piece of crap, we need to return it now.”

“It’s all fixed and ready to go. Josh can leave tomorrow morning and I’ll call the dealer over the weekend.”

Josh insisted on leaving right away, but we managed to convince him to leave the following morning.

I packed enough water bottles to last him a week, a turkey, cheese sandwich, three apples and five protein bars. Josh climbed inside his car, programmed the GPS on his phone—at least that reassured me a tad—and as I waved goodbye, my son tried his best to make a smooth start in first gear. I felt a sense of relief, knowing he had a GPS and AAA.

Six hours later, Duke sent me a text message that Josh’s engine wouldn’t accelerate. He pulled over and after checking the oil level, the engine wouldn’t start.

I left Duke in charge.

After several hours sitting in his car, AAA finally showed up from Phoenix. Duke located, and called the closest garage in a town that sounded like Salami, Arizona, where AAA towed his car.

By now, it was after 6pm., and the garage was closed.

“Mom, I’ll sleep in the car,” Josh texted me.

I called him back and his voice kept cutting out.

“Some guy is …. up,” Josh said.

Now, my vivid imagination took over and I started thinking he might get shot.

“We’ll call a taxi to come and pick you up.”

Duke listened to me and rolled his eyes.

“There are no taxis in this small town,” he said.

“What’s the name again?” I asked.

“Salami, or something like that,” Duke said.

I Googled places that sounded like Salami in Arizona, and found Salome.

“Does that sound like the place?”

“Yes,” Duke said.

“There’s a motel and I’m sure they’ll pick him up.”

Duke called the motel, and the owner said, ‘Tell your son I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

Knowing that Josh was now warm and had a bed for the night, I could fall asleep.

“The garage says I need a new engine,” Josh told us the following morning.

What now?

Thankfully, the garage owner’s wife agreed to drive Josh to Phoenix airport where he purchased a ticket to Albuquerque. By now, he had missed his training, and we needed to get the car back to California.

After owning this car for four days, I calculated all the extra money we have spent, and to top it off, we had the extra expense of getting the car back to the dealer in Los Angeles.

“Duke, I hope you give the dealer hell,” I said.

Josh’s car is now back at the dealers, and we’re waiting for a replacement engine.

Who knows how this will end.

Do you have a used car horror story?

Do you have a “My Gutsy Story®” you’d like to share?

NOW is the time to submit your “My Gutsy Story®” and get published in our Anthology. Please contact sonia@soniamarsh.com for details.

You can find all the information, and our sponsors on the “My Gutsy Story®” contest page. (VIDEO) Submission guidelines here

This January we have two stories from Mary Gottschalk, and Christine Lewry. Monday, January 21st, we shall feature Michael Jay’s Story.

Voting for your favorite January 2013 “My Gutsy Story®” will start on Janusry 31st and end on February 13th. Don’t forget to read all 4 of them and vote.