I'm not an ESL teacher - but from 1991-1999, I taught at American schools in the Middle East.
During my last year in the Middle East, I worked in Beirut. I remember being told by the school secretary that I had a new student. For the sake of this story, I will call him Omar, which is not his real name.
Omar was a transfer from a private French school. He had previously been in a private Arabic school.
I went to the playground and found Omar.
"Hello," I said to the boy. I held out my hand and we shook. "I'm Mr. Chin. I'll be your third grade teacher."
"My name is Omar," said the boy. He grinned at me.
"Well it's good to meet you Omar," I said. "I understand that you came from a French school."
"My name is Omar," said the boy.
"That's nice," I said. "Did you learn your English at the other school?"
"Omar ... Omar ..." insisted the boy. He tapped his chest with a thumb. "My name is Omar."
A horrible thought occured to me. "Omar, do you speak English?" I asked.
"My name is Omar," said the boy.
(sigh)
It was an interesting year.


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