It seemed like it took forever, but finally the application process was finished; we took an ESL training class, and were assigned to a Nepali family. (The politically correct term is probably Bhutanese, but they call themselves Nepali.) Every Sunday afternoon, Mom and I teach English in the family's apartment. Usually another lady from our church comes along to help Mom, as well as either my younger brother or sister. Mom teaches the adults' class, which consists of the father, Bhakta, the mother, Radhika, and a few neighbors that have joined the class -- a young couple, Phurba and Aiti Maya, with their three-year-old son, Ayoush, and an older lady named Tika. I teach the eighteen-year-old son, Bhanu, and his fifteen-year old sister, Mamta. The nine-year-old boy, Khem, sometimes joins my class, sometimes Mom's class, or he plays games with which ever of my siblings came that day.

I have found that teaching is harder than I thought at first. I had visions of a classroom setting, and saying, "This is a man. He is riding a horse," or something like that, and my students understanding perfectly and getting their homework done on time and . . . it doesn't happen that way. Sometimes I am frustrated because the kids aren't learning as fast as I feel that they should. Or I feel that the kids learn more in school than they do with me. Or Bhanu can't understand his English grammar assignment and wants to know what suspicious means and I don't have a dictionary with me and I'm not sure how to explain it, and Mamta still doesn't know the names of the States even though she has been supposed to study them for the past three weeks, and even though she is very good at pronouns, she does not understand verbs whatsoever, and I am at my wit's end.

But I would not give it up for anything. There is always something funny that happens. Sometimes Bhanu writes a sentence in grammar, like "The house is burning brightly on the hill." Or Phurba said when writing a story about a picture of a bobcat chasing a snowshoe hare, "There are two animals in this picture. One is a rabbit and has white furs. The other I am not sure, but I think it is a tiger. The tiger is tailgating the rabbit." (Spelling and grammar his, italics are mine.) What would I do without such moments?

My favorite part of teaching is the friendships that have sprung up. The family recently gave me and my younger sister Nepali dresses as a gift and now call us their "Nepali daughters." They now are trying to teach us Nepali. We often make mistakes, but they are very patient and keep on saying the word until we can pronounce it correctly. (Mom keeps using the word for mushroom instead of the one for apple, and I cannot figure out the difference between the words for leg and dress.) We all just laugh and then try again. Also, we invite them to go with us when we go anywhere interesting. For example, we were able to take Bhanu, Mamta, and a friend of theirs, Khagen, to a baseball game with us. It was the first time any of them had seen baseball, but they all liked it, Bhanu joined us again for another game a week later, and he and Khagen want me to teach them how to play.

No, I would never give up my job of teaching English. Even though it takes up some of my precious time, I don't regret the decision to teach. In fact, it was probably one of the best decisions I have ever made. My Nepali friends are some of the sweetest people I know. I love their personalities, their sense of humor, everything, even the Nepali food they serve us after every class. If I had not taken the opportunity to work with these people, I would have missed out on so much.