Before setting one foot into the English classroom, two people of power—first Director Shim of Fulbright and then my principal here at Youngsaeng High School—gave me the same advice (command?):

Love your students.

At the time, didn’t seem so difficult; time would be the only initial barrier, a flimsy outer layer waiting to be opened with ease like supermarket saran wrap. Students sprinting through the hallways, laughing as they jostled playfully with one another. Teachers mock wrestling their first-years, chuckling all the while. “Hi teacher!” here and “What’s up, Caleb Teacher!” there.

And as I slouch here at my desk, burnt from making through 475 of the 600 one-on-one speaking tests I’m grading each kid on, reflection tells me that saran wrap was far too light of an analogy; ignorant of the challenges that come from character and personality differences of individual students as well as the shape-shifting classroom dynamics of each of the 20 classes I lead.

A more apt analogy may be trying to open a can of tuna without a can opener.

Too tough to be opened by brute force by hand = My presence and demeanor alone isn’t enough.

Ruined if you try to throw it on the ground = Yelling and shouting in their second language returns more rowdiness at worst and blank faces at best.

But like the everlasting magic of canned food, these high schoolers have a long expiration date: A surprising amount of patience and a high willingness to forgive for the down days, at least quickly enough for us to experience the up days as well.

There’s the days where the can opens up ever so slightly—the right teaching technique or combination of gestures and empathy results in a nod here or a smile of encouragement there. I’ve tried all utensils of all shapes and sizes with the manner of my teaching, presence, direction, and even footwork around the classroom.

Along the way, two phrases of wisdom have been pulled out of the mental library to assist with my motivation and patience with the student.

First, is to try to make the weakest the strongest weak students around. Back when I was 12, this applied to Little League baseball lineups: Championships were won on the foundation of how much your weakest players improved over the course of a 3-month season, and not always because of your star athlete.

There are many of these ‘weaker’ students with regards to their English speaking and comprehension abilities—many sleep for fear of failure or tacit acceptance of it, but others devote their energy as best they can, even if that only means staring blankly at me for the better part of 50 minutes. They remind me to slow down, enunciate, and add a few more body gestures to help them understand.

Second, is a motto an old middle school teacher I had used to boom in a deep baritone every class: You are America’s Youth!”

By this, he willed us to strive to do our best, for we could grab our futures by the horns if we so chose too; the only thing holding us back was our own lack of faith.

And so, as I scan the room of South Korea’s youth—some attentive, others not—I’m reminded to compel them to do the same. To reach just a little bit higher and grab the future that is within their reaches.

Of course, I will inevitably fail most of the time; I have 50 minutes each week to inspire and teach, and what’s to blame students for sleeping through a class that does little to nothing to their grades.

But there’s the one, two, three, or maybe more students in each class that feel my attempts at enthusiasm and subconsciously feel their own potential for growth as English language learners.

And if it’s just one out of 35 that responds to my open-ended question, then good. That’s one more than yesterday.