Sad Stories from the 90% Target Language Classroom

For years I tied myself in knots over 90% target language use, ashamed and doubting my abilities. Like many of my students, I really tried. 90% just didn’t work for me.

Michael

13 year-old Michael was an avid history buff. He was fascinated by military history, particularly the World Wars, the Franco-Prussian War, and other early modern conflicts. Michael was highly intelligent and, despite a dyslexia diagnosis, loved to read. He even had aspirations of studying historical documents in their original languages. Michael also planned to join the Army and knew he might someday be stationed in Germany where he hoped to tour the military sites he had read so much about. With all of these motivations Michael was eager to begin studying German in 8th grade - not just as a novelty, but as a possible tool for his future educational, career, and travel goals. 

On day 1 of German class Michael sat poised with pencil and notebook as Herr Schneider began class 100% in German. After about ten minutes of bewilderment, Michael was briefly relieved as Herr S. paused his lecture to provide some course information in English. “This is the last time you will hear me speak English,” he told the students.

Over the next several weeks, Michaels’ initial eagerness changed to frustration, then exasperation, and then defeat. “I really tried to listen,” Michael told me. “I wanted to learn German. I tried to focus and understand what he was saying but I couldn’t… so my mind would wander. Then I would miss things.” The coursework quickly became unmanageable and Michael gave up. “I guess I can’t learn a language,” he mused. “Dyslexia just makes it too hard.” Michael dropped German with the support of his parents and guidance counselor. Convinced he was unable to learn a language, in high school he took the required two years of Latin which he passed thanks to his vast knowledge of history combined with constant, miserable drilling on vocabulary and noun declensions. In college, armed with his dyslexia diagnosis, he lobbied to have the foreign language requirement waived. “You wouldn’t make a kid in a wheelchair complete the PE requirement,” he argued. His appeal was successful and Michael resigned himself to monolingualism. 

Madame A.

Madame A was invited to observe an immersion kindergarten classroom at a public school that was offering a part-time French position. Madame A. had never taught at the kindergarten level before and was curious about the curriculum, as well as what the lead French teacher was like. 

It quickly became clear that this French teacher ran her classroom like a well-oiled machine. Everything was done in the target language and the children all seemed to know the classroom routines. That is, until one little boy started inexplicably crying. It was unclear whether something had happened before class to bring about his tears or whether he was just not able to comprehend the lesson in French, but the boy shut down and was not able to complete the morning routine with the other children. At first, the teacher asked the boy in French what was wrong, but the boy continued to cry. Then, the teacher ignored the student, hoping that the situation would eventually resolve itself. Finally, after the sobbing had drawn the attention of all the other students, the teacher took the boy aside and knelt next to him. 

The teacher glanced several times at Madame A., worried that she would be judged if she broke into English. Quite the opposite, Madame A. was hoping the teacher would simply use English to find out what was wrong! Sadly, while she did offer sympathy, the teacher decided to maintain the integrity of her immersion environment and spoke only French words of comfort to the distraught little boy. 

At the end of the lesson, the teacher apologized to Madame A for the boy’s behavior. “He’s always crying for some reason!” she said flippantly, implying that the child was at fault. Madame A decided she did not want to work in a classroom that prioritized target language use over teaching the whole child—emotions included.  

Lucas

Lucas loved languages and had a lot of success learning French, so he decided to enroll in an intensive, two-semester college German class. The 18 students who chose to embark on this challenging endeavor had a lot in common: all were confident in their academic abilities, and each was motivated (for various reasons) to learn German. Every student had dedicated a big chunk of their semester’s time - not to mention their finances - to the task. 

After a brief introduction, the professor began lecturing in fast, fluent German. Lucas thrived on this challenge, but the majority of his classmates did not. Some students immediately dropped the class, others simply quit coming. By the end of the first semester, course attendance had halved. When Lucas asked his classmates why they quit, the answers were remarkably similar: Each student had been motivated to take German, but when they struggled to comprehend classroom input, they became discouraged and concluded that they couldn’t learn a language. 

At the end of the semester, only six of the original eighteen students remained. With tightening budget constraints and enrollment pressures, the university response was predictable. The German program was cut and Lucas was one of the last students to graduate with a German degree from his institution.

Madame B.

Madame B. taught French at an urban middle school with a challenging population. On the first day of class, she began a simple lesson about opinions using cognates. Madame B. carefully planned her instruction with scaffolding, visual support, props, and animated delivery.

Her students were not impressed.

“J’aime le chocolat,” Madame B. said with a smile. She made a heart with her hands.  “J’aime!”  and pointed at a chocolate bar  “Le chocolat!”  Madame B. gave a thumbs up. “C’est bon!”  She rubbed her stomach. “C’est délicieux!”

Then, Madame B. gestured toward Jayden in the front row.  “Et toi,?” she asked.  “Tu aimes le chocolat?”

“When only six of the original eighteen students finished the German immersion class, the university response was predictable: the German program was cut.”

Jayden glared out from under his hoodie. “Bruh,” he grunted. Several students snickered.

Madame B. tried again, grinning like a fool. She made more heart and thumbs up gestures. “Jayden, j’aime le chocolat!” She held up the chocolate bar. “Tu aimes le chocolat?”

The kids started to get restless. “HE DOESN’T KNOW WHAT YOU’RE SAYING!” Aniya shouted from the back. The students guffawed.

Kevin raised his hand. “Oui, Kevin?” Madame B. acknowledged him.

Kevin smirked and asked, “What’s that zit on your face?” The class burst out laughing. 

5 minutes into the first day and the students were already expressing outright disdain for the class, for the lesson, and for Madame B. as an authority figure. 

Not one student was interested in sharing their opinion on chocolate. 

Each of these sad stories is true (with changes in names and details to maintain anonymity). 8th grade Michael grew up to become my husband. As an adult, thanks to teaching that met his needs, Mike achieved intermediate French proficiency and lived for 3 years in French speaking countries. The stories about Madame A. and Lucas were related to me by close colleagues, and unfortunately do not have happy endings. Madame B’s story is autobiographical and repeats itself every time I try using 90% French before I establish relationships and earn credibility with the challenging students in my school. 

For years I tied myself in knots over 90% target language use, ashamed and doubting my abilities even as my program grew and my students achieved proficiency and love for language learning.

Like many of my students, I really tried. 90% just didn’t work for me.

Of course, this problem has a solution. But, you will have to wait for my next blog post to read about it.