As I said I had not yet received my work schedule. I assumed that there would be no work on this particular day, but surely enough I was told (only 2h before I had to teach) that I had to be at certain location and that we would be teaching about Christmas. I had no idea what to expect. I got ready and headed off to my lesson. I met my new teaching assistant and after introductions, I followed her up to the classroom. On the way up I had an indication of what was to come. Screaming children littering the hallways ran around, frothing at the mouths with excitement, pulling hair, crying, picking noses and general lunacy. I wondered what I had gotten myself into. I took off my shoes and entered the classroom, nervously following my assistant. I was confronted by about 40 three to five year olds, all pointing at me and laughing at the ogre that they think westerners are. I am medium to tall for a westerner but in this country I am a giant. I apprehensively wave hello as my teaching assistant places a microphone on my head. She looks at me and says “ok” signalling me to start my lesson. It suddenly dawned on me that I was not used to interacting with western children, never mind these lunatics. I surveyed the class noticing the peppercorn teeth and pondered their dental hygiene. It was then that I became aware of the child with Progeria (an extremely rare genetic disease wherein symptoms resembling aspects of aging are manifested at an early age). He was a strange looking kid. He had an enlarged head with very few hairs on it and a tiny, thin frame. I was snapped out of my daze by my teaching assistant who sensed my distress and started the warm up. I told her that I would follow her example for this lesson so that I could learn the ropes. It was then that a child stood up, shouted something and began tipping his peers off their chairs. I looked over to my assistant as if to say “what gives?” and she replied “don’t worry he autistic”. We ignored him and went on with the lesson which involved us shouting phrases such as “Merry Christmas!” and “snowman” to the kids. They would then in turn scream the same phrases back at us. “Easy enough” I thought but they soon became bored of that, it became evident as the child with Progeria began whipping his penis out and scaring the girls with it. We paid him no attention and instead thought of games to keep the children amused. The teaching assistant placed a water bottle on the floor and the students were told to kick it. In my opinion it did not constitute much of a game but the kids loved it. When they grew tired of that the assistant played a euro-trash-house-music remix of the old classic “Merry Christmas”. I was definitely not prepared for this. The song started and I took cover as the children leapt from their seats, thrashing around as one would do at a rock concert. It was pure carnage, children were being trampled and the assistant didn’t seem to mind. She was too focused on her version of dancing. She bobbed her head and rotated her hands in a window washing motion, all while skipping along to the beat. She gestured for me to join her in her dance and I complied. With eyes wide as saucers and sweat dripping from my brow, I skipped along, mimicking her. “No one that I know can ever see me like this” I thought. And with that it was over. I had survived my first lesson. Now, I only had four more to go until I could head home. I got the hang of it by the end of the day. It was, after all, quite easy. I got home and laughed with Ilrok, sharing the experiences of my first day. I now felt confident and quite pleased with all I had accomplished in such a short time in Vietnam.