Teaching #2

In this life of teaching, there have been quite a few adventures without even leaving the classroom. Teaching is fraught with successes and failures, and just down-right funny tales worthy of taking note. Here I will try to impart some of the funnier of the experiences and make note of the few successes I have had along the way.

I am not going to lie, there are those mornings where I roll out of bed at 6 am and the first thing on my mind is “I really don’t want to teach today.” But I get ready and make the trudge through the dust and exhaust fumes to school, sign-in in the teacher’s lounge, wait for the bell to ring, then gather my books and papers and make my entry into the classroom. At the beginning, I had no idea what situation I would enter upon. But now, having taught for 8 weeks now, I have come to see the pattern of students behaviour in correlation to time of day. So here’s the breakdown.

8am: the students are silent and solemn. They’ll take anything you give them, but don’t expect them to be as excited about verb tenses as you feign to be.

9am: “Miss, please, just stop talking! I can’t focus for one more minute!”

10am: the students are in a state of minor chaos, for they have just made a mad rush for the snack shop and back. Sugar, salt, and carbonation are flowing through their bloodstreams, and they are ready for anything you have to give them.

11am: The students’ only thought is of lunch time. They need a bathroom; they need substance, and they have no interest in any poet you have to offer them.

12pm: This is one of the toughest hours to teach. The students are either severely hyper or lost in a food coma. They range from crazy/chatty/hyper to slumped over their chair and unresponsive. I only teach this period once and it is the Friday afternoon. I plan at least 30 minutes in my 2 hour class for saying the words “Girls!! We NEED to be quiet! We have to get our lesson completed!” or “No, we can’t go outside, we have to get our book read!”

1pm: This is siesta time. The blood has all moved from their brains and the heat of the day inhibits any greater response than the blank gaze, pleas for the bathroom, and the doodle.

2pm: Last period of the day. Absolutely the toughest period to teach. The student does not want to be there, you don’t want to be there, and its just a steady crawl to the finish. You are split between wanting to get through the lecture and just giving the free period.

If, perhaps, you walk into a classroom with the intention of administering a test, absolute panic awaits you. You barricade yourself from the questions such as “The test is today?” or “Miss, is it hard?” “Can you give us real quick, or I will forget now??”

“Settle down, pens out, books on the floor, lets get ready to go!”

“Hay, miss!?!”

“Sooner you do this, sooner we can get our tests…”

“Hay, miss…”

“I’m serious, now. Bags and notebooks on the floor!”

It would almost be worth never giving an exam, just so you don’t have to have this conversation. Unfortunately, I give at least 3 quizzes a week, so this becomes almost an everyday occurrence.

Daily class can range from calm to unpredictable. Some days, all the pieces can come together. The lesson is well-planned and you enter a class of eager and sweet students excited to learn and be with you. This is a rare occurrence. Then there are the days where the students are utterly out of control. Talking, walking around, ignoring every plea for silence and attention. They have even gone so far to moving people and desks around during the middle of my riveting discussion of Trinitarian doctrine. And then there are those moments where I simply have to stand up there and yell at the top of my lungs, threaten jugs and demerits, and then count to ten before I explode. But those, too, are rare days.

Most days are a healthy balance of both. I will enter, give the girls some time to settle down, listen to excuses about why the homework is not on my desk. These range from the understandable to the ridiculous.

“I was at my mom’s and then at my dad’s and it got lost in between”

“My other teachers made me work on their work instead…”

“My social studies teacher stole my notebook”

“Hay, miss, can I just rewrite it?”

And then I begin my lecture about verbs. We review. I ask them to remember about irregular verbs. Why are they called ‘irregular?’ Silence. Utter silence. It is only then that they do not speak. Most instances I am begging for silence and attention. We are at a standoff. Either I will break down and tell the answer, or they will break down and look in their notes. The clock ticks. A tumbleweed rolls by. I stare them down one-by-one with the hopes that someone is courageous enough to answer.

Finally, a girl takes a guess…

“An irregular verb is not normal”

“Good! And why is it not normal?”

Silence. What have I been doing in class? Talking to a wall? Eventually the answer comes, but it could not have been more of a battle. Then comes the battle of the chatty teenage girl. No matter how interesting your lecture might be, the conversations they are having about the cute boys or the latest novellas are much more interesting, and much more important. As I write notes on the board, I am constantly hearing the low muffled chatter. I turn around. I give the stink-eye. They finally notice. The mumble quickly hush.

“Do you have any questions about the lecture?’

“No, Miss”

“Any thing interesting to share with the rest of the class?”

“No, Miss…”

The lecture continues. And such is a typical class day.

Despite the apparent frustrations, teaching does have its many oddly-shaped rewards. One class, after having lectured on Marian apparitions for two hours straight, I looked down to see one of my students creating quite the masterpiece, with no attempt to hide the work from me.

“Is my lecture really that boring?” I asked

“No, but I’m just….so….bored!” was the sheepish reply.

I feigned hurt and threatened detention, but on the inside I was reeling with memories of my own doodling masterpieces. Near the end of the day, the student came to the door of the teacher’s lounge and called me over to the door (The students are not supposed to enter the teacher’s lounge. It is our sanctuary, you know). I came over, and with the same sheepish smile, I was presented with the masterpiece, now personalized with my name upon the design. Though I realized that this was created in the midst of a lecture I had spent hours preparing, I was still grateful for the gesture. The art now hangs at my desk to remind me that sometimes the important thing is to just be patient and let things slide a little. A little understanding and empathy go a long way.

Recently, a family member asked me if I enjoyed teaching. And honestly, I’m not sure. Grading, lesson plans, detentions, lectures, homework assignments, and chalk-dust hands do not excite me as they might do other people. But learning about my students, seeing a girl’s face light up when you recognize her improvement, watching students turn tables into arks, and talking about favorite foods and making poems about them? That is something worth waking up at 6am for.