On attempting to give up

I just gave up. It's the last class before swimming and home, after the after-lunch snoozy time, and the homeroom teacher does precious little for control or discipline in a class populated by kids whose fidgety screaming and obsessive jitters and yammering while hopping over the rows of desks would have them medicated out of an American classroom.

And here's me, the font of histrionic educational pyrotechnics.

The guys in the back left were not going to put down the guitar, and the guy keeping rhythm--using a desk, the wall, a ruler, his right fingers and elbow, left elbow with the ruler, and both his feet, simultaneously (where was this kid when I was in jazz band?)--would have an easier time stopping his heart than his noisemaking jitters. In the back right, they were playing with dice or coins. A large handful in the middle--the generally good kids who could go either way--were braiding each other's hair or coloring. The ones who get it were doing homework from other classes. But the biggest group was sitting in the breezeway outside the classroom.

Here's me, standing in front of a classroom while gyrating and making strange noises, trying to yell over the students and elicit any sign of awareness or participation, and of the 60 students, six are playing jam band, eight are gambling, a dozen are yammering over the background noise I'm creating, three are taking notes while doing homework, and the rest are in the breezeway.

I give up.

I wrote a model of what will be on the test, circulated the groups saying, "copy" to disinterested or blankly incomprehending faces and went to sit on the breezeway.

The class immediately filled up with the guys who wanted to be cool but are too afraid to mouth off directly in front of the teacher, the girls who get REALLY involved in doing each other's hair, and those who gravitate to such persons.

Within a minute, I was in the middle of a flock of the kids who really want to learn, going in circles with, "Teacher, what your name?" "Teacher, where you from?" "Teacher, how old?" "Teacher, teacher, my name is? My name is?" "Where come you, you, where? Where?"

It took about five minutes to get old, and when it did, they pulled me into the classroom.

"Teacher, copy?"

Yes.

The jam session had grown and I risked taking a lap to say, "Copy, copy, this will be on your test. Where's your notebook? Notebook. Notebook out. Copy."

It's a risk because there's not enough room to walk between desks, just to slide them aside and squeeze. While so engaged, one is quite vulnerable to pokes, jabs, and projectiles. Fortunately, I got only, "okey, okey, okey," and motions toward notebooks.

I tried to convene class, but the wild rumpus was in full swing.

"Teacher, swimming? Swimming?" a front-row girl asked with accompanying mimes.

"You want to go swimming?"

"Yes, swimming, swimming!"

"Okay. Go. Just go."

I sat at the desk while students filed out, until the drummers and dicers were the only ones left. I pulled out Speedy to shoot off a post about absolute failure, but I was interrupted by the lead singer/dancer.

He and his groupies had the desk surrounded. Flashbacks of middle school, but instead of being embarrassed in front of other students--are they going to throw me in the trash can or a locker? How long will it take to get out, and what will I bring with me or leave behind in the process?--it was the possibility of having to face the class again next week after stories circulated about how easy it was to get "it" so far over ajarn farang. What will they do to taunt me? How?

"Teacher. Englit. Teacher. Talk Englit."

"Know, know!"

"Teacher know Englit!"

"I know Englit, teacher!"

They were all pointing at the board, pointing at me, miming writing on their hands.

"Teacher, you teach!"

Huh?

I egged it for a minute.

So here I am in a classroom that feels empty with only a dozen kids--20% of the normal population, but about as densely populated as the average college class--and they're the kids who've drilled the specific intonation of the Thai pronunciation of "HARRY POTTER!" and the pitch of drummed-on desks into my nightmares, now asking me to teach them.

We had one of the best lessons I've had in Thailand.

In twenty minutes, we covered material that normally fills two weeks.

They took notes without being told.

This is Thailand. Were it not for the autonomous nervous system, Thai people would fall like monsoon rain without being told to keep blood pumping and air circulating.

Really, every time I fill the board with notes, I have to say, "Notebooks out. Copy!" In the English Programme, they were proud of the control: unless explicitly instructed otherwise, the students will sit and stare at the wall until they fall into chatter. But they will not take notes, not answer questions, not volunteer information, not move to retain information unless explicitly instructed.

And these kids all took notes.

Um.

Wait, where am I?

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