On intent

In general, I would characterize myself as fairly slow to anger.  

Granted, I peeve and ruffle easily, but I like to think it takes a lot before I show it, especially in classroom environments.  I'll also say that I strive toward interpersonal lovingkindness and patience and acceptance.  

So I practice reminding myself that the M1 kids need mainly sympathy and understanding.  

I realize that, to a thirteen year-old Thai boy who's accustomed to sitting in the back of the class and trying to find ways to disappear or mouth off without getting beat, a skinny foreign teacher yelling out nonsensical gibberish while clapping is easy to take lightly, especially as that foreigner is about the only person in his life who won't beat him with a bamboo cane.  

From my perspective, I'm trying to get past the drunkardly recitation or repetition; the ambient tempo of Thai students reading off the board or repeating a verbal prompt makes a lurching drunk's "No, occifer... I am... NOT... punk... in... in... drublic" seem articulatedly staccato.  

So, capitalizing on the predilection to set up a desktop groove, I get the beat going and chant modulating rhythms--once we can say, "what is your name?" it turns into "what/ is/ yourname" and "what/ isyour/ name" and "whatis/ your/ name."  Then, when we practice on each other, the cadence is somewhat less unnatural.  

In the meantime, even the students who don't want to talk are involved in keeping up the cadence.  

And then there's the gem who's shouting "JACKOFF" at every breath, and starting up an alternate cadence of bawdy lyrics.  Which of course kicks off the back row or three to join him, and pretty soon the six kids who are really trying are saying, "Teacher, tell them QUIET!"  

Deep breath.  

Go back and shush with the teacher look.  

Yeah, what was that about exercises in futility?

In some cases, I can understand these kids: they're bored and looking to get a laugh.

Like the guys sitting outside the door, laughing and chanting and disappearing when I wave them in.  

Deep breath, try again.  Class gets rolling again and I set up question-answer cadences: "What/ isyour/ name?"  I write an example on the board to demonstrate, and the class chants it back.  It takes a few minutes to get across, "No, this is MY name, you say YOUR name," but eventually we get to "Myname/ is/ Bam!"  And first it's shouts of "PAPAYA BOK-BOK," which some of the kids called me last year.  Then it's a laugh-inducing Thai song.  Then it's "JACKOFF JACKOFF!"  And all but six kids are gone.  Again.  

So they're instructed to step outside of the classroom.  

Deep breath, try again.

Three minutes later, they're standing in the doorway, chanting bawdy lyrics.  

The class is gone.  

It will not come back.  

Deep breath.  Call the kids in.  Have them write their names and numbers in my lesson book.  They must sit on the floor in the front of the class, on the floor under the whiteboard.  

Half the class starts up the bawdy chant--from what I can understand, it's the equivalent of "There once was a man from Nantucket...."--at the same time kids start running behind me and ruffling my hair without touching my head.  

Deep breath.  

"If anyone wants to learn English, I'll be outside."  

Here's what burns me: the first round was the worst group of kids trying to get me to scratch out their names and numbers.  

The second group was the kids who wanted to learn saying, "Goodbye, teacher!"  

The third group was the peripheral kids who were too image conscious to enjoy the lesson but still payed enough attention to get the idea.  We had a decent interaction for a couple of minutes.  

And then the back row of kids who destroyed any patience or understanding I had for them comes laughing past, and the loudest little jackhole shouts, "WHAT MY NAME IS! WHAT MY NAME IS! TEACHER WHAT MY NAME IS!" (local parlance for "what is your name" from those who don't know that much English) at me.  

This is when I have to close my eyes and focus on the air moving in and out of my nostrils.  And as soon as there's room for outside thoughts, I'm grateful for not having a bamboo stick like the Thai teachers, because I would use it exuberantly.  

And now I pretend to think the world wouldn't be a better place for it.  

Yet somehow, when a G4 student comes up and says, in a mix of Thai and English, "Teacher like to play swimming at the home, right?" it's a warm fuzzy.  

How is that?