attrition

My school maintains its academic and behavioral standards in part by kicking kids out. Usually the other kids tell me when I'm taking attendance using my popsicle sticks with the names on them--leading to the dramatic moment where I take a student's popsicle stick, break it half and toss it in the trash--but sometimes Oscar remembers to tell me.

"Hey, you teach 1-G, right?"

"Yep."

"Well, two students are gone. Valero--"

"Ah, Marcelo..."

"And Pizarro."

"Karina?" (I have no idea if Karina is in 1-G.)

"No, Samuel." Oscar draws his finger across his throat. "Gone! Bad."

"Aw, but they were getting better with me."

But Oscar is already leaving the room. "Well, good."

They were problematic. I wonder if Samuel saw this coming: instead of his usual dark countenance, he's been open-faced and smiling the past couple weeks.

It's five weeks before the end of the school year. I wonder what happens to them.

finding a suitable carrot

Not intentionally. But I'd been considering what to do with 1-G, now that they've acquired The Fear[tm] and become more manageable. They're the last class on Monday, when they don't want to be there, and frankly I'm not thrilled about it either, if I'm just going to spend an hour trying to keep them acting like human beings.

At the beginning of class, I told them, "Okay, if you guys concentrate and work for a bit, we can all go home early."

There was much rejoicing, and Nicolas asked, "If we behave, how soon can we leave?".

"Hmm...forty-five minutes, maybe forty."

There was a little bit of grumbling until Nicolas did the math and helped his classmates understand that forty-five minutes is significantly less than an hour, which produced nods of upbeat agreement.

They accomplished more in 35 minutes than they usually do in 60. We all got to go home early and they got to see an immediate positive consequence for cooperation. I think they had an assumption that we were going to spend the whole hour regardless of what happened, and changing that opened up new possibilities for them. They were still Chilean schoolkids, but they stepped up to being only as much of a pain as my other classes.

Here's to more short classes in the future.

random teaching notes

It wouldn't be Chile without the arbitrary cancellation of several classes per week, and we're on track so far: I lost 1 yesterday (out of 4), and 1 today (out of 2).

I kicked Jorge out of 1-B today, since I'm still in a mood from 1-G the past couple weeks, and he went over my limits by showing up 10 minutes late for class and then messing with me by pretending not to understand things, essentially wasting everyone's time by abusing my commitment to helping him learn. He thought this was clever, until I booted him. His girlfriend Araceli seemed mad at me for the next half hour or so, but she finally lightened up, and I think she's just worried that her boyfriend can't get his act together and will get himself kicked out of their school (which does seem likely).

A couple weeks ago I spoke to the local group of Chilean English teachers and gave them an abridged rundown of what's wrong with English education here. (I started transcribing what I said for you, but that turned out to be boring and hard and I haven't finished.) One of our teachers, Jorge, was there, and he asked me to come say the same things to the English Department at our school. I found talking about the differences in textbooks to be a useful jumping-off point, so I'll do that again. (Chilean English texts are awful, even though the official Ministry of Education books are written by Americans. And the teachers report that these are much improved from past years.)

Marcela is sick, which means I could technically take tomorrow off, but that'd be lame, since I don't need her there in order for me to teach. The classes might end up being unavailable for whatever reason, but of course I won't know that until I've gotten up at the crack of dawn and gone into school at 7:30am. I'm glad she told me, though.

I'm noticing that with the possible (and unsurprising) exceptions of Monday's 1-G and Friday's 1-B, my kids are learning new vocabulary (and often a new question they can answer with the vocabulary) much faster than last term, and also getting a little twitchy with doing the same old exercises. I'm thinking we have enough rapport now, and they have enough of a comfortable English base, to venture into some kind of grammar-based sentence-constructing exercise, if I design it carefully and don't explain anything.

Explaining is the enemy of learning here. Doing, exploring, trying, discovering. These are good learning verbs.

the riot act

It was hard to smile today, knowing I had 1-G coming--you'll recall that last week didn't go well--but 1-J and 1-H deserve to have me treating them for who they are, and not what I have to deal with from their colleagues. 1-G's homeroom teacher told me he gave them an earful and they should behave better in the future, but I decided to continue on with my own plans. We only had 5 of the 6 targets today, but I made them stand up and said "We're going to do an exercise in communication."

So, you guys. Since the beginning, since I got here in April, I've been warning you about your behavior. It seems to me like I've treated you with respect [heads nod], and in return, you've taken my stuff, and last week you shut down the class, denying your classmates the chance to learn. So, no more warnings. Now, for you, this [motion to warning system on whiteboard] no longer exists. If you're causing problems, you're going to the Inspector. I've given you chances on chances. No more.

I almost tossed Bruno and Exequiel a minute later, but they (a) looked genuinely frightened, and (b) managed to convince me they were whispering briefly about what I'd said.

And the class got their first star of the semester! They were as good as they can be, which is still way less focused than my other classes. We'll see if it sticks. If they can keep it up--an open question, since Bruno in particular looked physically pained from the stress of controlling his behavior--I will happily throw them a party for being the most improved group.

discipline

Okay, finally somebody described discipline the way I wanted to:

Discipline is doing what we decided to do and not what we feel like doing.

Thanks, coderoom!

let's not do this again

Thursday went mostly okay. I booted Danilo from 1-A, and when he started arguing about it, I decided to experiment with shouting at him to leave, another moment of generated anger. While thoughts are completely insubstantial, and our biggest mistake is treating them like they're reality, they still leave traces in our minds, so shouting at Danilo, for lack of a better phrase, left a bad taste in my brain. Yoga helped that evening.

On Fridays I only have 1-B, and it's their last class of the week, and they're usually kind of a pill, and this week wasn't an exception. In a new twist, in addition to the class at large being uncooperative, the three problematic girls pulled out a makeup kit--which I usually ignore, by way of choosing my battles, as long as they keep participating--and then suddenly two of them start moaning "Oh, I cut myself" with quite realistic-looking blood on their wrist and knuckle, respectively.

I brought Scarlett a tissue, which she clapped on the affected area. Javiera, however, wouldn't let me look at her knuckle, so it was obvious it was fake. I'd sort of had enough then, so I got their names and wrote them down in my notebook.

"Teacher, why'd you write our names down?"

"Well, you're hurt, so I should tell the Inspector so they can help you, right?

Dead silence (extremely satisfying) as they look down at their hands.

I kept going with class, and a couple minutes later told them, "If you guys want to stay after class for a few minutes, we can talk, ya?". Jessica started groaning, but Scarlett smacked her on the shoulder, nodded enthusiastically and said in English, "Yes! Yes!". On with class, though I was disappointed enough by the whole thing that like Tuesday, a couple of kids said, "Why does he look sad?".

Near the end of class while waiting for the bell, the three of them were learning from one of the more skilled students how to say "I'm sorry, teacher." It would have been cute if it was sincere.

From a director at Kensington, I learned to call this a "come-to-Jesus." They kept trying to jump to the conclusion that I wasn't going to report them, and they could go home; that's sort of repetitive, but imagine them constantly saying "Okay, so you're gonna erase my name?" and "Great, so we can go?", and me keeping them involved by declining to make a decision.

"Okay, what's up with you guys?"

"It was a joke, teacher."

"No, right now we're talking about why you guys are behaving with a lack of respect for me and for the class."

"It's our last class of the week and we want to go home. We get bored and we just do stuff."

"It's my last class too, but I manage to come here and teach."

Silence.

"Look, I'm having a bad month. It's hard to live in another country, far away from my girlfriend and my friends, and right now I don't have any patience. I know in my class I ask different things from you than your other classes, but it's been three months and you know what to do. Every class you guys are constantly chatting, and you, Scarlett, last week"--I didn't really have the right words, so I just made bitchy snarling noises--"I tried to talk to you about it, and you weren't interested. Do you guys feel like I treat you with a lack of respect?"

"No! Not at all."

"Then maybe you can act like it. Think you guys can improve?"

"Yes, absolutely."

Reflective pause while I think.

"Okay. I'm not going to report you this time. But we'll see how the month goes. Okay?"

"Okay."

I'm free to drop the hammer on them whenever I want, without needing a single dramatic incident as a reason, so it felt like a good way to handle it.

Also learned: much like "That's what she said," the phrase "I don't need this" means nothing in Spanish.

anger

When Field Director Allyson observed my class last month, she recommended that I crack down on the discipline a bit, pointing out that I'm nice and patient and all, but that the class as a whole would be better served, and I would have an easier time, if the disruptive kids got a smackdown. I started the next day, and it's been a good change, but there's been an element missing in the conversation, where I haven't been able to clearly communicate how seriously I'm taking the situation. Part of this is my habit of treating people with kindness and patience, but in challenging situations, I'm also really good about communicating clearly, using...words. My normal methods of conflict resolution are a bit too subtle when dealing with young teenagers across language and cultural barriers.

Also, it's not really conflict resolution, because I'm in charge and they're disrupting the class in ways they know cause problems: they're smart kids, and every week I write their names on the board to warn them that they're on their way to getting sent to the Inspectors.

Two weekends ago I was looking ahead at the students I was most likely to kick out of class (having exhausted my considerable patience), and just imagining what that looked like. What's the expression on my face? What do I do with my voice? How do I deliver the message that will cut off the inevitable whining and trying to negotiate?

Well, I could get angry, just for a moment, and let it come through my face and voice and body, and then let it go. Right?

I don't feel like I've made a deep study of anger like my teacher has, because I spent my time on the weak end of the spectrum, with occasional irritation, annoyance, and frustration, so normally I just notice how I feel, look at why I feel that way, let it go, and move. The flashes of powerful emotion most of us associate with anger are rare for me; and to express it with a raised voice rarer still, and physical aggression from me, nearly unknown.

(I came close early this year with an aikido friend who was way out of bounds during training, and then last year at Chillits. I don't want to sound like a saint: though my actions are pretty well-considered, I have of plenty of stuff I deal with internally. But anger isn't usually my big problem.)

Using anger on purpose, to teach or communicate, is like starting your barbecue with a lot of gasoline: yes, it can work, but you need to know exactly what you're doing and why, and even then, your food might taste kinda funny.

You have to pay close attention to what's happening in your audience, which I knew...but you have to pay close attention to what's happening in you, which came as a surprise.

Anger, it turns out, is a little sticky, and leaves a residue, like peeling off duct tape. Our minds, our sense of self, the buffers between ourselves and direct perception of the world, are made up of patterns of thought. Generally we develop those patterns unconsciously, but with practice, we can start...messing with who we are. With awareness and attention, we can change our patterns of thought. I can remind myself that other people have a lot of stuff going on, and I should be gentle and open with them, instead of making up some story about their motivations and reacting to my own story. Every time I make that choice, my habit of being gentle gets a little stronger.

Every time I make a choice to display anger, my habit of feeling angry gets a little stronger. This is especially noticeable, and unpleasant, because I don't have a big habit of feeling angry.

Hmmmmmm.

resistance and discipline

I woke up this morning, at whatever unholy hour I usually wake up because of the dogs here barking at unauthorized cats, or in solidarity with the dogs barking in the surrounding square mile--usually 3-4am. On a good night, they don't bark right outside my window.

My mid-sleep mental state is usually pretty mellow, but today I was experiencing my resistance to teaching. I wasn't satisfied with the lesson I've been running all week, but then there's just...resistance. So I was angsting, and scared, and nervous. And practicing. I'd get anxious. I'd see the anxiety, laugh because it's the same performance anxiety I've always experienced, and pinch it off at the root and let it float away. Every time I'm faced with the risks of performing somehow, I feel this: with all my singing, with aikido tests, but even more so when I acted, because I don't reliably remember lines, and with acting, it's all me. I'm right there, the thing that people are staring at, it's my turn to carry the thread of the performance all by myself and holy crap.

But I push through it, and I get up and do what I'm doing, and (now, at least, after years of growing up and aikido and Zen practice) I'm very present in what I do, and it goes well.

I find this duality-of-mind fascinating. I've been trying for months to write an essay on discipline, unsuccessfully, because I have trouble articulating what discipline actually means in practical terms. The reality of it is that on one level, I often don't want to go to aikido class, or sit zazen in the morning, or whatever; and then, most often, I do it anyway, because...why, exactly? The reasons have varied over time, and in my reasons I don't find any thread of continuity to excuse my eccentric behavior of spending 3 years sitting relatively still every morning for 40 minutes, or 7 years of doing aikido 3-4 times per week.

Except, maybe, there's sort of a direction. Not an ideal, not a target self-image, not a target self, but an...impulse, a motion, an attraction like gravity. I intuitively sense a pattern of how I want to be in the world, how I want to move and intersect with everyone else's lives, how I want to relate to other people, what I want to be able to do to respond to their needs, and my own.

I think discipline is to set aside the most transient of our desires and insecurities, our daily contortions to seek pleasant things and avoid unpleasant things, to work for the growth of something bigger, something we feel is important than our moment-to-moment comfort. When we learn we can do that for something deeply important to us, we learn we can do it for anything we choose: we discover our power to make choices and steer ourselves, despite our habits of mind telling us to stay on the couch and eat an entire bag of Trader Joe's Cheese Crunchies.

(Shut UP.)

I don't know. What do you think? What does discipline mean to you?