I was teaching my largest class. It is filled with 14 early reading second grade students. I rule the class with constant testing, lots of repetition, and a large bombastic voice. I also issue detentions to anyone that rests their heads on the desk. Children fear me and call me a “tough teacher” and pine for the days they learned with my coworker, because he was much easier. I’m riding high on a power trip and all that. For all my power in the class, my lesson came to a standstill when a student decided he wanted to play with his glue stick.
The boy is one of the louder, more outgoing children. This is tough in a class that usually ranges in “Pre-flight airport” decible levels of noise when we start reading. While I was at the board writing something, he started using his glue stick on the pages we were studying. He completely caked his pages in glue.
When the class had finished reading, everyone else moved on to the next page in the book and took out their pencils. His neighbor said, “Teacher, Teacher, he can’t turn his page. It’ll stick together!”
This is when I was informed of the situation. The boy was just smacking his hand down on the glued page, and turning it with his sticking palm. Before the two pages were stuck together, he’d opening it back up. If he tried to do his work on the next page, he’d never be able to look at the previous pages, because they’d be glued tightly together.
I guess he thought he was getting out of homework, because if his pages are all stuck together, he wouldn’t be able to do his writing assignment. I like this student, and he’s generally a little noisy, but not very bad. However, with 14 tiny people to teach in a small classroom, there is no margin of error. All dumbass-ery must be crushed quickly and ruthlessly, because I can’t start two days a week screaming at little kids.
It just so happens that my director was walking by the classroom when I caught the boy with his hands stuck to the book and the paste everywhere. I grabbed the glue stick and told her what the boy had done. She came into the classroom and completely demolished the boy with a really entertaining bit of logic. This is the transcript of the Korean conversation they had:
“So, what did you do here? You glued your book together? Any reason for this?”
“No, it’s just fun.”
“Really? Fun? Are you playing? Is this a play room? Are you here for fun?”
“Yes, I’m just playing with my glue. It’s fun.”
My director got a glare in her eye, and she looked up to the boy’s classmates. If the students complain about me being tough, they absolutely tremble in fear at the thought of angering the director in any way. Her word is law in the school. Hell, I’m a little afraid of my director when she starts tearing into a student, and I’m not even in trouble. “Do you go a play room, or a study room, class?”
The rest of the class, anxious to witness what was about to come quickly answered in unison, “Study room.”
“So, They say you go to a study room. You say you go to a play room. I’ll explain the difference between a study room and a play room for the children that don’t understand. You think you come here to play? Do you know the difference between a study room and a play room?” she asked the boy.
“No.”
“In a play room, you can run around and do whatever you want. When you go to the bathroom, the person at the play room will even clean your butt for you. This is a study room. We’re here to study. Everyone in this class is here to study. We’re not here to play with glue, and when you go to the bathroom in my school, no one is going to clean YOUR butt for you. So now, do you understand what kind of room this is? Don’t play with glue. Study hard. Alright?!”
“Yes.”
At this point, I was laughing so hard I had to walk in the hallway for a little bit. It’s worth learning Korean to pick up on exchanges between students and faculty like this. This is probably one of my all time favorites
