I wouldn’t say that I’m against the concept of children as a rule, in fact, I often find myself grinning at passing ankle-biters in the street (like the one that was being walked by his father on a leash as he chased pigeons in the piazza the other day… comedy gold!). However, teaching children of a range of ages has helped me hone my philosophy about children and, more specifically, my interaction with them. Basically, I have a mental scale of affection for kids ranging from a 10 (“The cold hard cockles of my heart are gooey and warm”) to a 1 (“I am so horrified by these creatures that I am two seconds away from MacGuyver-style self-tube-tying with whatever implements are on hand”). This week has been, shall we say, on the colder cockles end.
The Monday bimbi (DevilBimbi) were in RARE form- even by their admirably bad standards. This is a group who, on a good day, can put me at a 8-9 on my scale. Our most recent lesson, however, made me think that Skinner boxes were a fine place for humanity to grow up until the age of, say, 20. There was throwing of erasers and pencils (sharp! bad!). There was standing on furniture (danger! and a non-count noun!). They made me break out not one, not two, but THREE of those hackneyed old teacher phrases that you always rolled your eyes at when they were directed at you ( 1) Seriously, how old ARE you? 2) I am counting to five… 3) If you do not want to be here to learn, you can walk out that door right this instant. I am going to teach this material and if you cannot stop distracting the students who want to learn you can spend the rest of class in the office.) Guess who finished class 10 minutes early on Monday?
The Tuesday kids (Soul-Sucking Teenagers) weren’t terribly bad- there were only two, (but more on their attendance later) but apparently a new student is being added. She is a) 2 years older than the oldest student in the class, b) apparently has severe dyslexia c) has apparently failed out of a year of school. Ok, a challenge, but I can totally work with that as long as she doesn’t throw things. One girl who was present yesterday is actually OK at the grammar… she’s a little shy, but usually gets the answers right when it’s her turn. The other girl is the one who gives me a “you are making up this language and are you freaking kidding me with this shit?” look when I ask such questions as “How are you?” Part of that is the fact that they are 15 (the world and all of its angst is heavy on their little shoulders), and part of it is the fact that it’s Tuesday afternoon, they’ve been in school all day, and they didn’t sign up for this. Which brings me to student 3… let’s call her Skipper (not very Italian, but apt).
The school has a general policy that, after a student misses a couple classes in a row, you need to call them and see what’s up. Now, I don’t always do this with my adult students because they are grown ups and they have other things in their lives. This is also seldom an issue with the kids, mostly because we only meet once a week, so if they are sick or on holiday, they generally return after a couple absences, no harm, no foul. Now our good friend Skipper started vanishing around the Christmas holiday… it’s a generally crazy time, we canceled a class, and the ItalianDeathFlu was starting to circulate, so I leave it be. She does not return after the holiday and I think maybe she’s dropped the class. Let’s flash forward to this morning when my phone rings at 10:00. This is one of my few sleep-in days, so I don’t answer it (I have learned the hard way that answering calls from the school in the morning generally result in accepting unwanted tasks). The phone rings again at noon, and this time I answer it to hear Francesca tell me that “we have a very big problem with your student, Skipper.” It takes me a moment to rattle through my students to realize who this kid is. Then came that horrible “brick in my belly” feeling and I know I am in for a hard core scolding. It turns out our friend Skipper had NOT, in fact, dropped the course/ moved to Berundi/ come down with mono but was skipping the classes. We know this because her mother who, presumably checking up on everything after discovering the sneakiness of the fruit of her loins, called the school who looked at my register and found that it had been a while since little Skipper had darkened our door. Welllll crap- I’ve dropped the ball and I know it. So we end the call with my being told that this is a problem and that we will need to talk about this further… after which I spend my afternoon anticipating what I am sure will be my imminent termination.
Our story has a happy ending, despite my afternoon of self-flagellation and theraputic dish washing. When I went in to the office (after soothing words of wisdom from Tamami, as well as a coffee), Nicoletta and Eric were there and they didn’t so much as scold as re-remind me about the error of my ways and inform me that Skipper and I are going to have 4 private lessons to make up for her truancy. Between you and me, Skipper has a dark future of English grammar ahead of her…
I finished the day with what I like to call my “hours of angst,” my advanced teenagers followed by my private lesson with the 16 year old girl. They were ok, a little un-responsive, but I managed to get a couple chuckles out of them, so I’ll chalk that one into the victory column.
Tomorrow is Thursday, and while that means a particularly nasty and early morning, it also means no students under the age of 22. If that isn’t relief, I don’t know what is. Of course, Friday is the day of the 8 year olds- another group of kids who can be absolutely adorable, but can also make me think that, even though children are the future, why must they be bad in my present?
On an utterly unrelated note, Anna and I got cheap Chinese take out from the restaurant around the corner and it was deliciously and sublimely good. It’s the little things in life, no?
