Throwing it all out the window

As I’ve noted before, the school that I work at is intense. Where most hagwons sing songs in English and watch old episodes of Friends as part of their 45-minute classes, our kids sit through three-hour sessions twice a week, taking home piles of homework that they complete on paper, online and on the telephone. They read, write, memorize and regurgitate pages upon pages; while I can barely get it together to study my Korean in the eighteen hours a day I’m not working, my kids manage to complete not only the mounds of homework for our academy, but also their regular school’s requirements as well as the work for the five or six other academies most attend. Six days a week. So while I’m disappointed I caught one of my kid’s tossing his classmate’s pencil case out our seven-story window tonight, I can’t say that I’m surprised.

One of the features of our school is a round-the-clock video surveillance system that looks like it was installed by Cheney himself; there are motion sensitive cameras in every room, hall and closet that record both video and audio and save the footage for up to two weeks. Ostensibly this footage is for “training” purposes, but is more regularly used by our director on a near-daily basis to monitor the activity in our classroom and to ensure that we’re sufficiently motivated and following our school’s decree that we refrain from sitting during class time. This system is also utilized by parents who wish to see their student’s performance, or in case of any behavior dispute that may arise. You know, like throwing something out a window.

My school works on a thirteen-week term, and as we just began the Winter term, two weeks ago I was given a whole new crop of kids and classes. Now a slightly more seasoned teacher, I was excited to introduce myself to a new set of terrified faces and thought that I had seen most of what I would deal with for the rest of the year. Until I met Rob.

At ten years old, Rob is probably one of the smartest students in the school. Generally a happy kid, I was initially impressed by his willingness to answer questions without prompting on the first day of class. While most of my kids stared wearily at this new, bald adult that would bring them nothing but more work, Rob was happily rattling off his family history during our initial ice-breaking game. It wasn’t until the third hour of class that I realized his problem was not in speaking, but rather in not speaking. Every twelve seconds his little hand would shoot in the air – a gesture that turned out to be a mere formality because it didn’t matter if his hand was up in the air or up his nose, the kid could not stop talking.

Teacher! I think I know that the answer is, um, B. Or is it C? At first I thought it was A, but then what I starting thinking is that if Robinson Crusoe wanted to be a carpenter, he wouldn’t have been on that ship. What’s a carpenter? Is this story real? When’s your birthday? How old are you? Are we going to have an ice cream party? My favorite ice cream is chocolate. But I don’t like chocolate bars. I do like socks. Have you ever seen an eagle?

Now, I love it when my kids speak English – I will gladly veer off topic if I can get a genuine classroom discussion going, just praying that the footage of a long-winded debate on whether or not Paris Hilton is a good person isn’t going to be watched as part of my monthly review by our Head Instructor (Good class overall – but why did you spend twenty minutes explaining the plot of The Simple Life?) But I’m pretty sure if Rob were in America, he would have a creative acronym attached to his student file. His body is constantly in motion and if he’s not talking, he’s drawing on his pants or turning his test into an ornate origami creation or loosening his shoes and attempting unsuccessfully to kick them up and over his desk which usually results in them halfway across the room and me having to do my best to reign him in.

The thing is, amidst the cyclone of activity the kid generates, he manages to get near perfect scores on all his tests and – for the most part – contain himself for the better half of three hours, which judging by the strained look on his face, I can tell is a Herculean effort. It’s for this reason that I don’t really come down too hard on him; I remember how difficult it was for me to focus when I was his age, and I only had to endure a fifth of the education he’s subjected to. It wasn’t until tonight that he forced me, reluctantly, to punish him.

Every hour we mercifully give the kids a five-minute break – a time that I use to either retreat to the teacher’s lounge and try to shove some food in my face, or stay in my classroom and play music while fielding questions about the state of my scalp. Again, I wish I were kidding, but to my kids the fact of my baldness is a never-ending topic of discussion.

Tonight, I opted for the teacher’s lounge on my last break and returned to the classroom after the bell rang to find Cookie, the one girl in a class of seven, asking the boys if they had seen her pencil case. Giggles ensued, partially because at the end of the last hour I had decided to begin adding “Monster” to the end of Cookie’s name, but mostly because it was now clear the boys had done something to the pencil case in question. Finally, a boy in the back informed her in Korean that her pencil case was outside. Unfortunately for them, this was the wrong day to attempt using Korean as a secret language – I had just learned the Korean word for "outside" this morning in class and could not have been prouder of myself for actually retaining my vocab lesson.

    Me: What do you mean it’s outside?
    Silence as the entire class stared at me, in awe of my sudden Korean.
    Me: Why is Cookie Monster’s pencil case outside?
    One boy: I didn’t touch it.
    Another boy: Me neither. I don’t know.
    Another boy: It was Rob.
    Me: Rob? Did you throw Cookie Monster’s pencil case out the window?
    Rob: WHAT? NO! ME? TEACHER NO! I SWEAR!

I had no idea who was telling the truth and didn’t want to place blame prematurely; for once I was grateful for our creepy surveillance system. Pointing up to the camera, I announced I would be reviewing the tape after class and whoever threw the pencil case out the window would be receiving a call home later that evening from our director. As most Korean mothers are beyond fanatical about their children’s education and behavior, this is the ultimate threat.

Hoping that there had to be some other explanation (a slacker student from another, lesser academy ran in during a break, came in and tossed Cookie’s pencil case out the window and then sprinted right back out? It could happen, right?) I reluctantly watched the video of the classroom emptying for the break, and then in awe as Rob returned one minute later, talking on his cell phone and walking directly to Cookie’s desk, seemingly on autopilot as he grabbed her pencil case and headed directly for the window at the back of the room. It’s at this point he could have escaped getting caught; but while Rob paused for a second before chucking it out the window, one of his classmates came in just in time to see him drop it, yelping in glee and excitedly running over to the window to watch it fall down seven stories and onto the street.

Watching my director make the call home to Rob’s mother after class, and hearing her response that this “would never happen again,” I couldn’t help but feel bad for the kid. Yes, I know that throwing things out windows is something that should probably be addressed, but how many times had I acted out like Rob as a kid – and how much more would I have acted out if my entire childhood was spent in a classroom? Moreover, I can’t imagine how much more trouble I would have gotten in if there had been cameras to catch it all on film, to be played and replayed by my teachers, principals and parents.

I’m still not sure how I’m going to handle the situation in class later this week – I don’t want to call too much attention to bad behavior, but at the same time I want everyone to understand what is acceptable in my classroom. Regardless, I’ve decided to slyly mention that as both the windows and the camera are located at the back of the room, there is one window directly underneath the camera that is just out of view of the lens. Does everyone know that the entire room, from HERE to HERE is on camera? Not this one window, but EVERYTHING ELSE? So ANYTHING in THIS area is on camera. And while I’m sure Rob will be busy shredding his seat or highlighting his forearm, the next time he wants to act his age, I bet he does it in the two square feet where I won’t be forced to have evidence.