English Camp

Between the recent Mud Festival excursion and our upcoming stateside visit, I am required by my school to teach two days and two weeks of English language summer camp for third and fifth grade students. Tomorrow will be my last day of seven teaching two separate 90 minute classes of 16 third graders. Fifth grade is next week.

Sometime in the last month or so, I came to the realization that I don't mind being disciplined about the few things I am passionate about. Teaching Korean kids to say, "I like chicken" is not a passion. Don't get me wrong, the kids, especially the third graders, are quite cute, and it can be rewarding to see them improve their language skills as the year progresses, but I just don't have the desire or the energy to play the role of full time babysitter and disciplinarian. Unlike Korean middle and high school students who have grown zombified by an absurd number of daily study hours and incessant societal pressure to excel academically, the elementary students buzz around like coked out squirrels fighting over the last nut.

The first few days of camp were a nightmare with me constantly reminding the students of my three simple, yet painfully foreign rules:

Rule #1: No fighting, punching or touching (yes, I know the latter encompasses the former two, but in a culture where a boy will think nothing of swinging a balled fist into a female classmate's head, I feel they should be singled out).

Rule #2: Raise your hand if you want to speak.

Rule #3: Only speak in English.

I used a variety of tactics intended to restore order and assert my dominance. First, I tried the silent method where in the middle of teaching, I stopped talking until it became absolutely quiet. The effectiveness of this method is entirely contingent on one or a handful of well-behaved students who get the message early and relay it to the hooligans. For the most part, the silent technique worked, but every now and then, I had to break out into the "HEY! yell and death stare." The "HEY! yell and death stare" works extremely well paired with a finger point and clenched jaw.

One time, a boy flipped off another student, and I made a point of teaching everyone that "the bird" is not an acceptable gesture by taking him into the hallway and scolding him in private before shutting the door and leaving him outside. Of course, having never been subjected to that particular form of punishment, the boy pulled open the wooden sliding door and peered in on the class with befuddled eyes.

I am happy to report that my students' behavior has improved immensely each day and as a result, I have actually started to enjoy the experience. Of course, this doesn't mean that the days pass completely without incident. Today, during the ten minute morning break, I learned that a student made a number two on the floor of the boys' restroom. I was made aware of the number two by my best 3rd grade student, whose English name is Eric. Although Eric's English proficiency rivals that of any of my 5th grade students, I was not used to this type of conversation and it made for an understandably awkward exchange.

Eric: Joe, some poop in the men's bathroom.

Me: What?

Eric: Some poop.

Me: There is food in the bathroom?

Eric: No.

It was at this point that Eric surrendered on the idea of verbal explanation. He squatted down, flapped his tongue trough pursed lips and made the universal stinky gesture consisting of a waved hand in front of the nose.

Better informed, I walked outside and was immediately snapped back by the stench marinating in the jungle-like humidity of the hallway.

Being an ESL teacher does have its occasional advantages, chiefly, the opportunity to plead ignorance. In a normal situation, I may have to inform a superior of the heinous act committed on the floor of the boys' bathroom. I could have to scold all of the boys in the class and tell them how disgusting they are, all the while killing myself by holding back laughter. Worst of all, I may be forced to find supplies and clean the mess up myself. No.

"Eric, go tell the Vice Principal," I said, and turned back into the odorless save haven of the air conditioned classroom.