My Arrival

Wednesday of last week (October 17) proved to be a very interesting day of teaching. First, I must say that I truly love all my classes and students. They are a lively group who I have genuinely taken an interest in, and I believe the feeling is mutual. However, one must remember that these are high school students. That begin said, here’s how my day went.

My first class of the day on Wednesday is two 40 minute periods of my largest class. Classes are labeled 10A, 10B, 10C, and 10D. I see 10D on Wednesdays for two periods back-to-back with a ten minute break in between. (Don’t ask about the schedule; I’m still trying to figure it out. But, I don’t see the same class at the same time throughout the week ….ever. Yeah, it’s complicated.)

This group, 10D, has 24 students. These are the students who have decided not to take science or math the remainder of their high school career. An interesting choice, as many students at TAC plan to go into math or science related fields: doctors, dentists, engineers.  Not 10D; these students are more interested in the arts. Yet, some of these students are not quite as interested in the arts; they are just looking for less work. So an interesting mix is born.

One particularly clever student has earned a seat right up front. His cleverness and sarcasm has proven his intelligence, yet he is still learning the fine balance of when to unleash his mouth and when to keep quiet. Needless-to-say, I asked him to stay after the bell to discuss his interruptions. He told me “No.” Never a wise decision, so I asked  him to meet me in the hallway. Again, “No.” I asked one more time for him to come to my office which is five steps away from where we are standing. “No.”

Referral. And he is not welcome in my class until we have a conversation. Life is all about choices.

I find the dean, explain the situation, write the referral, and the student spends time in the dean’s office for the next class period.  As class begins, students ask where their peer is; I ignore their questions, and we continue with the lesson as planned. (He and I have since talked and are again on good terms. Wise man.)

Fast forward to the last two lessons of the day – I have 10C for two 40 minute periods at the end of the day on Wednesday. Today, they are taking a vocabulary quiz in the first lesson and reviewing for their upcoming exam in the second lesson.

In typical Turkish fashion, 10C has had difficulty remaining quiet during a quiz. Last week I gave two students zeros for talking during the quiz. This apparently hasn't deterred the class as they continue to talk during the quiz. From what I can tell, the talking isn't about the quiz; it’s about borrowing lead, borrowing an eraser, asking about another assignment. Whatever the topic, the talking needs to stop.

In hopes of quieting them and teaching them a lesson, I keep them one minute into their break. I explain that we’ll be practicing being quiet. They are not happy. Neither am I. I want them to be quiet during a quiz. They begrudgingly pass the one minute of silence and head to their break a minute later than their peers.

It’s time to start the second lesson. I notice there is a bit of a difference as they come back from break. The 

bell rings. “Are there any questions over the poem?” I ask.

Silence.

“Really? Wow. This class is smarter than the other grade 10s. They told me this poem was harder than the last one. No questions?”

They stare at their papers.

“Good. I’m glad you are going to do so well on the exam.” I go around the room checking to see who has their poem. Most have not finished analyzing it. It is a difficult poem (William Blake’s “The Tiger”).

I can tell the silence is getting to some of them. They are starting to look to the student who has made the decision for the class not to talk to me. Dissension among the ranks.  I take full advantage of the opportunity.

“I’m so glad there are no questions as the exam is worth 100 points. It is by far the largest assignment we will have this grading period. You all are going to do so well.” I finish circulating, sit down at my desk, rifle through my notes. Wait.

One brave student raises her hand. “Yes?” I ask.

“Is the poem really only one stanza?”

“That is a great question! I wish I could answer it for you, but maybe your peers could help you.” All heads dart toward the one student. Murmurs have now become loud rumblings.  I wait.

“Oh, do you all need a minute? I’ll just step out into the hallway while you all talk.” I leave the classroom and shut the door. I time one minute on my watch.

My dean walks past. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah. Just doing a little teaching.”

He raises one eyebrow at me. Luckily the minute is over, and I must go back in the classroom before he can ask me anymore questions. I knock before I enter. Multiple students’ shouts can be heard. “Come in!” they yell.

“Any questions about the poem?” I cannot see the back wall as so many hands are in the air. Class resumes, and all students participate.

Yeah. I’ve arrived.

*Reading back through this post, I know it sounds boastful. But, I'm really proud of myself here as I should be. I was informed that I am the first foreign teacher to successfully handle a silent protest. Me: 1 Students 0.