Summer School Hell – Layer III – Realm Of The Parents Of Silence

I am really starting to believe that seven bags of pure, white sugar is a customary Japanese lunch for children under the age of seven. One bag of the sweet stuff for every year you’ve been on the planet. I mentioned on the first day of how parents, at least my dealings with them when it relates to having them interact or be part of a lesson, will be extremely silent and do very little, if anything at all, to help a teacher out should their child suddenly become possessed. Again, I was told this was customary as parents turn over all rearing obligations over to a teacher when they are present. In Canada you wouldn’t see this. I can certainly see my parents smacking me upside the head if I was in this situation. Steph, I’d imagine you’d step in if one of the younglings were tossing left jabs at some teacher testicles. Hell, we’d at least say something or make an attempt at control. No here. I think kids could pick up a chainsaw (standard classroom material, folks) and start running around the room swinging it about like Leatherface and still his parents would stare blankly forward as though the destruction wasn’t happening. There are some customs or ways of life in Japan I enjoy, a few I may even cart back home with me and incorporate into my own ideologies but this vow of parental silence in the presence of a Sensei. Let’s take today, for example. This is my second last class of the day, the 16th lesson in the marathon that is Summer School, and so far things have gone pretty well. I had been worried about my Goth Girls (more about them another day) and in the summer school dynamic things worked much better between them and I. There had not been any serious problems outside of that student not being picked up which was an after lesson issue. During the lessons things had progressed as they were supposed to and it appeared fun was being had by all. I know me, though. My luck couldn’t possibly be this good. A shoe was going to drop somewhere. I just didn’t expect three to drop at the same time.

The first two kids come in for the lesson, adorable and smiling at my bear costume antics and I get the vibe that this is going to be another group of smooth sailors. This lesson is taught to the youngest students attending Summer School and is by far the most popular for enrollment. Then, from outside the door, you hear them before you see them. I recognized the voice. This was going to be trouble if it was who I thought it was. Sure enough in walks one of my most disruptive kids and in two is his equally, if not insanely more hoped up on speed-laced goofballs, brother, two years his junior. I’ve never taught that kid before. This is something they throw at you in summer school. Parents can enroll siblings for the 8 days so some faces are fresh and after summer school you will never see them again. For the first day of this course I greet the kids and parents at the door in my bear outfit and I also cart along that bear puppet. The brothers instantly pull off my tail, nearly ripping it, and proceed to beat the holy hell out of the puppet which also means they are beating the holy hell out of my hand. I like that hand. I need that hand. Trust me, out here, I need that hand! I save the puppet from a potential homicide and try to start the lesson. The brothers jump on another boy as I am trying to speak, not listening and screaming so loudly they are drowning me out. The other boy gets in on the act now and I find myself with three disruptive kids and three that are trying get listen. If the parents are bothered as much as I am about the three boys sabotaging the lesson I am unable to tell. Much like the parents of the misbehaving kids they are stone-faced. I battle onward, cranking the volume on the CD player for parts where it is needed in the lesson, and I raise my voice over the wrestling kids trying to block them out. They do pay attention here and there but their focus level lasts about .5 seconds before they are using each other as punching bags. I try to separate them, wondering how far I should go to control them with their parents present. How much “power” is turned over to the teacher? I decide on careful prodding and have one kid move to another side of the group. This doesn’t work, though, as there is a lot of standing up and singing involved in this lesson and the moment my back is turned they are at it again. Seriously, mother’s, say something! A little hand here would be nice! The other kids were not getting as much out of the lesson because they couldn’t hear me, so much time was spent with these crazy boys that I had to cut some stuff out and my entire flow was off. This was also a small classroom in which to teach so with not a lot of room to move around the wrestling, screaming and fighting kids took up a lot of space. I just kept at it mentally trying to think of ways to turn the tide and as I was coming up with an answer one of the boys walked up and punched me square in the nuts. For such a small guy he had a good left and I uttered a small squeak in mid-sentence. He laughed and pulled back for a second shot. This time I caught his hand and told him to stop. He thrashed about like a caught fish, screaming and laughing and then the other boys thought this game would be much better then the actual lesson and all three tried to sack me. I have become a champion dodger of such attacks so there was no second shot. I really wanted to just get on with things. I was running late, there would be no time for everything and now my testicles were throbbing with the pain of million hot pins. I look over at their mothers who just gaze back, damn mutes! Do you let them act this way at home, lady? If I gave them a good shout would you rush off to the phone line and complain about my teaching technique? Or are you just happy that somebody else has to deal with your insane child for an hour? At the halfway point I realized I really wasn’t going to get any help from the parents and so here, on the third level looking up, my lower extremities emphatically disagree that silence is golden. It’s really more like lead.