Fury in the Classroom, and Other Tales From the Front Lines

Today I kicked two students out of my class. They were fighting and I was tired of their antics, so I said: OUT. They were at a loss for what to do or say, so they snickered and sauntered toward the door like they were the big winners. I followed them into the hallway, where they were continuing their mock-fight, and I said, Come with me. But they refused. So I said, fine, wait here. And I stormed off to the teacher's room.

I was looking for their class teacher, but since she was nowhere to be found, I marched right on into the Director's room and said, please come help me. The boys are giving me trouble. They are fighting in my classroom. And, like the BMOC that he is, he came to my aid.

The look on the boys' faces when they saw the Director was priceless. A kodak moment that I wish I could have captured if only to rub in their faces the next time they're being jackles. My Director spoke with the boys in the hallway and I returned to the class and resumed our lesson. A few minutes later, the Director came into the class. The kids were stiff in their chairs, their eyes as big as saucers.

Who else is causing a problem? He asked.
Everyone was silent.
Zaika says that Nemirivsky was bothering people, is this true? He asked.
Everyone was silent.
Sichkoriz, what did you see? He asked A'lona.
Nothing, I was writing, she said.
Zatorsky, what did you see? He asked Vitalic.
Nothing, I was reading, he said.
Nobody saw anything? my Director asked.
Everyone was silent. My Director turned to Roman, one of the boys who had been fighting. Why aren't you telling the truth? he said. Your teacher will hear about this.

After the Director left, the class was silent. When the lesson was over, their home teacher came in and made them stay late.
Why did Sheryl have to get the Director? she asked.
Nobody wanted to say, but they didn't have to. She knew. She made the students apologize, which really does very little, but she also wrote notes home to their mothers. Depending on how much their parents care, that may or may not help me in the future.

It is very frustrating to deal with problem kids here because there is no recourse when a kid is out of line. There is no detention. There is no fear of failing. (Because it is literally IMPOSSIBLE for kids to fail here.) There is no threat of a bad grade. (Because grades don't matter to kids who don't try and don't worry about being held back.) The only thing that teachers do when kids are bad is yell at them and call their parents. I'm not a yeller and I'm certainly not fluent enough to call home and tell some mother that her kid is a jerk. The most I can do is make sure the kids know that I will tell their class teacher when they are bad and I will go to the Director when they are out of control. But that's pretty much it. Even if I kick a kid out of my class for a lesson, he will be back next time. It's impossible to kick a kid out of class permanently. It's not the way it works here.

In my 9-A class, I have trouble with two boys who always play on their cell phones. Today they wouldn't stop playing on them, and after the third time I told them to put their phones away, I ignorned them.(Telling them to give it to me is useless. I can't play tug of war with a 14 year old, that's just demeaning.) After the lesson, I found their home teacher and I said, Yarkovsky and Mazur played with their cell phones the whole lesson. She went and found them, took their phones from them for the rest of the day, and made them come apologize to me.

I said, okay, don't do it again. Now you know that I can tell your teachers what you do in class, so think about that next time.

***

Two things happened last saturday: Bar enacted a new law wherein all bars and cafes must close at mid-night, and my friend Roma got tanked at a wedding. At first glance, these two facts have nothing to do with each other. But that's just at first glance...

The thing about weddings here is that people drink... a lot. That's pretty much true for every holiday and celebration, however minor it might be. So a wedding, as you might imagine, means that people not only end up hammered, they end up hammer-head. If you've ever been hammer-head, you know just how drunkity-drunk-drunk that is. If you haven't, good for you. Nothing good comes from being hammer-head. Just ask Roma.

My friend Roma spent Saturday at his friend's wedding and by 11 o'clock in the evening, when he met up with my friends and I at the cafe, he was hammer-head. He stumbled up to our table with a half bottle of pepper vodka and started pouring shots. He was giving long, slurred toasts where he'd wave his arms around and spill vodka all over himself. At one point, he was hollaring: I'm from America! I'm from America! I came from America! (Of course he was hollaring this in Ukrainian, since he doesn't know any english, so it wasn't very believable.) Outside on the street, he kept telling his friend that he was American until his friend smacked him and told him to shut up. He was dancing around, talking really loundly, gesturing wildly with his hands. He wasn't beligerant or anything, he was just drunk. Hammer-head drunk.

At mid-night, a whole bunch of militisia cars showed up to enforce Bar's new law. The music went off, the lights went on, and hoards of young adults stood loitering on the streets, unsure what to do at such an "early" hour. While people were milling about just outside the cafe, Roma stood upon the steps to the cafe and started waving his arms back and forth in the air and singing, "Razom nas bajato" (Together we are many), the theme chant of the Orange Revolution. On and on he sang, but nobody really joined in. Most people just looked at him and laughed. He was dancing around, waving his arms, slurring his words. After a brief spell, the militsia finally swooped in to silence him.

In America, Roma would probably have qualified for the drunk tank and little else. He was drunk, and stupid, but definately not trying to start a revolution, and certainly not a threat to anyone but his own dumb ass. But the militsia here doesn't let anyone off so easy. If he'd been more lucid, he probably could have bribed the officers with some money and been on his way. Instead, they told him to go home, and to go to the police station later in the week. His crime: trying to incite a riot. His punishment: to buy them 100 dollars of gasoline. Because that will really make him a better citizen...

Of course, Roma is my friend and I know how harmless he is; but I don't expect other people -- especially the militsia -- to be amused by him. I do find it ridiculous though, that he must buy 100 dollars worth of gasoline for trying to "incite a riot" when all they did was tell him to shut up and go home. If he really was trying to incite a riot, you'd think they'd want to haul him in, for the night at least. Instead they let him walk home -- BEER IN HAND -- no pro.

When I saw Roma this week, he said, Sorry Sheryl, I was so drunk on Saturday. Sorry.
Not my problem, I said to him. I don't have to buy anyone gas. "Razon nas bajato" not so funny now, huh?

And he shook his head in sheepish shame.