Cracking the whip

Cell phones aren't really a problem at most of my schools. The students aren't supposed to have them, and most abide. But, as you might expect, there is a direct relationship between the urbanity of a school's location and the visible prevalence of cell phone possession among students. I'm at my 'city school' this week. This isn't meant to imply that I'm teaching the worldly, urban street youth of Japan; no, these kids are, by any objective measure, parochial at their foundation. But they do like their cell phones.

The other ALT who works at this school (we sort of irregularly alternate weeks) has repeatedly found himself in situations where students openly (flauntingly?) operate their keitais during or between classes. Each teacher has her own approach (or lack of an approach) to discipline, and the students do take advantage of gaps in the armor. My friend has sufficient command of Japanese to address their behavior, and he does, but the situation brings up some issues regarding the role of ALTs in classroom discipline. What is the role of the ALT?

The responsibilities of an ALT are dictated by his individual situation. In junior high school, I work alongside other teachers. I view myself as support for the Japanese teacher of English, and that informs my level of involvement in classroom discipline. During my first year, I'd try to match the tone of the JTE. This meant that in less disciplined classes, I wouldn't try to single-handedly bring the class in line; I just accepted that that was the way the class was.

Chalk one up for cultural sensitivity. Hah. I'm too old for that now. This contract cycle, the Age of Intolerance resumes.

Recently I've been taking a more active, assertive role because I feel more knowledgeable and confident about Japanese and the behavior of my students. When I judge that the JTE doesn't have sufficient control of her class, I move about the room and attend to the problematic students while the JTE continues to teach.

ALTs in elementary schools often have to shoulder more of the classroom discipline burden as they don't work with JTEs as junior and senior high school ALTs do. A teacher who participates in the ALT's lesson can help to a certain extent, but one doesn't always have those teachers (some totally check out when the ALT takes over the class-- cookies and coffee in the break room). ALTs at the elementary level have to use more Japanese and be more assertive with discipline in order to be effective. Not to make them sound balanced or equivalent, but I actually have a hard time comparing JHS discipline with elementary discipline-- with the former, students are more recalcitrant but the JTE can help; with the latter, it's your own show but the students go nuts for inflatable hammers. Wait-- so do my JHS students...shit.

I think I've learned a few things while teaching in both situations. My Japanese isn't very imposing, and neither is my stature, so I rarely use the intimidation route to effect behavioral change. I find that just making the students uncomfortable with a conversation works best. I do this by merely directing my attention to that student (only that student). Most students don't want to be singled out against their will. The best thing about this approach is that it doesn't have to be negative at all; it's exactly not a confrontation. You can really just talk to the student about any dumb thing that comes to your mind; instead of saying, "Quit screwing around," I say, "Where's your notebook?" or things like that. Some kind of simple, simple English sentence works; a barrage of the Queen's doesn't. I don't speak Japanese at all in junior high school classes as a rule, and this approach to discipline allows me to be consistent. Anyway, at best, the student changes his behavior so he doesn't have to speak English with the ALT; at worst, he gets some English conversation practice in.

Back to the cell phones. Discussing the problem, my friend and I agreed that the teachers should be stricter with the students to show that they are serious about following the rules, but we also acknowledged that the teachers may simply be picking their battles. Still, we wondered about the role of the ALT here. Can you overlook a blatant infraction? In new ALT training, it was pounded into our heads that ALTs are supposed to be super-genki, creative, and fun. Finding students operating their cell phones put my friend in a tough position vis-a-vis the whole 'fun, friendly ALT' thing: he wondered whether he should tell the JTE, making her aware of the situation but likely alienating the students (who would find out that the ALT told her), or take it upon himself to square away the student. He chose the latter, and I think it was the right thing to do because it was the potentially constructive route. It gave the offending student an opportunity to change his behavior. Now, I say 'potentially constructive' because the students were back at it again the next time my friend visited the school, but you know...

Anyway, each ALT must communicate with her JTE in order to establish how to handle classroom discipline, and she must find out for herself what sort of approach will work best with her students. For example, my friend who teaches primary school in Cameroon says that students there are beaten daily.

Ah...WORTHLESS

I guess this is what happens to most blogs. The writer starts out strong enough, but slowly and surely the time between each post lengthens until all activity has utterly fled the page.

I think this can be avoided. Here's my offer:

If you'll tolerate my posts not being in chronological order at all, then I'll do my best-- nay-- guarantee that this thing will go on until it is one year old.

Anyway

I usually teach junior high school, but recently I've been deployed to an elementary school. I go there once a week and, unlike junior high school where I work with JTEs, I pretty much run the show. I decide what the kids learn (things that amuse me) and how they learn it (rowdy games, no writing).

It's a fun time. It's also more work.

Anyway, I like my students, and most of them like me well enough, but the fourth grade class at this school is the "ZT IS RAD TO THE POWER OF SICK" club. They think I'm the shit-- fucking awesome-- the tightest MF-er on the planet-- the bee's knees.

I did something right with these kids when I first met them. I don't remember what that was, but I do know that it has led us to a point where they turn cartwheels when I show up.

Hey, who doesn't enjoy being liked?

I try to return the favor by being a good sport. I amuse them by making dumb faces my father taught me, doing the old broken arm illusion (I was going to embed a link to explain, but I can't find an example of it on the internet), and letting them leap on to my back from higher perches.

Ninja children.

Anyway, I got to eat lunch with my crew today. Little did I know that we were in for a manzai lunch.

Manzai, as I understand it, is a form of Japanese stand up comedy. It frequently appears on the TV variety shows. It usually consists of two comedians, one of whom is the 'straight man' while the other is the goofier one. Hilarity ensues as the straight man berates the goofy one and is ultimately embarassed or otherwise comically defeated by the latter.

The plan was to eat lunch and then send a few students to the front of the class to act like fools for everyone's dining enjoyment. But as soon as I finished my Harajuku Banana Chocolate Dog (it's like an eclair) I was yanked to the front and ordered to dance.

I was going to embark upon a lengthy socio-policial protest against being cast as a English-teaching gaijin clown, but my ears were greeted by the pleasant sounds of an Okinawan folk song (reworked for school children) pouring out of the intercom system.

I really wanted to dance.

I glanced at my backup dancers waiting behind me and, without warning, attempted everything that white men not named Justin Timberlake should never try.

Of course, the class loved it. But I could have done anything. I was glad I did something.

Anyway, it was a pretty rocking time even though the manzai turned out to be a 'Get ZT to Dance - Noontime Special.' Man, these kids are WIN. Hell, I just added yet another aspect to the ongoing 'ZT IS AWESOME TO FOURTH GRADERS BECAUSE...' list:

1. He is super-strong-- he can lift a 9 year old with each arm and retain mobility with four attached to his back.

2. He is a great musician because he can play the guitar and the benjo (toilet). What's a banjo?

3. He is the best soccer player in Miyako and fast as lightning because he raced Taiga and Taiga's the fastest boy in Miyako and he won when they raced even when they raced four times and Zakku-sensei was tired and we gave everyone a 30m head start but not Zakku-sensei.

4. His monkey and fish faces are hilarious, and the swinging arm trick is endlessly amusing.

5. We get to scream like chimpanzees during English class.

And now...

6. He can dance really well, like Justin Timberlake.

Rowdy English Gaming II

Continued from the last post...

After entering the classroom, I divided the class into three teams, each of which received their own respective set of character cards.  Although the teams are called 'Robots and Aliens,' 'Humans and Animals,' and 'Mythological Creatures' according to the Eigomon canon, I prefer to think of the groups as Studious Girls Squad (SGS), Le Corps Maussade, and Team Jackass.

To start, I called representatives from each team to select a character card from their collection and prepare to wage epic battle at my desk.  The three students rock-paper-scissor-ed and the victor was given the opportunity to choose one question (involving the superlative, e.g. 'Which is the strongest?') according to the most advantageous traits of his character card (while the traits of the other two players' cards are unknown).  The card featuring the highest number regarding the category in question (e.g. SPEED or STRENGTH) is the winner, and the holder of that card gets to collect the cards of the other two students.  The goal is to end the class with the most total cards as a team.

Anyway, you may have heard interesting commentary about the Japanese decision making process, you know, how it is 'so different from the West,' and all about 'group consensus' and 'being non-confrontational.'  Hah.  Let's have a look at the teams.

SGS is composed of people from the overwhelmingly female right side of the classroom.  I call them studious, but really they are only studious compared to the rest of the class.  They are typically pretty good at English and play along with the activities I provide.  Their decision making process involves them neatly spreading all thirty-two of their team's cards on their island of gathered desks.  All remain seated as they pore over the cards and discuss which card to select and, infinitely more seriously, which of them is going to actually carry it to the front of the room.

Le Corps is made up of students from the center of the room.  This group actually has the most talented student of English, but, in this random-ass game, she is of little benefit.  Most of these students are pointedly unenthusiastic about anything.  However, I detect that they are interested in the apparent complexity of the cards.  One of the things I like about this game is that it appears to be worthy of thought and strategy.  The students are confronted with a bewildering array of characters and statistics, and it sure looks exciting.  Of course, I know what they don't: the game is a complete crapshoot.  

My English major friends say this is dramatic irony.

Team Jackass is a real group of winners.  Although they refuse to use any English outside of short phrases that they find amusing, they are the ones who make or break this activity.  Fortunately, I know the catalyst for success:  I give them an opportunity to freely pace around, compete, criticize, and kick the crap out of themselves.  They've got a large, noisy insult-comedian guy who appears to call most of the shots, and he's followed by (1) an inattentive, rotund fellow who refuses to understand anything I ever say and (2) a short, obnoxious fellow who has the self-direction of a crash test dummy.  There is a voice of reason at the back of the group, but he knows where this train is going.  Team Jackass chooses which players and cards to field based on what they expect will result in someone suffering the most verbal and physical abuse possible.

Several rounds of play yield some memorable moments.  Le Corps guys rotate players regularly and all of them maintain a poker face.  That is, unless they win; then you may hear a low-register 'uuuueeeeeeaaaaayyyy.'  SGS girls twirl with joy in victory and twirl with sorrow in defeat.

Crap, I forgot to explain.  One cycle of gameplay actually has two stages of excitement: the RPS segment and the question-answers segment.  Most of the student reactions occur after the RPS result because, most of the time, if you win the RPS and get your choice of question, you are going to win the round.  That being said, there is a lot of pressure and focus on the RPS segment.  Speaking of which, these kids are funny about RPS.  Certain students (based on past experience, I suppose) are regarded as being strong RPS players, and others, conversely, think of themselves as weak RPS-ers.  They bring confidence and anxiety to the table.

One student approached the table.  He clenched his fist and furrowed his brow, closing his eyes in concentration.  Then he relaxed and looked skyward-- 'yometa,' he said ['I read it (the other players' intentions)].  I laughed out loud, but he could have been being serious, comical, and unnerving to the other players all at the same time.  When a student would lose the RPS, he would often look at his hand as if it were to blame.

Most of the teams would say either nothing or a few words of encouragement to the players they sent to the battle table.  Not Team Jackass.  Rather, it is 'Win, or don't come back.'

They sent up their ragdoll, punching bag short kid.  I had some sympathy for him early on, but this dude really is unbelievably annoying.  Apparently they had sent him up this time with a particularly valued card, and when he lost, the color ran from his face.  The riot that was his team (standing behind him) roared.  He winced.  In the blink of an eye he was ripped from his position at the table and lynched.

After a series of painful losses and the sacking of half the team, the leader of Team Jackass decided that a restructuring was in order.  He asked me something in Japanese that I didn't understand.  I could tell that it was a request for permission for something, but I wasn't sure what.  I'm the chaos-oriented type, so I said 'yeah, OK, go ahead' just to see what he was talking about.

Apparently the short guy hadn't gotten his shit together yet and was due for another beating.  The big comedian judo threw the kid punched him a few times.  The annoying kid didn't stop giggling thoughout the ordeal.  

How obnoxious.  

Signaling further reform, the big guy declared that he was going to be doing all of the RPS from then on.  Not that he actually did.  By that point his team was openly fighting, and card selection and RPS participation had fallen to whomever wasn't drop kicking or being drop kicked.

I think they have more fun losing than winning. 

We played this game several times that week and had a good time.  Since then, I have added new dynamics to the game, such as a card wagering system, and have used it in dozens of other classes.  It's a nice piece of work-- the vast majority of students are motivated to play.  Even the typically 'bad' students can have a good time.

But more interestingly, though, I like this game because it allows me, the ALT, to observe the interaction of personalities in the classroom-- I just run the game.  This activity allows the students a large degree of freedom, which is in itself interesting, but it allows it in a way that doesn't cause them to seize up (as Japanese students often do).  More human experiments to come...

Finally:

I hope you are wondering why I permitted the students to fight each other.  Well, that is what they usually do in the 10 minutes between classes; they play ball or wrestle.  And I don't hear a word about it from the teachers.  I just chalk it up next to old goats standing on boxes and 3 meter gaps in brand new roads as normal features of Miyako-land.

以上です。

Rowdy English Gaming

I'm not talking about football/soccer.  Nay, I'd like to share my experience with a certain clever ESL game called 'Eigomon.'  Here is the source.

It is a pretty great game, I have to say.  It is great for teaching comparatives and superlatives to students of, in my opinion, any age.  You can read the description on the MES English website for more detailed information.  I'm not here to explain the game--I'm going to talk about how this game sets a particular group of sullen eighth graders on fire.

I lie; these kids aren't properly described as sullen.  They've just had it with school.  That's all. We all know (or have been) the type.  However, given that getting kids jazzed up for learning English is one of the few specifics in the JET ALT job description, these students are a particular challenge for the ALT who is determined to fulfull the role.  They are the sort of students who just make you want to give up and do worksheets for the rest of the year.  However, I resist that for three reasons:

(1) There are a few students stuck in the class who are highly motivated, talented, and attentive.  They deserve a great classroom experience even though they will do whatever dumb work that is assigned to them.

(2) I hate worksheets and have sworn to never make them unless instructed to do so by the JTE, in which case I frown a lot and slouch unprofessionally at my desk.  I like talking/listening activities because I figure they can do reading and writing without a native English speaker.

(3) The 'bad kids' are usually barrels of gunpowder.  If you find something that catches their attention, you've got a better party on your hands than you could ever have with the attentive students.  How could one pass this up?

So, on to the beginning of this week's tale:

ALT stands for Assistant Language Teacher.  Typically, you play a support role for the JTE (Japanese Teacher of English) by coming up with games and activities, speaking like an instructional recording, and being unqualified yet authoritative about matters of English.  Usually you adhere to the plan established by the JTE and fill in where you are asked to.  However, every once in a while I am asked to run classes alone.  The first time I did this was with the particular class of students I am talking about today.  It was some time ago.

In short, that class didn't go so well.  The students weren't out of control, but many of them simply didn't even look at the worksheet that the teacher had instructed me to give them.  Instead they just talked the whole time.  Then, when I collected the worksheets at the end of class, many of the moderately good students (who would normally have done the worksheet in the presence of the JTE) started scrambling to finish what they could before I took up the papers.  The tough guys/comedians in their corner still didn't move much-- no loss there, really.  Anyway, the class wasn't horrific, but it did seem like a waste of time for everyone.

This week, I once again had to teach that class (and several others) solo.  I was determined (well, as determined as I get...) to do things differently-- that is, not use a worksheet-- and make that particular class a success.  Fortunately, when I arrived at the school on the first day of the week, I found that the JTE was out and had left me NO PLAN-- no worksheet, no hindrance, no specific goals.  Sweet.  I clicked around on the internet and discovered Eigomon, prepared the cards, and conceived a game.  Immaculately.

To be continued...

A Fact to Share: Kids are Funny

Usually when we utter the phrase 'oh my God,' we are as conscious of the literal meanings of those individual words as we are conscious of the feeling we intend to convey by using the expression.  One properly and naturally emphasizes the 'God' part, i.e., "oh my GOD."  

My students, semantically carefree as they are with English, emphasize equally each word in the phrase to comic effect.  Actually, I lie.  They noticeably emphasize the 'OH' part.

OH my God.

OOHHHHH my God.

This is hilarious to me. 

It leaps from their conversations without warning, much like when you are watching Univision and the round man from Sabado Gigante crisply utters 'Charmin Ultra' or 'Quaker Oats' amidst a hypersonic barrage of television Spanish.  In flawless English no less.  It grabs your attention.

So, if I am saying that the students are unaware of the actual meaning of what they are saying, then what could it be that they think they are expressing?  Perhaps it is some form of distress.  However, it can't be anything serious.  Such matters are reserved for Japanese.  Instead 'OH my God' is heard during more lighthearted times, such as during my icebreaking games.  

We are passing a ball around, saying each others' names as we throw it.  The whole thing is being timed, so we are trying to finish the circuit as quickly as possible.  One student beams the ball at another: the receiver makes a valiant effort to catch it, leaping off a chair.  Alas, it is to no avail.

A voice somewhere says "Oh my God."

The students are giving self-introductions.  I am nervous as they are because I don't want to make the students nervous.  Japanese students operate in the following fashion, which I will illustrate by example.  If one of the first students says "My name is Ryuhei.  I like basketball.  I play piano.  Nice to meet you," you will find that nearly 45% of your class reveals that they too like basketball and play piano.  However, a student occasionally forgets the self-intro format and accidentally begins with 'Nice to meet you.'

OH my God.

Shortly before class begins, I find my students playing a sort of makeshift stickball game in the classroom.  A student strikes out.  A student hits the Wiffle ball out of the room.  I act as umpire and make some questionable calls.

OH my God.

Next time I will explain the intricacies of the term very woman.