Monday, December 24, 2018

On Walls and Seating Charts

On this Christmas Eve I'm thinking about my students and wondering if they're a microcosm of society. I'm focused particularly on my beginning class, and seeing them as reflective of much larger problems. My job, ostensibly, is to either inspire, persuade, or force kids to learn English. Of course I hope for the first or second options, and they work a whole lot better than the third, but whatever port in a storm.

In the half classroom I have this year, there are tables of four. These tables kind of force the kids into groups whether they like it or not. I'm not really sure whether or not that makes me Danielson-ready, because who really understands the factors that go into that? First there's that complicated rubric, which you may or may not understand, and then there's the supervisor, who also may or may not understand the rubric. In addition, the supervisor may or may not be delusional, overtly hostile, or be in need of proving something. So many factors to consider.

If I leave my kids to their own devices, they'll all speak their native languages all the time, and ignore me altogether. So the seating chart becomes kind of an art form. You start by letting the students sit wherever they want and proceed from there. This kid is too close to the door, and tries to escape every time you turn your back, so he has to be moved closer to the window. Fortunately, the window doesn't open enough for him to crawl out, because you know the two-story drop will not, in itself, be enough to deter him.

Then you get to the more common issue, that of the students electing to sit with absolutely no one who doesn't speak their first language. Sure, you may get a smattering of kids who don't speak the dominant language (or languages), and have no choice. Those kids, in many ways, are the luckiest. They have to either pursue speaking English or talk to themselves. There's an intrinsic motivation there you don't see elsewhere.

Then there are the tables of four in which they turn inward, have private conversations, and tune out the class completely. These become my first targets. They cannot stand. So I separate them. This is a tough process, and much protest and whining ensues. You change their seats and find them changed back the following day.

Sometimes you get lucky. You may move one kid who is intrinsically social. After a few days, that kid will make the supreme sacrifice and start speaking English with kids who are not in her language group. The kid will come and ask to move, but you leave her there and she benefits. Sometimes, though, the kid sits there like a bag of potatoes and refuses to utter word one to anyone. You watch the kid grow sadder by the day, and you're sorely tempted to dump that kid back with friends who speak the same language.

It's really very hard to watch a student suffer like that. It's especially frustrating if they student is also tuned out to the class. The choices then become watching this student miserable and failing or watching this student relatively content and failing. Sometimes there are back stories these kids bring that seem to preclude happiness, and that makes the problem even worse.

So your seating chart becomes a year-long, ever-evolving work of art, and no matter what you do it's never finished. It's natural to hang with people you find familiar. I'm pretty sure if I were in China I'd make fast friends with fellow Americans. It might make me feel safer or more secure. On the other hand, if I want to feel safe and secure, if I'm resistant to change, if I don't want to grow or learn anything new, what the hell am I doing in China?

It's quite different if I'm a teenager and my parents dragged me there (or here) kicking and screaming. Until the kicks and screams die down, I'm not making the slightest attempt toward assimilating, let alone getting to know people from other cultures. So I put up walls, and it's very hard for teachers to break through.

My job is looking for cracks in those walls, getting through as much as possible, and shooting them down completely at the earliest opportunity. It's challenging work.
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