Life, the Universe, and Lani

I’ve inherited a class whose reputation precedes itself. I first heard about the class – literally – through the wall, as they were next door to mine, making such a noise that I went over to see what the heck was going on.

Just a bunch of Mathayom 3 students (13-14 year olds), waiting for class to begin.

As their teacher approached (let’s call him the Salad Shooter), I said, “Your students are being cra-zy.”

He laughed, “They’re always like that.”

I learned through him and the teacher who got the class afterwards, that those students were WILD and LOUD. Even though I love teaching that age group, I began to pray that I would not get them.

So naturally, I got them.

Tuesday was the first day of class, and before stepping into “hostile territory” my boss (let’s call him the Sheriff) pulled up a chair, turned it around, and said, “Let me know if I have to come in. I can sit in on the class. They won’t know why I’m there, but in the past we used to do this with these kind of classes. If there are specific troublemakers, we can have SJ talk to them.”

Great.

Usually when I receive a class, I flip through the student cards to see who their last teacher was, maybe glance at their grade, and to see who is a new student.  I noticed 3 new students but I wasn’t sure if that was enough to change the dynamics of the group.  I’d have to see.

I also knew, as an experienced teacher, that different students react differently to different teachers. All of their previous teachers were Caucasian males, and so I would be the first female, a sexy Asian no less, which made me hopeful that this class could change in my favor.

The previous teacher, let’s call him “Matt Foley“, sallied over and said, “I’ll give you better advice than the Sherriff. But I’ll let you meet the students first. I have a few tips that might be useful.”

“Okay, thanks,” I said. But I wondered just how would I do. The other teachers had more experience, and I really didn’t want the Sheriff to have to have to visit to restore peace and justice in my classroom.

“Oh dear God,” I muttered as I straightened myself to enter the room.

Then teacher Jessica suddenly appeared (there might have been a bright light behind her), “This will probably be your best class ever.”

I smiled at her, and opened the door.