Grappling with Three Diligence

The class, which is called “Three Diligence,” comprises a group of fifteen-year-olds. However, very few of these students are hard-working.

When I am teaching, the hum of their conversation overwhelms my voice. No matter how many times I tell them to be quiet, they ignore me and speak several decibels louder.

PT3, a public examination for Secondary Three, is drawing near, and to address their writing problems, I give them numerous grammar consolidation lessons. My efforts are futile because they are bent on doing nothing during my lessons. My dignity falls to pieces, which they then trample on with reckless disregard for my feelings.

Yesterday, during a test, the students made so much noise that I could not contain my anger. I hightailed it out of the classroom, seeking help from the principal.

“Were they really noisy?” asked the principal.

“Yes,” I said through clenched teeth. “They kept on shouting profanities at each other.”

“Okay, return to your class,” said the principal. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

Armed with the principal’s promise, I returned to the classroom with a renewed spirit to scold the students. I expected the class to be noisy at that point, but to my surprise, they were very quiet. They must have figured out that I had sought help from the principal and that a group chastisement was imminent. I looked at them sternly and sat down.

Thirty minutes elapsed, but the principal did not show up. Was he so busy that he had no time to come to my class? I then remembered that he had once told the teachers not be too dependent on him when it came to controlling our students. He had explained that, as educators, we should find ways to deal with our own classes. I sighed inwardly and continued glaring at the students.

Another thirty minutes went by, and I found myself nodding off. The more I tried to stay awake, the worse it became. When I opened my eyes with the stark realisation that I had drifted off to sleep for quite some time, everyone in the class roared with laughter. I tried to maintain a serious face, but in spite of myself, I burst out laughing with them.

The laughter quickly stopped when I struck the table to restore order. I wanted to reprimand the students, but I choked on my own words. The students regarded me gleefully, and I mentally conceded defeat. I had not been consistent in disciplining them, and this was the fruit I had reaped.

A day after my self-made blunder, I entered the classroom determined to redeem my pride. I was expecting the students to be rowdy again, but I was wrong. They gave me their full attention. What made them so meek all of a sudden? Perhaps they had detected something new in me. I was normally vindictive when I entered their class. Could it be the smile on my face that had made them behave differently towards me that day?

            Midway through my lesson, I returned to the staffroom to get something. On my way there, a colleague accosted me and told me that the students were making a ruckus in the classroom. I could feel the vein in my right temple throbbing, and I rushed back to the classroom.

            I was greeted by the worst sight I had ever seen. The boys were busy wrestling one another, and the girls were cheering for them. “Get back to your seats!” I hollered at the top of my voice, and the students reluctantly stopped their scuffle.

           

            “Now,” I said, “turn to page 153, and write a composition.”

            “Mr Lo,” a boy remonstrated, “don’t waste your time. You know all too well that we won’t write the composition.”

            “You are insolent!” I yelled.

            “Just play games with us,” another boy stood up and said.

            Before I could give him an answer, a few boys left their seats and pounced on each other, re-enacting the wrestling scene. I was so angry that I threw my book, which hit one of them.

            “Teacher, don’t be jealous of us,” he said, rubbing the painful area on his back. “If you want us to be quiet, try to topple me over.”

            “No problem!” I said.

           

The boy strode towards me. As he came within arm’s length, he puffed up his chest and said, “Now, make me fall.”

He struck a horse stance on the floor and gave me a sly, nonchalant grin. I quickly grabbed his wrist and tried to trip him backwards over his leg, but he remained rooted to the floor like a tree. The whole class erupted into laughter, and I was ashamed of myself.

“Teacher, you lose,” he smirked. “You can’t topple me.”

“Go to hell,” I said, trying to sound unperturbed. “I don’t care a hoot.”

On my way back to my desk, he stuck his foot out and tripped me. I snatched a fistful of his collar, and we fell into a heap. Many students gathered around us and clapped.

Instead of redeeming my pride, I had lost more.

Three Diligence, to win your attention and get to know you better, I need to try a different approach.