The Good, the Bad and the Chubby (7 - 9 year olds)

My mother (who is one of the wisest women I know) once told me that by the age of 6 years old, a person's character is pretty much cemented and the only thing you can do beyond that point is damage control. After four months of teaching 7 year olds, I see EXACTLY what she means. Actually, it didn't take a full four months. After about one month, I knew which classes to walk into and actually try to teach a lesson or the ones to walk into, throw a pack of UNO cards at the little savages, go into a corner and pray for God's kingdom to come.

To further elaborate on my mother's theory, it seems that beyond this age, certain learned behaviors are hard to break. (And for the record, I'm not saying it's impossible . . . just really, really, really, really, really . . . Really, REALLY hard.) The fission between the mindset of a five year old and a seven year old is pretty grand canyon-like when you get to experience it. After teaching a class with malleable five year olds where all I have to do is give an angry look or a dramatic gesture and I have instant obedience from even the roughest kid in the class, to my seven year olds where I have to literally smash a glass bottle against the whiteboard and tattoo my own face just to get eye contact . . . well, it makes me wonder what could have possibly happened within a one year period to make these seven year olds so rigid (and brave).

All right, enough with the introduction . . . I'll just get right to it. The classes with this age group aren't all bad (but most of them are.) I teach about 11 students between the ages of 7 and 9 years old and only four of these students are not absolutely dreadful. On one particular day, I have 3 of these classes. That is the day I will focus on.

It all starts with Sonny and Cher. (That's my nickname for the first duo). The boy, 9, is tiny and resembles a monkey. (He also screams and throws things like a monkey too. "Eeeh! Eeeeeh!") The girl, 8, is rather large (even by American standards). She has long, flowing hair and giggles a lot. I don't know who dresses her, but she always comes to school wearing skirts that (in my humble opinion) are a little too short.

I walk into the classroom and the kids are already running around, the tiny boy talking a mile a minute and the big girl following behind him squealing and giggling. I used to spend most of the class trying to get them to sit down and pay attention but most times, I was unsuccessful. (Until I found the secret, but I'll get into that later.) Anywho, Cher is always easier to teach than Sonny. (Sonny is a lost cause - loud, obnoxious, and just plain crazy.) Cher, however, is madly in love with Sonny (as she once told me during a particularly interesting - yet strange - conversation we had when Sonny was absent.) So she pretty much follows him around and does whatever he does.

One day, when Sonny was late, I was shooting the breeze with Cher. I was secretly, praying that Sonny was absent but lo and behold, I see the door open and the small strange looking boy swaggers into the classroom and swings his bookbag around, placing it on the desk.

"Hello, Sonny!" I muster up, with false enthusiasm.

"Hello $%&!" he says, his face expressionless. (I don't know what he called me, but I'm sure it wasn't Most Honorable Sensei). He opens his bag and pulls out a foam gun. And almost like clockwork, like they're on an assembly line, he hands Cher the gun and before I can say "Don't shoot!" (which I tried) I had a foam arrow hitting my head. And for a split second, I thought to myself, "If that were a gun, I would have been dead." Either way, these are my students for a full hour. A full hour of running and threatening and anger, and head shaking and finger waving. By the end of the class, I always have a headache. And then they walk out of the room chirping "Goodbye!" and four 7 year olds walk into the room without even saying "hello!"

This class, I like to call "Our Gang." All of the children are small and chubby but they are not cute because they each have their own level of badness and they are indeed a little gang. First, there's the one with the ring worms all over his body. (He's Sonny's little brother by the way). I get no "hello" from him. Just a quick "breast squeeze." That's right! He walks into the class with his hands cupped, skips the pleasantries and goes straight for my breasts. I used to fight it, but I found out the hard way that when I attempt to cover the top half of my body, his hands just find another inappropriate place to grope. So that's "Chester."

Next, is "Boogers." (I think you can deduct why he has that nickname.) His entrance is not so dramatic. Actually, besides the constant booger eating and classroom roaming, he's not so bad.

The next kid is "Brain." He's the most devious of the gang operation but he's also just 7 years old so there's but so much rebellion he can pull off (and he's also addicted to stickers). He's like the big head mouse on Pinky and the Brain . . . super smart, but still just a mouse.

And then there's "trailer boy." I call him this because he has a buzz cut, missing teeth and always wears a white tank-top shirt and torn up jeans. Of course, with the "no shoes" policy in Japan, he walks around barefoot and the only thing missing is a Budweiser in his hand. While I find this hilarious and adorable . . . he's still, pretty bad and fits right in with the rest of the gang. Although to his credit, he and Boogers are the easiest to manipulate . . . ahem . . . I mean, handle.

So all four of them walk into the classroom and act like maniacs. Screaming, hanging from the curtains, hitting the walls and fighting each other, picking up tables standing on the chairs, etc. It's amazing. Generally, it's Chester and Trailer Boy doing the non-stop screaming and talking, Boogers is pulling the tables apart and Brain is deliberately keeping the madness going by helping Boogers to pull apart the tables and punching Chester over and over again.

"Everyone sit down!" I yell again and again. The rhythm of my screams of "sit down" travel throughout the classroom like background music. Sometimes I'll hear the students repeat it like a song. I can tell it means nothing to them. Like "yes, yes . . . sit down. Why do you always say these crazy things you big silly?" Occasionally I'll catch Brain stealing glimpses at me to see if I've given up. (He's the only one that actually does this. That's how I can tell he's misbehaving on purpose.) Sadly, one day I did give up. I sat down and began to rub my throbbing head. At that moment, I looked up and saw an expression of satisfaction on Brain's face. This must have been the motivation I needed because I stood up and started grabbing bodies and throwing them into chairs, Nanny 911 style.

"Sit down, sit down, sit down" I said until everyone was in a seat, looking scared and confused. I turned and looked at Brain's face. He was not happy.

It took me three months to figure that class out. Actually, it happened by accident. I made up some worksheets for them to work on for a supplementary lesson and when I saw how consumed they were with getting the work done, I realized that I'd been going about things all wrong. This class wasn't begging for activities and physical games which is what I had been brainwashed to believe originally thought. "The native speaker's class is supposed to be fuuuun," I was always told. But I noticed that the more "fun" the lesson was, the less the students took me seriously. So I gave them what they wanted from a real "Sensei." Actual work. And oddly enough, they go nuts for it. As soon as I pull out the pamphlets they say a collective, "Yaaayyyy!!!", snatch the papers out of my hand, bury their little faces into the page and write so hard that I can hear the pencils scratching and digging into the paper. I wish that I could say that all I hear from that point on is mouth breathing - like with my 5 year olds - but no, these kids like to sing songs and talk. On one particularly rough day (before I got my routine rock solid), I heard a conversation that went something like this . . .

Boogers - She's being mean today.

Brain - Yeah (pause) Where's she from again?

Trailer Boy - Wazu Land I think.

I'm not going to lie, that made me a little angry. But on second thought, I got a good laugh off of it after telling some friends and family.

I wish I could say that the students walk out of the class, but they don't. As soon as the clock hits 4:50, I break the heck out ( . . . like I have the chicken pox). You should see the expression of confusion on the students' faces.

Two classes later, I have my last student in this age group and she. is. an. angel. She walks into my classroom after hugging her mommy extra tight, and proceeds to undo all of the anger and frustration brought on by the other students in her age group. I'll call her "Hope."

Hope is the most adorable, tiny little girl with one missing tooth up front and straggly hair that she's always brushing out of her face, despite the fact that it's always tied up extra tight. Her class is everything I thought teaching her age group would and should be. We play the same games that I used to attempt with the other classes. I give her the privileges that I used to attempt to offer my other students. We laugh and make jokes. We draw pictures and write on the board. I even let her play "Angry Birds" on my iPad. (Now that's love!) She's everything that I remember about being 7 years old. Wanting to do well in school. Excited to be able to play games with my teacher, but never losing sight of the fact that a teacher is in fact an authority figure. She's truly a blessing to teach at the end of a long day. She's like God's little reminder that all children aren't bad and that when I start to think horrible thoughts about these children (which, I'm not going to lie . . . I do) at the end of the day, there's always Hope.