Bad Cop

It’s amazing how much a group of students’ attitude and performance during class can influence my mood, my energy levels, and even my health. Let me explain. Let’s start with last night: My counterpart had her 47th birthday and threw a party for her family and some select others. Gallina, the veteran English teacher at my school (and Saule’s closest colleague), and my self were invited along to enjoy the festivities. We ate a lot and drank a little (we still had 8am classes the next day), sang songs and gave toasts. Because it was a family gathering and not a school event, we spoke very little English, and most of Saule’s relatives primarily speak Kazakh. I held my own in the Russian conversations, and make big impressions with my very limited, but well-timed, use of Kazakh. For example, the one Kazakh toast I know is “Mahabbat ushun,” which means “long love.” Saule’s husband was giving a long winded toast to his birthday girl bride in Kazakh (periodically translating into Russian for me and Gallina), and when he finished and as we raised our glasses, I chimed in with “Mahabbat ushun.” Laughter and applause ensued, with guests saying how amazing I was at summing up long rambling toasts. Pretty cool. I brought my guitar and sang a couple songs, one of which my host mom had helped me write by putting new words to their traditional birthday song. It was a mega-hit. The evening was great.

Then comes the morning after. I woke up at 6:30 as usual, feeling exhausted and wanting “just 10 more minutes…” After pulling myself out of bed and realizing I was still full from the night before, I recalled the songs and laughter of the party. Being in a good mood at 6:30 am doesn’t happen very often, and it gave me energy to get moving. I couldn’t eat breakfast for lack of space in my digestive tract, but went on to school to be a responsible, productive PCV. My first class went well. We had planned a good lesson with a variety of activities to keep things moving along and keep the kids engaged. They are the “A” class and actually do their homework and frantically wag their hands (sometimes their whole upper bodies) to answer questions, and I like that. At the end of the period I said to Saule, “If more classes were like this, I’d be excited to come to school EVERY day.” (Note: I’m usually excited to go to school, but definitely not always) We had the same lesson plan to do two more times, for the “G” and “D” classes, and things were looking up. (One more note: Russian alphabet goes ABVGDE and classes are assigned a letter based on their test performances. E classes are generally a full grade in skill behind the A class of the same grade.)

They warned us that a PCV’s life is a long series of ups and downs. “D” class rolls around, and not a single student did their homework assignment. Not only does that upset me because they are just falling more and more behind their classmates, but we had planned to work with their homework for the first 20 minutes of class. So, Saule took over. We do a decent Good Cop / Bad Cop routine where she yells at them about how they don’t do anything at home and then expect to pass the grade and graduate from school and get a job and that some day they are going to have to wake up and DO something. Meanwhile, I hold my tongue and wait for my cue to say, “Alright, let’s move on to the next activity.” So, Bad Cop did her thing and we pulled out the grade book and gave them all 2s for their homework grades. Then, instead of moving on to the next item on our botched lesson plan, she decides to focus the rest of the time on grammar, specifically the definite article “the”. She had written the lecture notes on the board the previous lesson and began explaining when and when not to say “the”. Some teacher came to the door and asked to speak with Saule and so Saule stepped out and I stepped up. I felt comfortable enough with my Russian to go through the notes on the board with them, but a couple students took the opportunity to begin asking me inappropriate questions about my love life and the women in Kazakhstan. I was losing control of the class very quickly and so walked back to my desk and picked up my personal grade book and told the two guys, “You already have a two for homework, and now you have a two for class.” My Russian was good enough and the gesture strict enough that they backed off and resumed work, but my heart was racing and I was just plain flustered. Saule came back in 3 minutes later and took back over, but I just wanted to leave. It was so frustrating to be in a room with kids who had no desire to work, and felt no need to listen to a foreign young teacher like myself. Having taken the role of Bad Cop briefly, I definitely didn’t enjoy the experience. I know it was necessary, and perhaps they’ll take me a bit more seriously next time I’m alone with them, but I’ve never been one to like telling people what to do. I may be full of suggestions especially on the soccer field or at my summer job as a crew supervisor, but the position of power just isn’t a comfortable one. I want them to listen to me because they themselves want to and see it as being in their own best interest, not because I’m the one with the grade book. This was the first time I’ve had to deal with any discipline issues, and I know it won’t be the last, but it was by far the least pleasant work experience I’ve had so far. Although it’s all part of the job, right? You’ve got to take the ups with the downs, the bitter making the sweet taste all that much better.