The kiddos are starting to get restless. Summer is approaching, and we've really reached our limits for attention spans, even teachers. So, I have to do something to regain control and direction in my classes. I decide to do something I rarely, if ever, do:
I put the kids in rows in assigned seats.
This shocks the students because I prefer to run a cooperative, collaborative classroom. Even if we are taking notes, I like buddies around to bolster others if I lose them along the route. I have a full thirty minutes to acclimate myself to the room's new order before students arrive, but their unsuspecting reaction is exactly as planned.
Shock and awe. Complete and utterly horrifying shock and awe.
They should've known it was coming, though. I told them all on the very first day, and I repeat this mantra over and over and over to the point that one student made me my own sign: "I don't care how we play this game. I win. I ALWAYS win."
But karma bites me in the ass, as always.
You see, the students are so shocked that they are silent. That's correct. Through the entire hour-long class, times four full classes, I do not hear one peep. They read when we are supposed to be reading, type when we are supposed to be typing, and clean up when we are supposed to be cleaning up. The vacuum of soundlessness (I know that's probably not even a word, but it fits perfectly what is happening in the room) is so profound that it freaks me out. I have to physically restrain my voice from calling out, "Never mind. Just kidding! Find partners and finish the worksheets!"
I don't know if I can handle such a sudden shift in the discipline and classroom management aspects of my day. I'm as used to noise and mayhem as are they. This is what I get, what I deserve. My hubris in the morning over the students' shock and awe is rapidly replaced by this disquiet of my own shock and awe.
Karma: Apparently it's what I'm eating for breakfast and lunch, along with a huge helping of crow.
