A couple boys were being boys today, which means I had to throw them out of class for a few minutes.

During an attempt to check answers to an assignment, I called on a student, let’s call him Koji. Koji gave the right answer but I mistakenly said he was wrong then corrected myself. This caused my worst student, let’s call him Abaddon, to stand up and start mocking him for being wrong. I told Abaddon to sit down and shut up–or, even better, shut up then sit down–and he condemned my soul to hell but sat down (something like that).

During the next assignment, when I was reviewing my notes and assigning a few marks, I saw, out of the corner of my eye, Koji throw a pen at Abaddon who was teasing him again. I got them both quiet again and Abaddon vowed that demons would eat my heart in hell and that someone’s mother sews socks that smell (something like that).

Not a minute later, when I was helping a student realize that, yes, he too had to do the assignment, I saw something large fly through the air and heard a loud thump and crash. Koji had thrown the entire contents of his desk at Abaddon, including an electronic dictionary that ended up so mangled and bent I think it now counts as an iPhone 6.

As they moved toward each other for a real fight, my voice went to 11 and I told both students to get out of my class. Koji stormed out and sat in the hall by door at the back of the classroom. Abaddon suddenly got quiet. This meant he knew he’d crossed a line because usually he puts on a show for the rest of the class. I forced him to sit by the closest door and told both not to talk. They could come back when they were calmed down and ready to work.

Eventually they both came back and after class I marched them down to the teachers’ office to find their homeroom teachers. When I couldn’t find the homeroom teachers, I told the vice-principal what was going on and he went from happy-go-lucky to bad-ass in only one breath. He berated them until a homeroom teacher arrived.

Both boys confessed (although Abaddon only confessed to teasing Koji but didn’t say what he’d actually said that set him off) and the homeroom teacher explained that apparently they’d hated each other since junior high and this was just one in a long line of confrontations.

I told them that next time they fought in my class they’d get more homework than they could possibly imagine.

I also told Koji to just go over and punch Abaddon next time–unless he was really hoping to get a new dictionary.

No, I didn’t say that, but I was thinking it.

Today’s post is brought to you by the letters T and D and by the number 19.

T is for Typhoon:
If you’re keeping score, this is the second typhoon in a week and the 19th of the season and, just for fun, it’s more powerful than last week’s typhoon. Also, for the record, Number 19 sounds scarier than the official name: “Vongfong“. (It’s the difference between a ski run called “Death’s Door” and one called Number 2. Think about it.)

The frequency and lethality of the storms has prompted the Japanese press to dub them “Suzumebachi Typhoons” or “Japanese Giant Hornet Typhoons.” The Japanese Giant Hornet is a particularly nasty beast that seems to be an unholy hybrid of hornet, bird, and demon that feeds on human corpses. (Something like that.) They also tend to attack in swarms.

D is for Dilemma:
It currently appears as if the worst part of Typhoon 19 will pass North of us, but we’ll get a lot of wind and rain. This brings about a dilemma.

One of the problems with mandatory schooling is that the people who force others to be there don’t go there; the people forced to be there don’t want to be there; and the people paid to be there like neither the people forced to be there nor the people forcing them to be there and want to somehow to get paid for not being there. Anyone paid to be there who actually wants to be there when they don’t have to be there is either weird or an a$$hole.

On the other hand, every now and then a perfect storm (sigh, yes, I know, but you’ll see) of factors combine to show the people paid to be there that it might be better if they actually go there.

In my case, last week I assigned a big project to my high school third years and they are supposed to present it tomorrow. If they don’t, it messes up the final project in a term in which they’ve already got few classes and I’ve had to cut some of my regular material. It’s actually in the best interest of my sanity that I actually go to work tomorrow. (Weird or A$$hole? You be the judge.)

Also, if school is cancelled, the terms of my contract require me to produce some kind of “material” or “evidence of work” or I lose a day of paid holiday. This is easier than actually going to work but it also means that our oldest and our youngest will also be home which means sister fights and oldest vs She Who Must Be Obeyed But Teenage Daughters Think They Are Exempted fights.

That said, I’m always happy to work from home. I just hope everyone stays safe.

It’s weird for me to say, but I benefit from government incompetence.

If the Japanese government were at all good at making an effective English curriculum and education teachers, I’d probably be out of a job.

When I first came to Japan the thing I noticed right away was the huge difference in English levels between my younger colleagues and my older colleagues. The older colleagues had little interest in English–many of them hadn’t wanted to be English teachers–and generally followed the official government textbook. Fortunately for them, the Japanese English teaching system, even in 2014, allows a teacher to teach English without ever having to speak it. (More on that later.)

Instead, people like me were brought in to provide “real” English and develop speaking activities.

My younger colleagues, though, were more interested in English. They’d made conscious choices to become English teachers but found themselves managed by the teachers who couldn’t care less. They were also hindered by the odd Japanese English system.

The textbooks–with a few exceptions–are designed by committees following strict Ministry of Education rules. The rules dictate how many new vocabulary words can be taught in one book. Any book that fails a rule, is sent back for revision.

The result is several textbooks with different titles but identical teaching plans. Every textbook is a bizarrely disorganized mess that teaches grammar in a scatter-shot way by focusing on grammatical structures rather than verbs and verb tenses. “I am” and “you are” are taught in one unit but “He is” and “She is” are taught later in the book even though they are the same verb tense. The books also teach relatively complex grammar “My grandfather is a man who likes to play darts in the pub as he enjoys a pint brewed by a man who is an expert at making beer.” (Note: that sentence is not actually from the textbook.)

The books also require the teachers to teach at the same pace in the same order. If they don’t, students will have difficulty on the mandatory exams. This kills any real possibilities for new ideas and modern teaching techniques. When I was still in Niigata, I would stop teaching junior high 3rd year classes (9th grade) early in October because 1) my spoken English lessons did not fit the curriculum and 2) my colleagues didn’t have time for my lessons.

The result is students who study English for six years in junior high and high school and a year or two at university but can’t speak English.

It’s all silly and a waste of resources, but I hope the curriculum planners never get their act together.

For a few minutes today, I kind of wished I had a stun gun to use on a student.

Every year, the school where I work puts on a couple speech contests. Junior high students get the assignment before the Summer break and high school get it before Winter break. Almost no one actually writes it during the holidays but at least the first year junior high students (7th grade) take it somewhat seriously.

The problems begin in second year (8th grade). By then, students already know, within reason, who is going to win the speech contest. They also know they can’t fail for doing badly on the speech. (Well, they can, sort of, but not until they try to go to high school.) Therefore the incentive to do a good job is somewhere just above zero percent for most students, especially if they are in a lower level class.

To get the speeches turned in we implement detentions and get the homeroom teachers involved. Then the problem becomes getting the students to put some energy into their speeches.

Unfortunately, today, in almost every class, we all had some kind of problem. Oddly, the problems tended to occur in the “higher” level classes.

In my case, a third of the students showed up without the “show” part of their “show and tell” speech. This means they have to do the speech twice. Other students feigned surprise that they had to memorize the speech. (Two days of practice and constant reminders to memorize it apparently didn’t register. For the record, I have a teenage kid, so I kind of understand that.)

Instead of listening, some students were talking and making lots of noise. One student was especially loud and I was trying to figure out if I needed to be closer for the stun gun probes to be effective. He dragged a second student into it.

When the second student almost started a fight with a third student, I ended up having to enact a rule I usually don’t have to use in higher level classes: IYANYAN (If You Are Noisy, You Are Next). This rule applies even if you’ve already finished your speech. (The record is three times.) I called up the second student and made him do his speech again. Then I made the first loud student do his speech.

Things were a bit quieter after that, but I think a stun gun would have been faster and more impressive.

I once spent 20 minutes of a 50 minute class trying to get Japanese students into groups. This only happened because I refused to accept the groups they already had.

My plan, simple as it seemed, involved putting the students into one of four groups. To do that, I implemented a simple system of assigning numbers: You’re 1; You’re 2; You’re 3; You’re 4; etc. I encouraged the students not to forget their numbers. After everyone had a number, I pointed to various corners of the room and said “Ones here; Twos here; threes here; fours here.” and stood back with my arms crossed a sense of smugness.

Twenty minutes later I had no fours; three ones, four threes, and everyone else was a two.

The Japanese teacher working with me translated into Japanese and after another five minutes we had something resembling groups but little time to do the activity.

My mistake was misunderstanding the importance of pre-made groups. Basically, all Japanese Junior high classrooms, especially in public school, are organized in alternating rows of boys and girls. With various magic words, the teacher can quickly organize the room into pairs (Anál nathrach); groups of three (orth’ bháis’s bethad) and groups of six (do chél dénmha). Something like that. (Bonus points if you are old enough to recognize the spell and know what movie it came from. Don’t tell your parents you watched it when they were asleep, though.)

I also misunderstood the managed teenaged politics involved with the groups. This month Maki doesn’t like Koji and will never be in a group with him but she does like Ami but Ami doesn’t like her but also won’t be in a group with Akiko. Next month all that will change and everyone will hate Ami.

When I used basic randomness to assign groups I was putting people in groups who refused to be together.

The best part is, because I didn’t use the activity, I already had the next class planned.

Today I let other students vote on the fate of one of their classmates. It didn’t go well for him.

The class I teach comes under various names depending on what grade I’m teaching but it all amounts to “English Conversation”. Basically the school where I work took regular English classes and split them into a grammar/government approved textbook part and a spoken English part.

Because my classes typically only meet once or twice a week, it’s common for my students to take them lightly and work on other homework.

This week there must be a test in Japanese because many of my students arrived in class with my textbook and a Japanese textbook. I gave a blanket warning reminding them of the rules and then let them get to work on the day’s project.

My rule regarding homework from other classes is quite simple: Strike One: I tell you to put it away and you lose a lot of points. Strike Two: You lose a lot more points, I take the homework and promise to give it back next week. There is no Strike Three. However, I also allow students who finish their work early to study other classes while everyone else finishes the project.

Today I seized a book within the first ten minutes of class. The student made up for it by eventually working and attempting to get bonus points for the project.

At the end of class I held up the seized textbook and put the students’ fate up to a vote. The question was “Should Mr. Lively be nice (for once)” Yes or No.

I took a vote and of the students who were actually listening to what I was saying, two, including the man whose fate was in question, voted Yes for be nice. Five voted for No for not nice.

This created a small crisis, though, when one student apparently realized I’d seized the book he’d lent to his friend. He complained he didn’t get to vote and/or had hanging chads and I held a second vote. The second time the Yes be nice vote won.

I gave him “his” book back and told him I wouldn’t be nice again.