RGM
They call me RGM. They are my smallest and, somehow, my loudest class.
Jun gave up on participating in class conversation long ago. We move too slowly, and he hates having homework. I can't say I blame him. Then again, something would be wrong if these boys actually got excited about English grammar class.
Ethan is incapable of remaining completely silent for longer than 6.5 seconds. Most often, he's speaking to anyone who will listen -- or to the air, if necessary. He speaks more Korean in class than my other 81 students combined. He spends most minutes trying to make the other boys laugh. At the moment, he's singing the Korean soccer song to himself. I prefer the singing, partly because his soft voice puts a funny twist on his tough-jerk persona.
Henry spaces out more than me. I invited him back to Earth once, and the other boys won't let it die. Today, his classmates have failed to inform him about the chunk of tape in his hair. I don't mention it either. When Henry isn't lost in his brain, he's a close second to Ethan in the noise department. I'd let him stay lost if it weren't for that small detail that we have 15 pages of grammar still to cover.
Bryan can be just as loud and funny, but he seems to have boundaries. Whether or not he's actually funnier, I can't say. But since he's not constantly babbling, the things he does say are more amusing to me.
At some point in this lost-cause class, I ask if they understand the words coming out of my mouth or if they've all shut off their brains. Jun keeps writing, and Ethan continues to serenade himself. Henry doesn't come close to leaving his stupor. Amazingly, Brian cracks a smile.
"Off," he laughs.
Jun gave up on participating in class conversation long ago. We move too slowly, and he hates having homework. I can't say I blame him. Then again, something would be wrong if these boys actually got excited about English grammar class.
Ethan is incapable of remaining completely silent for longer than 6.5 seconds. Most often, he's speaking to anyone who will listen -- or to the air, if necessary. He speaks more Korean in class than my other 81 students combined. He spends most minutes trying to make the other boys laugh. At the moment, he's singing the Korean soccer song to himself. I prefer the singing, partly because his soft voice puts a funny twist on his tough-jerk persona.
Henry spaces out more than me. I invited him back to Earth once, and the other boys won't let it die. Today, his classmates have failed to inform him about the chunk of tape in his hair. I don't mention it either. When Henry isn't lost in his brain, he's a close second to Ethan in the noise department. I'd let him stay lost if it weren't for that small detail that we have 15 pages of grammar still to cover.
Bryan can be just as loud and funny, but he seems to have boundaries. Whether or not he's actually funnier, I can't say. But since he's not constantly babbling, the things he does say are more amusing to me.
At some point in this lost-cause class, I ask if they understand the words coming out of my mouth or if they've all shut off their brains. Jun keeps writing, and Ethan continues to serenade himself. Henry doesn't come close to leaving his stupor. Amazingly, Brian cracks a smile.
"Off," he laughs.
Haha! What a great tribute to a fantastically rotten quartet. I miss those kids.
ReplyDeleteI like your description of them. Fantastically rotten. I just learned I won't have them again as of September, and I'm seriously bummed. Doesn't seem like that should make sense....
ReplyDelete