HOM WORK

Sometimes I make the mistake of saying “Good morning!” when I walk into the classroom before class technically starts.
This spurs my students immediately and queerly into action, as they shoot to their feet and robotically respond, “Good morning, teacher!”
The routine continues with equal robotic flare.
“How are you, students?”
“We are fine, thank you. How are yewwwww?”
“I’m fine, students. You may be seated.”
Then they all fall to their makeshift seats, as if someone cut their legs out from under them.
I accidently stumbled on to said well-rehearsed routine the second day I taught. I think I’m still botching it some, but I do my best to remember it. I’m sure they were lost without it that first day.
Teaching has been hard so far this week, and we Husa girls have spent two nights dreading the next day’s class, I’m sad to say. We do our best to stay positive, but there’s still no timetable, still no direction, still no help from anyone. And each of our classes derailed so badly Monday that it’s a miracle we all didn’t crumble right then and there.
Another teacher came into Kim’s class and scolded her kids for half an hour.
The drunk headmaster, William (who clearly had a hangover this particular morning), paid my classroom the same visit and demanded to know why they wouldn’t participate, why they refused to learn. His big fuss might not have been so bad, had he not tried to explain the assignment I’d written on the board. He explained it entirely wrong, undid any teaching I’d done and ended with a bang by writing “HOM WORK” really big over it all.
Someday, my students will learn something. I am so hopeful.