Classroom Chaos

To understand Newton's second law, one need only look to a primary school classroom, rather then a textbook. I've begun teaching in the local school two to three days a week, and those days are about all I can handle. From the moment students trickle in, disorder sets in and all attempts to restore order disintegrate before one's eyes.
There's the girl in kindergarten who prefers sharpening pencils over learning to write. No one lends her pencils for fear they are returned a third of the original length with both ends razor sharp. There's another boy who refuses to use any pencil that's not his, and, fortunately for him, his pencil is always "missing." Don't bother lending him one as it is just isn't the same. Then there's the boy who spends more time on top of his chair than properly seated on it. Or the child that roams the passage until dragged back into the classroom. Just yesterday he was seen clinging to the school fence screaming "buy me something!" to his mother at a nearby tienda. The constant barrage of "Ellie come here!" or unending demand for picture inspections leaves a ring in my ears. If of course, they even feel like drawing. "But I don't know how to draw a bean" they cry, and proceed to do something they do know how to do, like karate kicks or paper airplanes. One can't forget the discovery of lice and interruption of class for head inspections. Or learning in the middle of explaining possessives that a girl has had a baby songbird zipped up in her backpack since she arrived at school that morning. Any attempt to run an orderly class is punctuated every thirty seconds by four kids requesting bathroom or water breaks. At any given time nearly a quarter of the class is out of their seats, and those remaining seated have minds wandering outside the room anyways.
Chaos feeds chaos and it escalates into a self-feeding frenzy. They chat so I talk louder, as do they, and the orderly lesson spirals into a shouting match. While trying to perform a puppet act for first graders I grew angry and distraught at how many children snuck behind the curtain only to grin and shriek "Ahhh Elizabeth!" Already aware of how ridiculous the situation was, I popped my head over the curtain, and harshly scolded them for not respecting "Plantuna" the flower. As the shrieks and chatter ensued I was left contemplating the waste of a precious sock.
To be fair, the disorder has its entertainment value. When I don't want to wring their necks, I do love a lot of the children and their antics. The lack of socially-placed thought filters ensures anything can and will be said (such as the call of attention to my "hairy" arms). It's refreshing to see minds not yet molded or governed by the politics of social behavior or rules of etiquette. If nothing, the ridiculousness is immensely amusing. After reciting the "Little Plant" song numerous times as a group, one of my favorites confidently insisted he be the first to perform. His self-assurance morphed into confusion on the first and most obvious line "I'm a little...wait, what am I again?" His furrowed brow and terrified befuddlement only added to the humor.
In part, I blame the poor behavior of the students, especially the teenagers, on my being a young female. The fact that it is mainly teenage and younger boys who demonstrate a lack of respect implicates such. It doesn't help either, that I lack of the authoritative aura of the other teachers. I live among these kids, and many see me on a daily basis. I've found those most troublesome are ones that I was friends and acquaintances with before my teaching days. Unlike the other teachers that disappear after class, I remain and interact. That this familiarity would hinder my teaching became apparent during my first English class with the first graders. I grew confused after repeating salutations and hearing the kids join into a chorus of "sappo macho!" Later I was horrified to learn that "sappo macho" is the nickname of a drunk who had been molesting me at recent public events. This much I gleaned from the intelligible bits of a friend's explanation of the name, only discernible when she wasn't doubled over in laughter. Admittedly it makes an amusing story but it illustrated just how much I was in the public eye and continual presence of students.
As a whole however, however, the lack of respect and discipline is the fault of the parents who fail to teach their children better. A friend explained that people here don't discipline their children or reinforce notions of respect. The chaos of my classes is mirrored to a lesser degree with other teacher's classes. These children just don't know how to be self-disciplined and mentally focused. Most of them (boys especially) will live off of their brawn, not brains. To remain mentally focused is a difficult task for those accustomed to almost entirely physical, not mental labor. They haven't built up their mental endurance to match their level of physical endurance. Without example or training from parents, they never will.
The over stimulation of class time leaves me tense like an over wound spring and forces my retreat to my house where I cut off all human interaction to unwind and decompress. Yet, it would be more than worthwhile if I thought the children were benefitting from my frazzled state, particularly out of the environmental education (more so than English). While the first graders scrambled to collect trash in the plaza one boy sat indifferently on a rock. He just "wasn't interested" in participating. I repeated my message from class, that trash affects a plant's ability to grow and live happily. Why then "was all the grass over there still alive," he questioned. Although benign, the skepticism of his smile cut deeply. I've seen those disbelieving smiles many times in class- I know them well. They carry more weight than words, because they leave opinion unsaid, only implied. To verbalize such is a waste of his or her time because nothing can be changed. Those smiles feed my doubt: the disconcerting notion that nothing can be said or done on my part to change those minds.