Scenes from a hagwon: I

The contract I signed to teach at LIKE School in Daegu was for a year, but I ended up giving the Kim family 14 1/2 months (mid-November 2007–January 2009). The classes were usually 40 minutes long, and the beginning was signaled with a nice bit of recorded keyboard music. By this means, I realized it was again time to go and do battle with those little hellions—i.e., my students.

I had learned quickly that my view of Korean students—quiet, diligent, obedient and above all, respectful of the teacher—was a naive generalization and in many cases, it did not hold water. Far too many times to count, I stood in front of a classroom of students and was compelled to raise my voice. A lot of these kids simply would not listen or cooperate unless they had no choice in the matter. I tried to maintain a friendly and flexible demeanor, but that sometimes did not work.

I take no pleasure in recollecting the following incident, but it really stuck in my mind. I was out in the hall after a class. I may have been talking to my fellow expat teacher Andy, interacting with students or taking care of some task. Perhaps I was returning from a quick break since it helped to get away from the noise and chaos of the academy even if just for a couple of minutes.

I heard the above-mentioned music which indicated another class was starting; students and teachers alike knew what it meant. I walked into my classroom and saw four or five boys (average age: 12) gathered intently around some electronic gadget. Now first of all, I was offended that none of them recognized that Teacher Richard had entered the room. I would have been shocked if they had all stood up and bowed deeply before going to their respective seats to begin our English class. OK, that was not going to happen—but some recognition? No, not a trace.

Irked but not greatly surprised, I stood nearby to see whether they might be inclined to turn off the toy and let class begin. Ten seconds passed, at which point I said in a moderate voice, “Put it up.” This—which might be called Rebuke No. 1—drew no response, none whatsoever. Literally, not a single one of them so much as turned in my direction. It was clear to me where this situation was heading.

I let another 10 seconds pass before issuing Rebuke No. 2 in a much stronger voice: “Put it up!” Two of the kids turned toward me briefly and went right back to what must have been an utterly fascinating object. I found this momentary glance quite insulting. Two or three other students were in the corners of the room, watching and waiting for the crescendo and its climax.

Ten more seconds, and then came Rebuke No. 3 which would clearly be the last. “PUT IT UP!!!!” These words were spoken at high volume, close to their ears and in a threatening tone. A distended right index finger gave added emphasis, as if that were necessary. The boys jumped up and ran for their seats with somewhat frightened looks on their faces. The next minute or so consisted of me speaking to them incredulously and in a most assertive way. I thundered: “Did you not hear me?” “Don’t you know class has started?” “How can you be so rude?” “Guys, why do you do this?” “What’s the problem?” “Don’t do it again— OK?”

Perhaps I should have confiscated their electronic toy or reported them to headmaster Hee-Man Kim, but I did not. The incident, which was really one of many, exemplified some of the reluctant and brazen students with whom I dealt. I assure you, though, not all were like that.