The secret of Ronna's questions
I have a difficult student in my adult class. This class consists of Bulgarians, plus a few other Eastern Europeans. Four teachers at my school had Ronna in class before, and they expressed their sympathies when they found out she was in my class now. Not one teacher, not two. Four! Basically every teacher who has taught Ronna has suffered from having her and labeled her as a difficult student. In turn, Ronna herself has labeled each of the four teachers as a bad teacher.
It's my turn now. This woman has taken the joy out of teaching for me. Instead of feeling in my element and focusing on the material and my students, I'm tense, I expect to be interrupted at any moment and I prepare to defend myself.
The funniest thing about this case is that it's hard to describe what it is exactly that Ronna does to make teachers hate their choice of profession. All she does is ask questions. But is there anything wrong with asking questions in class? We encourage students to ask questions; that's how they learn. Right? Right. That's what makes it so difficult for me to state my case. This fifty-three year old Bulgarian woman is sucking the life out of me and I don't know how to stop her from doing that or even how to describe her behavior to my boss. I could report this to my boss, but, again, what will I say? "The student asks questions"? The only people who understand what I mean are the four teachers who have taught her before.
Together with the four of them, I tried to put into words this thing that Ronna does, and it's starting to sound normal. Yes, all Ronna does, is ask questions, but! She asks them at inappropriate times, and they have nothing to do with what we're covering in class. Basically, every time she wants something explained to her - it is when I'm in the middle of talking. It's never when I ask if anyone has any questions.
Here is a typical situation. We're learning new vocabulary - how to make hotel reservations. We learn to read and pronounce words like "a single room", "a double room", "a suite" etc. Everyone took turns to practice the vocabulary and now they're ready to make conversations using these new words. Exactly when I am dividing them into pairs and explaining what kind of dialog I want to hear, Ronna interrupts me and demands to explain the difference between "suite" and " sweet". She wants me to write it on the board for her, pronounce it several times and all this time the other students -all fifteen of them are sitting idly, because I wasn't finished giving them the instructions.
Or another example. With the new grammar material just explained, I ask if anyone has any questions. Those who do, ask. I explain again and give more examples. Now everyone seems to be on the same page; we can move on to the next segment. And when I am introducing them to this new segment - that is exactly when Ronna needs a question answered about the previous material. When there was time for questions she was busy with something else - checking her electronic dictionary, reading something, whatever else she was doing. She did not have questions, because she chose to use that time for something else. And when she is finally ready to ask a question, she demands getting an answer, right then. No matter, that it has been discussed already. It doesn't matter to her, because she was busy. Sometimes I say: "We've just discussed that". That's when she gives me the evil eye and starts angrily speaking in Bulgarian to the other students.
You might say: "Well, just answer the damn question and move on". But she does it thirty-forty times during the class. It's not an exaggeration. Not five minutes goes without her interrupting me. She does it every class. Every single class.
And now I'm going to give you more insight into her character. Ronna is not just a middle aged Bulgarian student who wants to learn English. Ronna is a poet and has published a book back in Bulgaria. To say she is full of herself would be an understatement. She has what I would call a full-blown primadonna syndrome. This by itself wouldn't be so bad. What makes it so much worse is that the other Bulgarian students absolutely worship her. The majority of students are women Ronna's age, and most of them don't have a higher education degree. Some of them had worked at factories before winning the green card and coming over here. So, to them Ronna is the smartest person there is. I don't know if Ronna's poems are good, but, considering that Bulgaria is a small country, chances are that she was famous over there. Which makes the students in my class feeling honored to be in the same class with her. That explains their behavior that amazed me when I first witnessed it. Whenever she'd ask one of her many questions and I'd tell her it had been discussed already - other students would start giving her the explanations, trying to make up for me. Of course, it makes it all the more difficult for me to show Ronna her place - a place as one of the sixteen students instead of royalty. The other students' idolizing behavior towards her makes me look like I'm the only one who doesn't pay Ronna the due respect.
This woman, who, apart from having written a book of poems, and who otherwise worked in technical field, has the nerve to give me instructions on how to teach. She actually came up to me and said, in Russian, that if I want the students to like me, I should read like this, explain like that, and basically consult with her before starting each class. My jaw dropped and I think I was speechless for a couple of seconds. Then I said something like this: "I'm here to teach and not to seek popularity from you. I don't need to establish myself in your eyes, and I don't need to prove to you that I'm a good teacher. I've been an established teacher for many years. My work is reflected in hundreds of positive students' evaluations and repeated praise of the administration. You might not like the way I teach because I don't give all my attention to you. This will not change as I have sixteen students in my class, and each of them is important to me. You are just as important as everyone else - no less, and no more. No more than everyone else."
Needless to say, she was not happy and I suspect I became number five on her list of bad teachers in our school. Meanwhile she became number one on my list of difficult students I've had in my practice.
I think about her a lot. On the days I teach, I dread going to work, anticipating five hours filled with tension and possibility of me having a panic attack. On the days I don't teach I still think of her. I wonder how she is going to make it in this country. Americans haven't heard of the book she's written and if they hear about it, they won't care. An average American will tell you that he is a writer, a musician, or an artist. They won't add that they are amateurs and writing/playing/drawing is just a hobby. They usually take themselves very seriously. One coworker of mine told me he is about to finish a novel, another sings in cafes on weekends. I remember the first time, years ago, when a teacher at my university told me he wrote a book of poems. I was so humbled to be standing next to a real poet. It wasn't until he gave me the book and I actually read it, that I realized that what we, back home, used to call "an amateur writer" is called over here just "a writer". All one has to do is write something. There is often a company willing to publish a small number of copies, and if not - one can always self-publish. There are many companies that publish whatever you might write, for a reasonable fee. And the moment you have a copy of your book in your hands you present yourself to others as a writer. Trust me, in all fourteen years that I've lived here, not once have I heard someone describing himself as an amateur. I even suspect that, should I try to specify: "You mean, you're an amateur?" there would be hurt feelings.
That's the difference between how we - Russians, Eastern Europeans - see it and how Americans do. We are modest about our achievements, if not to say burdened with complexes. We often even downplay our achievements - that's how we were raised. They, over here were raised the opposite way - they were taught to take themselves seriously. Perhaps some of them take themselves a little too seriously. And sometimes I hide a smile when someone introduces himself as a singer, and later in the conversation it turns out that he just goes to bars when they have an open mike night - when anyone can walk up to the microphone and sing a song. That's when I work hard on not smiling or saying something like: "Look, I'm a great karaoke singer, but it's just a hobby. Shouldn't you be honest and tell people that you work at a bank and enjoy singing on weekends?" I'll never say that though - people will get offended. Instead I'm learning to see myself the way they do. It's not such a bad thing to take myself seriously, with reason of course. I doubt that I'll ever go as far as calling myself a singer (I think I'm a great karaoke singer though), but I have already mentioned to a co-worker that I write. Why not? What I write may be of interest to me only, so what? I do write, and when Americans write, they call themselves writers. It's not only about taking oneself seriously - it's even more about admitting one's talents and giving them value. It's saying to yourself: "Yes, I might never make it to the big stage, simply because there are more talented people out there than there is space on the stage. But I am damn talented and I'm proud of that". It's about keeping your head up high - something I learned after I moved over here, when my teachers told me I wrote well, and to my surprise I saw that they were serious. Self-respect and self-value - that's what I found in this forever controversial country and for which I'm grateful.
And that is precisely why I think Ronna is going to have a hard time here, unless she gets rid of that primadonna thing going for her among Bulgarians or unless she starts writing in English, which won't happen for a while. She doesn't know how many other poets she is surrounded with. Let's imagine, that in a couple of years she starts working in her field - something technical, but I'm not sure what it is. She'll proudly tell her new coworkers that she is a poet and she'll expect a pause of disbelief and humble appreciation. Instead, she'll hear, "Oh, that's great. Let me introduce you to Steve over there, he also writes poems".
Possibly, she has already encountered this approach, and that's why her grip on fellow Bulgarians is tighter than ever. Without them, no one knows who she is. Right now, her classmates are proud to serve her in every way they can. But how long will this go on? I'll go ahead and make a bold prediction. As Ronna discovers that she isn't going to get the appreciation she craves in this country, she'll go back to Bulgaria where she is known.
That's not all about Ronna. I think I made a psychological discovery about her. I found out WHY she tortures me with untimely questions. Guess what? It's not at all about the questions. One of the four teachers, who has survived Ronna's presence, gave me a piece of advice: when the question Ronna is asking has nothing to do with what we're doing right now, "softly but firmly" tell Ronna to stay after the class and the answer will be given. That's what I did last night. Just like my colleague had coached me I said, "We don't have time for that right now - we're in the middle of an activity, but I'll be glad to answer your question after the class." She wasn't happy to hear that, but I left her no choice - without pausing for a moment I went on with the explanation she had interrupted.
When the class was over, I invited her to stay, and more than that - I said I was available for the next half-hour so she could ask me all the questions she had. The rest of the students left right after the class. My half-hour was at her complete disposal. And how many questions do you think she asked me? Absolutely none! She just left. I was sitting in the empty classroom puzzled, and finally I came to realization that Ronna didn't feel the need to ask me any questions because the main component of her necessary environment was not present - the audience. Her classmates had left, and so did her need to ask questions.
The real reason for her interrupting me is that subconsciously she resents a situation where the teacher is the center of attention; she feels that it's her who should be the center. I know she doesn't plan to make the lesson a living hell for me, but, again, without realizing it, she tries to change the situation where all the attention will be on her instead of the teacher. She thinks she wants the question to be answered, but in fact she wants the attention of the group. And that's why her untimely questions - exactly in the middle of my sentence - will never stop. Just like a person can't help having an epilepsy attack, Ronna can't help having a primadonna syndrome. And she'll keep interrupting us, teachers, and make us hate our jobs - and all that without even knowing that the true thing she is craving is to be the focal point of the class.
And just like that, I cracked up the code. It's easier not to hate her now.
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