No More Monsieur Nice Guy

Every Monday afternoon, I have a class of students in 1ere SPE – spécialité anglais (meaning they should be at a higher level of English, although sometimes it’s hard to tell). They are the one and only group lucky enough to meet with me every week. All the other students have to wait 2 weeks, one month, or even 6 weeks!

So, with that said, you would think that this group would appreciate and respect me a little more, right? I mean, I don’t want them to bow down to me, but I am still a “teacher”. Well, this group is slowly getting used to this idea, but it has been tough. I think out of all my classes, this is the group that I have trouble with the most.

Since day one, I noticed that the behavior of high school students in France is nothing like that of students in the US. Yet, they give there is a different etiquette followed for the teacher-student relationship. For example, students always refer to their teachers as Madame or Monsieur. Depending on the teacher, the students sometimes have to wait in the hallway until the teacher tells them they can come in, or have to stay standing until they are told to sit down.

However, despite this etiquette, students will not hesitate to talk back to their teacher or attempt to annoy them before the lesson starts. Or, at least, that’s my impression.

Another thing that should be noted is that in high school, they are always with the same group of students. It’s not like in the US where you can have 6 different classes with 6 different sets of classmates. My students go to every single class with the same classmates, everyday, all year long. So, the friendships and hierarchy of the class (meaning, everyone knows who the class clown is, the smart one, the quiet one, the lazy one, etc.) only causes them to talk more than usual.

My 1ere SPE class is split into 2 groups when I meet with them. I see each group for only 30 minutes, which is not a lot of time to do a whole lesson, so I am always under pressure to complete a task. With the clock ticking, I try to get them into the classroom and focused as fast as I can. Lucky for me, I have to do this just after their 10-minute break. Yay.

In the first half, I have 9 students. Should be easy, right? Think again.
In this group of 9, there are 2 sets of girls who always sit next to each other and whisper to each other thinking that I can’t hear them. Then, there is a group of 3 girls who always sit in the front. I don’t have any issues with them because they make it easy for it. They are interested in what I have to say and want to practice their English. Then, there are 2 boys. One of which, since day one, has done nothing in my class exempt complain about how boring or easy my lessons are and how he thinks English isn’t important. During the first few sessions, I even asked him if he thought working with me was a waste of time – he simply replied yes.

I am a nice person. And, it takes a lot to get me to be tough. Being nice sometimes means that I get taken advantage of or walked over. This class did just that. They would be quite, but whenever someone didn’t understand something, they would just turn to someone and ask in French, “qu’est qu’il a dit?” as I am still explaining their task.

I would say nothing, but I would try to but into their conversations. But, of course, when I would ask, “Are there any questions?” = Cue for the crikets to start chirping.

After several frustrating sessions with them, I talked to the teacher, who then proceeded to scold them for disrespecting me, on 2 separate occasions. Had I known she was going to do that instead of give me some tips, then I would have kept my mouth shut. I knew the teacher wanted to help me, but she made me look weaker by intervening. And, the first group of students assumed I could not take control.

So on Monday, I passed out a poster I found that informed people of racial discrimination that exists in the South. In the center of the poster were pictures of Martin Luther King, Jr. and Charles Manson. Since it was MLK Day, I figured I would try to discuss what they thought about the poster and racism.

As I helped them read the writing on the poster and define some words, I noticed that the one set of girls was busy cleaning their hands with hand sanitizer and giving some to one of the boys. I glared over at them and gave them a silent warning. The girls understood.

As another student was talking, the boy who had already cleaned his hands leaned back in his chair and tried to start a conversation with the girls.

That was it.

“Go back to class!” – I interrupted the student who was speaking and told the boy to get his things and go back to class with his teacher.

At first, he thought I was joking because he was smiling. But, as I looked him in the eye, I repeated “Go back to class. No one is forcing you to be here”. His smile quickly melted away and he started to beg.

“Non, je vais arrêter(I’m going to stop). Désolé, Monsieur, excusez-moi”.

“I told you to go back to class, please. You are not participating and you are disrupting the class”.

“Are you sure, Monsieur?” – he asked, with a look of fear on his face. At first, I thought to myself, ‘you have got to be kidding me! Are you really asking me if I’m sure I want you out of the classroom?!’

“Yes, I’m sure. I’m not joking. Please, go back to class.”

The room was silent. As he was getting his bag, I lectured the class.

“I know I am not a teacher, but I am a teaching assistant. You will respect me like you respect your teacher. I try to plan fun things for you to do, but when you do not pay attention, I don’t think I should bother to plan anything “fun”. If you do not want to meet with me, then you can stay in class with your teacher. It’s an easy problem to fix”.

Everyone was quiet. I’m sure it was because they did not know what I said, but they knew that they could not get away with any more.

As the boy was opening the door, he turned and asked me again,

“Mais, Monsieur, je suis vraiment désolé. Je ne veux pas…”

“Please, go. I asked you to leave.”

He walked out and started walking down the hall. But, then he came back in and begged one more time. “Monsieur, si je rentre dans la salle, la prof va m’engueuler”, (Sir, if I go back to class, the teacher will yell at me) he said. By now, he was bright red, full of shame, and scared to death. It looked like he wanted to cry. I wanted to laugh.

I gave in. “Ok, but sit over there and be quiet. If I hear you talking to anyone, I will send you to the teacher and I will tell her that I do not want you in my class”. He sat down and the relief on his face was priceless.

After the 30-minute session, they all left the classroom with a very important lesson in mind.

NO MORE MONSIEUR NICE GUY.

They better not push my buttons next week or I will stop teaching their section. I have the right to decide that…and if I don’t, I’ll go on strike for it (the French approach to solving any problem).