Baby Toffee

"Coming executions [in the U.S.] are often carefully followed [in Europe] as examples of barbarism, and American diplomats say they are bombarded with questions about them."

No one knows what "execution" or "barbarism" mean. It is evident that my new regime has not transformed these students. They still cannot execute a homework exercise. I could get aggressive, pick a few victims, haul them in for interviews with administrators and demand to know why they aren't doing their homework. But I would be fighting absolutely everyone. So it's probably a good idea, actually. But I don't happen to feel like bothering with this today.

We go through the article in customary fashion, me explaining things. I'm keeping the discipline fairly rigid. I reiterated the rules about talking at the outset. I've sharply told one boy beside Toffee who was talking with her: "Don't talk ... especially not with Toffee." A few students grin at my audacity, with a glance to Mr. Li -- I'm verging on unequal treatment.

Now Mr. Li has left the class, with about 15 minutes more to go, and we're talking about the death penalty.

38 states in the U.S. have the death penalty. How many don't, I ask?

Silly question, I know, just trying to test elementary understanding. There are no volunteers.

Well, how many states are there in the U.S.?

56, offers Sam.

I grimace. No, there are 50 states in the U.S.A. Fifty.

But wait a sec. Some dim little thing is nagging at me -- Puerto Rico, Guam, D.C., god knows what. Is it definitely 50? Where did Sam get his 56?

So I add: "... at least, I'm pretty sure it's 50, unless I'm mistaken."

I hear a bold "56!" from Toffee's direction, but her face is hidden behind a piece of paper she's holding. I look towards her, unsure who spoke, and wait.

She moves the paper aside to glare at me and says: "You're wrong! There are 56 states!"

"Don't talk unless I'm asking you a question!" I tell her.

She mutters something resentful and falls silent. But some time later the girl is talking again.

"Stop talking!" I bark at her.

"What did I say?" she demands.

Li leaves for 15 minutes and we have a new confrontation.

"I'm hardly going to try to repeat your Chinese," I answer.

The time is over anyway, she declares in her sharp tone, I should be dismissing the class.

"Good," I say, "then leave."

"I was asking my friend for the key [to our room]."

So, I say, trumping her, you were talking.

She picks up her things and storms out, announcing: "You're crazy!" (How many of my readers would agree?)

"Retaliation!" she declares before shutting the door behind her.

This word comes from one of our geopolitics readings. Like me, she may have an occasional tendency to see parallel themes in her personal experience.

The scene concluded, everyone in the class is gaping at me, wondering how I'll react. (What do they think? That I'll run after her to get Mr. Li?)

"Now that's maturity," is the only line I can come up with on the spur. Then, maintaining my stern demeanor, I repeat the last question I'd posed, as if there'd been no interruption.

A bit later I check my watch. Was Toffee right? No. How convenient -- she's made an even bigger fool of herself, there are still several minutes left til the end of class.

"Omnipotence and ignorance," a French critic writes of the U.S. "It is a questionable cocktail."

"Teachers are not omnipotent," I tell the students to illustrate the word. "Otherwise things might be different around here."