Teaching Between Tragedy and Comedy

 Teaching Between Tragedy and Comedy

Sometimes certain students are continually, habitually disruptive. I have one student named Raphael who is like the modern-day Michael Winslow – the guy who makes all the funny sound effects in those dumb, outdated Police Academy movies. Raphael is constantly creating noises to accompany class time. If someone answers a question wrong, Raphael will make a little Vaudevillian fanfare like a sad trumpet. “Wah-wah-wah.” You know the sound. If something unfortunate happens to a character in a story we’re reading, Raphael will use his cupped hand as a mute to his imaginary trumpet to make the vibrato at the end. If someone gets called to the office for any reason, Raphael is there with his obnoxious fanfare. It becomes a problem. My mentor has attempted to correct this behavior by forcefully instructing Raph that he needs to stop his rude interruptions, but he is tempted by every opportunity to interject with a sound effect. He is like an inevitable, naturally occurring event. Old Faithful erupts every 90 minutes; Raphael makes a trumpet sound about ten times in a 40 minute class.

The other day, Raphael came to our classroom before lunch crying because his previous hour’s teacher had written him up for a particularly bratty offense. Since he was so upset, I let him eat lunch in the classroom with me and another kid instead of out with the bullying mob who hunger to pounce on delicate, crying children. The other kid who joined us was Chris who avoids the crowd because certain noises from other people’s autonomic nervous systems cause him to have intense anxiety.

  It was the three of us having lunch alone in the classroom. I don’t even remember what the catalyst was, but it was after Raph had calmed down again. Something inspired Raph to do his signature trumpet sound. I confronted him directly. I told him, “I think you’re funny. I like how you bring humor into the classroom. But sometimes, the same gag repeated over and over just becomes predictable. The charm wears off after a while. I’m not saying, ‘never make jokes,’ but sometimes it’s good to wait until you’ve thought of a really unique joke before you share it. That way your humor stays fresh instead of getting old.”

  Raphael became quiet. Hopefully, the advice was sinking in. Maybe Raph was reconsidering what had become the majority of his persona in class. Then the silence was interrupted by sensitive Chris who interjected, “Well I disagree. I don’t think humor has any place in the classroom. We’re here to learn, not make jokes. Jokes are a waste of our time.”

I wasn’t unsurprised by Chris taking the serious tone but found myself challenged with handling these two polar opposites at once. I told Chris that sometimes humor is good because it keeps our spirits up. We’ll be more efficient learners if we’re happy, so a dose of humor can be helpful. Chris disagreed with me and argued his case for a bit: “We’re running late enough as it is with everything we have to learn. If we spend too much time making jokes, we won’t be able to learn the important things we’re supposed to.” I bet Aristotle or Buddha didn’t have this much pushback when they told people to take the middle way.

Eventually I told them that I’m glad that we have so many distinct personalities among us, and that I appreciate how they each bring something different to the table. Then, the bell rang to open the floodgate of preteens back to the room. As usual, I could use an extra semester to fit in everything I want the students to learn.

Epilogue

Raphael has stopped making trumpet sounds just in time for the noises to become in fashion for the rest of the sixth grade boys to perform. In effect, I traded in one disruptive kid for a boisterous fifty more. 

Chris still doesn’t think anything is funny.