Forehead
Today we had the students working in groups of five, which basically means that one or two students do all the work while the others slack off.
I saw one such boy who had taken to peeling the rubber bumper strip off of the edge of the desk, twisting it into little loops and circles.
As I watched him, he bent over double and started to slowly rub his forehead all over it, the way a cat rubs its head against your hand when it wants to be petted. It brought to mind David Sedaris' essay "Plague of Tics", in which he describes the obsessive-compulsive tendencies of his childhood.
"What are you doing?" I asked, in a curious tone of voice.
Surprised, he looked up. The other students in his group seemed not to notice.
"What are you doing with that?" I pointed to the rubber strip, and then to my forehead.
His eyes widened, then his face lit up in a hand-in-the-cookie-jar grin: sheepish, yet sly. He might have been embarrassed to be caught in the act, but there was no denying his satisfaction with it, and he was ready to get right back to the action the minute I turned away.
I grinned back at him and raised an eyebrow.
"Stop it."
It was clearly a dare.
I left his group and circled the room, helping students with the activity while keeping an eye on him. When I left him he was sitting up straight, but as time passed he kept bending lower and lower, bringing his forehead closer and closer to the edge of the desk.
He was watching me as well: whenever I paused to answer a student's question his eyes lit up, knowing that this might be his big chance! It was at that point that I locked gazes with him, as if to say, you might think so, but I've got my eye on you, pal. He looked ready to erupt into the kind of nervous giggle you laugh when you're being chased by a monster in a dream.
Finally, I paused to help a student without checking on him first, and by the time I was done answering her question, he was sitting up straight and looking rather smug.
I found myself giggling to myself after class.
"What a weird kid," said the Japanese teacher I taught the class with. "Or did he do something funny?"
"Yeah, something like that."
I saw one such boy who had taken to peeling the rubber bumper strip off of the edge of the desk, twisting it into little loops and circles.
As I watched him, he bent over double and started to slowly rub his forehead all over it, the way a cat rubs its head against your hand when it wants to be petted. It brought to mind David Sedaris' essay "Plague of Tics", in which he describes the obsessive-compulsive tendencies of his childhood.
"What are you doing?" I asked, in a curious tone of voice.
Surprised, he looked up. The other students in his group seemed not to notice.
"What are you doing with that?" I pointed to the rubber strip, and then to my forehead.
His eyes widened, then his face lit up in a hand-in-the-cookie-jar grin: sheepish, yet sly. He might have been embarrassed to be caught in the act, but there was no denying his satisfaction with it, and he was ready to get right back to the action the minute I turned away.
I grinned back at him and raised an eyebrow.
"Stop it."
It was clearly a dare.
I left his group and circled the room, helping students with the activity while keeping an eye on him. When I left him he was sitting up straight, but as time passed he kept bending lower and lower, bringing his forehead closer and closer to the edge of the desk.
He was watching me as well: whenever I paused to answer a student's question his eyes lit up, knowing that this might be his big chance! It was at that point that I locked gazes with him, as if to say, you might think so, but I've got my eye on you, pal. He looked ready to erupt into the kind of nervous giggle you laugh when you're being chased by a monster in a dream.
Finally, I paused to help a student without checking on him first, and by the time I was done answering her question, he was sitting up straight and looking rather smug.
I found myself giggling to myself after class.
"What a weird kid," said the Japanese teacher I taught the class with. "Or did he do something funny?"
"Yeah, something like that."