Early Days in a Korean Hagwon
Early in My Teaching Career
Early in my teaching career, I worked at a hagwon in Korea—a private after-school academy where students go for extra English study outside of their normal school day. These places can range from very structured academic environments to more informal, high-energy classrooms depending on the school. Mine was somewhere in the middle, and it gave me a crash course in real-world classroom management.
My father would send me Halloween decorations, and I would go all out. I really wanted the kids to enjoy a properly spooky, haunted classroom—something they could actually feel, not just study in.
My roommate even made some beautiful headstones. One student, about twelve years old, stayed after class and helped me decorate. He was very strong in English and had a sharp sense of humor—or so I thought at the time.
He used to draw comic strips of South Park, but he would rename the characters after students in class. He also used a lot of profanity in the dialogue, but it was genuinely hilarious. His drawing skills were excellent.
Years later, he found me on Facebook and said hello. He was in college by then. It was one of those small full-circle moments you don't forget.
The Second Hagwon: A Different Kind of Class
Later, I worked at another hagwon. This time I had a class of about seven twelve-year-olds. Two boys—both the highest level in the class—were also the most disruptive. Constant talking, horseplay, the usual power struggle dynamic.
One day, the top student was absent. The rest of the class was unusually well-behaved, and we were actually having a great lesson.
Then the absent student walked in late.
He put his books down and immediately started talking to his friend. I said calmly, "Hi Billy, take out your book." He glanced at me and kept talking.
A minute or two later, I repeated it—same calm tone. Again, he looked at me and continued talking, disrupting the class.
At that point I said, "Okay, Billy, don't take out your book."
The Incident
With that, he got up, walked around the table, came over, and punched me in the face. He was a rather large twelve-year-old.
I stayed calm and said, "Wrong answer."
Then I picked him up and carried him to the front desk while he hit me two or three more times. I placed him down by the secretary and explained what had happened.
I left him there and went back to class.
The students were asking why I didn't do anything. I laughed and told them I did—I took him out of the room. Then I asked if they expected me to throw him out the window. I reminded them he was twelve years old. I might have done that if he were in his twenties.
They were very impressed with my self-control.
He later came back, bowed, and apologized. The head teacher then took him away and placed him in another class. Poor Billy—the head teacher was not quite as patient as I was.
Looking Back
I look back on those moments, and many others like them, quite fondly. They affected me in different ways, but both experiences shaped my classroom management skills in ways no training ever could.