What´s in a Blow-pop?

I´m conducting the same lesson for about the 8th time. I have five courses, each one is split in half, so that makes 10 total (not including the two special groups from the elementary schools, the Winter Camp group from this school and the theater crew). The lesson involves the most basic dialogue, all it needs to succeed is participation. I have a new class today. Primero D. They are freshman. I just might kill them. I recognize a particular girl from my observation day two weeks ago. The teacher was handing out a test and the girl walked right out of the classroom laughing, sucking on a blow-pop. "She does what she wants to," Claudia (an English teacher) explained. "Oh....." I replied, not really understanding. But, here she was again, in my class, blow-pop in place. There are mini-conversations going on throughout the computer lab (my classroom). I have never been given a group this big. There are about 25 of them. The average class is 17. I try to motivate them, but they are embarrassed. They will not repeat after me. Their friends are watching. "How old are you?" I single out blow-pop girl. Her eyes dart around the room, and she whispers to her girl friend and shrugs her shoulders. I repeat myself, "how old are you?" The answer is scrawled in giant letters across the board: I am fourteen-years-old. Blow-pop won´t budge. I try to make it even more simple (if that is possible). "Repeat, I (I) am (am) 14 (14) years (years) old (old)." I smile and touch her shoulder. "See? Excellent," I tell her. What´s the expression? "Like pulling teeth." It is the most basic and boring lesson possible, but where in the world do I start, if not from there? Either they have not been taught how to respond to the most important questions in English ... or they are playing dumb. Honestly I think it is a bit of both and a huge lack of conversation practice. They may know the correct answer is "My name is," but they have never practiced saying it. Teachers keep telling me that´s where I come in. The problem today is, this class is giving me very little respect. Very little attention. While I feel deep down that blow-pop kid is warming up to me and needs positive reinforcement (which I specifically give her three times during class), she is still disrupting my class and answers a knock on the door and proceeds to have a conversation... I am suddenly aware of myself at the board giving the lesson, as if out of my body watching. Huddles have formed, noone is paying attention and I suddenly realize how silly I look. I am generally not the type of person who allows others to walk all over me. I have no idea what to do, how to refocus them, how to change the tone. So, I stop ... and I wait.

Several minutes pass before even blow-pop girl has acknowledged my muted presence and her rude chatting. She giggles nervously and looks around, but for once, noone else will look at her. They are all looking at me and I´m time portaled back to elementary school when a teacher stood as I am standing for five minutes before we shut up (which reminds me, I need to call him and apologize). I stare back at the 25 little pubescent faces and say the only thing I can. "You know, I´m not being paid to be here." Hushed translations go around the room. I´m still defiantly speaking in English/sign language, very very slowly. "I´m not making any money today. Also, I´m not a teacher. I studied journalism. Also, I don´t speak your language, Spanish. Also, I miss my family and friends and boyfriend (wow this is sounding familiar). I´m here, every day, with you all, as a volunteer. I´m only here to help YOU learn English. But why? ... why do you need to learn English? Does anyone know?" Blow-pop girl shrugs her shoulders. Everyone else is still amazingly silent. I write the word ENGLISH on the board and circle it, initiating a spider chart. I repeat the question in Spanish and someone mumbles something about leaving the country. I write it on the board and connect it to my ENGLISH bubble. I continue to explain about traveling, meeting people, working, jobs. Someone wants to be an engineer. I tell him about my father, born in Colombia, a hard worker and successful engineer in New York City. I tell them that if they don´t want to learn English to kindly stop wasting my time. If they want to act like they are in kindergarten, then I´ll let them play and save myself the trouble. I take out two big poster sheets and some markers and throw them on the ground. "Here, you want to play? Go ahead. Make some posters." I´ve had every class make a poster to represent their course (and for a possible scoreboard for contests to come), it´s been a winding down activity for most and a bit of a reward for good behavior. "MISS!!? porque jardin?????" They are asking me why I keep calling them kindergardeners. "Just play," I say.
I put on some music as they huddle around the sheet on the ground. The girls are closest to me and a couple keep staring at me quizzically (think: misbehaving puppy which has been quarantined to the kitchen peeking over the gate at you on the couch in the den). "Miss? Estas enojada?" I ignore them and begin reading the New York Times online.

Fifteen minutes pass and I get up to peruse the artwork. The girls are giggling and trying to cover theirs up when I approach. Finally I push through to see the finished product.
A giant red heart covers half the white space and inside it, Miss Teresa is written with a happy face. Blow-pop girl is dedicatedly finishing the multi-colored leaves on the flower stem that runs alongside the right edge of the poster. She has filled much of the empty space with several other beautifully drawn flowers. I feel as though I have stumbled upon one of blow-pop girl´s valuable secrets. She is an artist. Now she is calm, content, even acting her age. Girls laugh and talk and tease each other around her and she never once looks up from her petal project. I hold the poster up and crack a smile for the first time in 25 minutes. The girls all look at me anxiously, wanting my approval (I realize to my astonishment). I tell them it is my favorite poster thus far and it is beautiful. Blow-pop girl speaks for the group, "We are sorry for how we acted today. Sometimes we can be like that." The other girls nod their heads furiously in agreement. They tell me they will be better next time. I am touched and relieved and I realize this is what former volunteers have been warning me about. They said this experience would be "the hardest thing you´ve ever done, and also the most rewarding." I´m looking at my name in a big mishapen heart on the wall, and I feel ... different. It´s the way you want to throw your barking puppy out the window sometimes, or give him to your cousin who lives in another city. But you don´t, cuz he´s just a puppy and you know he needs you, at least for a while.