Many teachers might be thrilled to have such trivial discipline issues. But I can not sit back and enjoy the semi-silence. I work in a school, not a Japanese capsule hotel. I refuse to leave a mint on the desk so the student will feel welcome. Likewise, I do not give wake-up calls.
A few colleagues revel in waking the undead. They clap hands, drop heavy books to the floor, slam a book on the desk, shout a student's name, whack him with a sheaf of papers, draw on him with markers, or bean him with erasers. I refuse to be a part of this sideshow. It's what the other students want: a distraction. I will not play into their idle hands. I let sleeping students lie. I warn them upon awakening that any further slumber in my classroom will result in a referral to the principal. Then, it's the student's choice. Deliberately incur the consequences, or straighten up and sit right.
I see no reason to make light of the snoozing. It's not funny. It's not cute. It's rude and counterproductive. I'll be gosh-darned if I'm going to make that scoffrule the center of attention. If the higher powers can not give me a medical reason why a student can't stay awake, that student is out. It might only be for a few days, so the ISS teacher who is not a jailer can watch him, but I'm sending a message to the good eggs, who are so easily influenced at the tender age of fourteen-going-on-fifteen. And clowning it up in a game of Fifty Ways to Wake Your Snoozer is not promoting my agenda of personal responsibility.
Can you imagine a faculty meeting where I put my head down on the table and started to snore? Me neither. I seriously doubt that Mr. Principal would help himself to a library book and whack the table next to my nose. More likely, he would proceed with the meeting, then reprimand me afterward, and put a job target in my file. Of course, the rest of my cohorts would be wishing for him to chuck a legal pad at me, or shout my name, or draw the Periodic Table on my forehead.
Because we are all fourteen at heart.