Knowing where the 'grown-up' bathroom is is essential for a successful day of substituting. Any teacher knows that their bladder must be properly trained. You can't escape to the bathroom during a fabulous finger-painting lesson! As a sub, your schedule changes everyday; essentially you train yourself NOT to go during the hours of 7 and 3. This is a tricky task and involves drinking only a small amount of coffee, but not enough to inspire a long visit to the commode.
Anyhow, I love elementary school teacher bathrooms. They are always plastered with inspirational photos or Far Side cartoons, at least. It's almost like getting a pep talk during half-time. "I touch the future, I teach." and "Let's put the fun back into dysfunctional!" And, "If your ship hasn't come in, swim out to it!" Since I go to different schools every day, I don't end up reading the same motivational sayings over and over again everyday. My bathroom trips, when I get them, are inspirational indeed! They are inspiring enough to go back to the classroom, so I can touch the future.
One such poster caught my eye, "To the world you may be only one person, but to one person, you may be the world." Usually, I would just have an inward sigh and move on with my day, but that phrase stuck with me the rest of the day. I was reading the memoir of Antwone Fisher, Finding Fish. The book details his life growing up as a foster child in inner-city Cleveland. Born into foster care, he lives with an abusive family and has little power to change his situation. So, he copes. He does what he has to do to survive, and it's not always a pretty picture. One of the highlights of the book, and consequently his life, is his fifth grade teacher. She takes time for him, cares for him, and helps him learn to read.
So, when I read that quote on the bathroom wall, I thought about all the kids that I 'may be the world' to. There are kids from my long-term jobs who I will remember for the rest of my career. In a Pre-K class, I had a student named Hubert. Hubert had the most energy of any child I had ever seen. When I first started the long-term job in the classroom, he couldn't even sit in his chair to eat a snack! The aide told me that the previous teacher wouldn't give this child the time of day. She had said that she couldn't teach him, it was the aide's job to teach him. And Hubert drove me crazy! He was always breaking his crayons and throwing them all over the floor. Then when he picked them up, he would get distracted and start doing somersaults! Rest time was a dreaded part of the day for him. If given the chance, Hubert would just run around the room with his Transformers blanket as a cape. This wasn't conducive for the napping of the rest of the students, however. Everyday, I would put on the lullaby music and get the other kids settled. Then I would go over to Hubert's special corner, far away from the other students. Usually he would be rolling around in his blanket or donkey-kicking the wall. I would sit down next to him and attempt to settle him down. Exhortations of "No Recess!" or "I'll give you Skittles if you sleep!" never worked on Hubert. What did work was sitting quietly next to him and putting my hand on his back. This was enough to calm him down. (Well, it was enough sometimes.) Sometimes I would whisper to him, "Time to Sleep." Sometimes I would sing. Sometimes, I would just sit there--the presence and attention of an adult was enough for him. And I didn't leave.
The one thing that I could do to help them was to be a constant, kind person in their life for however long I would know them. And, let's face it, the kids who need kindness the most, are usually the hardest to love. But you never know what situation a child is facing at home, and a sub knows even less about their home-life.
That bathroom inspiration coupled with Antwone Fisher's book, fortified me to return to the classroom a kinder person--at least until the 3 o'clock bell. Elementary students are so eager to please their teacher, (even the lowly sub!) they will hug you before you introduce yourself! So whenever I catch myself lapsing into a defensive posture with my mean substitute scowl pasted on, I do my best to smile and be a teacher who may be someone's whole world.
07 February 2011
23 January 2011
A Haiku from the Substitute
Last Friday, I spent the day in a junior high school subbing for 7th and 8th grade science. I have to say, that subbing for grades 7-12 is a whole different ballgame from the little kids I'm used to teaching. No one needs you to tie their shoes, and you never have to take a whole class bathroom break! At a middle school, you have two choices: be a friend, or paste on your mean teacher glare and get ready to rumble. I find that a mix of the two is usually the best approach.
After taking attendance wherein I inevitably mispronounce at least half of the names, I give them their assignment and that's that. Apart from meandering up the aisles and looking menacingly at noisy students, a sub must then occupy themselves for the remainder of the period. (That is, assuming that the class actually does what you ask them to do.)
I often wonder what goes on in a 7th grader's mind, after they have breezed through the assignment and are writing notes in their planners. I'll probably never know what is actually going on in their irrational thoughts, but trying to imagine their teenage woes helps to fill the time between the bells!
from the girl in the first row with mismatched laces
The substitute's shoes:
bright, orange, rubber-soled toes.
OMG! We match.
After taking attendance wherein I inevitably mispronounce at least half of the names, I give them their assignment and that's that. Apart from meandering up the aisles and looking menacingly at noisy students, a sub must then occupy themselves for the remainder of the period. (That is, assuming that the class actually does what you ask them to do.)
I often wonder what goes on in a 7th grader's mind, after they have breezed through the assignment and are writing notes in their planners. I'll probably never know what is actually going on in their irrational thoughts, but trying to imagine their teenage woes helps to fill the time between the bells!
from the girl in the first row with mismatched laces
The substitute's shoes:
bright, orange, rubber-soled toes.
OMG! We match.
13 December 2010
What's in a Name?
As you may notice, I haven't ventured to actually use this blog to, well, blog. I've been rather busy, you guessed it, SUBSTITUTING! I had the pleasure of working with a second grade class for the majority of the first semester, but I was still stuck with that dreadful title: substitute.
There's just something off about that name. Nobody wants to have a substitute. Nobody really wants to be a substitute, for that matter. Sometimes I'm in a position for several weeks--doing all the work--all the scolding, reminding, prodding, planning, all the hundreds of stars and happy faces that must be pasted on even the most banal worksheet--and still, I am merely the substitute. Expected to do much more, but referred to as much less.
Would the stigma of a "substitute" smell as sweet by any other name? Sometimes I wonder. Using advice that I commonly give students, I looked up the word in the dictionary in hopes of finding a better one.
sub·sti·tute noun \ˈsəb-stə-ˌtüt,-ˌtyüt\: a person or
thing that takes the place or function of another
Synonyms: backup, cover, designated hitter, fill-in, pinch hitter, relief, replacement, reserve, stand-in, sub, alternate, understudy; apology, makeshift, stopgap, surrogate.
I have to admit, Webster got it right. As a substitute, you are a makeshift, stopgap measure used to stand-in until the rightful teacher can return to his or her throne. Sometimes I feel like the back-up, the understudy who can only pinch-hit instead of being in the regular line-up. When I was actually in elementary school, I wasn't chosen for the regular line-up either!
But, enough complaining. Someday I know I'll make it to the majors (a.k.a. Being in a school district long enough to join the teacher's union and be a fully-trained staff member allowed to use both the laminator and the Ellison machine.) However, until then, I know that some one has to be the surrogate-alternate that can fill in for Mrs. SoandSo or Mr. BlahBlah. And, let's face it, sometimes I actually am better than the tired old starting line-up.
Well, that was quite a pep-talk to myself. Sometimes you just need to look yourself in the mirror and say, "Damn, you look good. You're the real thing." And when I'm done with all that blathering on, it's time to go be a substitute. I am the relief, the reserve stock, for the teacher who sorely needs a personal day or has to stay home with her sick child. Granted, I am also a walking target--but I'm perfecting my mean teacher glare. It's part of the on-the-job training for a substitute.
Maybe they could change it to Super-Stand-In. Or I-can't-believe-it's-not-Mrs.-Coffee-Breath! But those don't have quite the right ring to them, do they? Suggestions?
There's just something off about that name. Nobody wants to have a substitute. Nobody really wants to be a substitute, for that matter. Sometimes I'm in a position for several weeks--doing all the work--all the scolding, reminding, prodding, planning, all the hundreds of stars and happy faces that must be pasted on even the most banal worksheet--and still, I am merely the substitute. Expected to do much more, but referred to as much less.
Would the stigma of a "substitute" smell as sweet by any other name? Sometimes I wonder. Using advice that I commonly give students, I looked up the word in the dictionary in hopes of finding a better one.
sub·sti·tute noun \ˈsəb-stə-ˌtüt,-ˌtyüt\: a person or
thing that takes the place or function of another
Synonyms: backup, cover, designated hitter, fill-in, pinch hitter, relief, replacement, reserve, stand-in, sub, alternate, understudy; apology, makeshift, stopgap, surrogate.
I have to admit, Webster got it right. As a substitute, you are a makeshift, stopgap measure used to stand-in until the rightful teacher can return to his or her throne. Sometimes I feel like the back-up, the understudy who can only pinch-hit instead of being in the regular line-up. When I was actually in elementary school, I wasn't chosen for the regular line-up either!
But, enough complaining. Someday I know I'll make it to the majors (a.k.a. Being in a school district long enough to join the teacher's union and be a fully-trained staff member allowed to use both the laminator and the Ellison machine.) However, until then, I know that some one has to be the surrogate-alternate that can fill in for Mrs. SoandSo or Mr. BlahBlah. And, let's face it, sometimes I actually am better than the tired old starting line-up.
Well, that was quite a pep-talk to myself. Sometimes you just need to look yourself in the mirror and say, "Damn, you look good. You're the real thing." And when I'm done with all that blathering on, it's time to go be a substitute. I am the relief, the reserve stock, for the teacher who sorely needs a personal day or has to stay home with her sick child. Granted, I am also a walking target--but I'm perfecting my mean teacher glare. It's part of the on-the-job training for a substitute.
Maybe they could change it to Super-Stand-In. Or I-can't-believe-it's-not-Mrs.-Coffee-Breath! But those don't have quite the right ring to them, do they? Suggestions?
31 March 2010
The First Day
The first day I subbed was only a mild disaster. I walked into the school with my lunch box and a nervous smile. I walked out with a dazed look and my lunch still in my lunch box.
It was middle school Language Arts. I knew things weren't going to go well when it took me ten minutes to take roll in first period. In each class, the teacher assigned a passage to read aloud and then a completely unrelated grammar assignment. I hate group reading aloud. Whoever invented that was a fool. When I was in middle school, I would either read ahead or fall asleep. How could I expect more from sixth graders?
We all suffered through the reading aloud--I made them do it popcorn style. Meaning, they never knew who would be reading next. Sadistically, I love to choose the kids who are paying absolutely no attention. One of the few joys of subbing is getting a kid who clearly never pays attention to focus for a stretch of five minutes. And there's always one kid who is so nervous to read and doesn't know how to pronounce half of the words. As soon as that kid starts reading everyone in the class collectively groans and promptly tunes out. There has to be a better way to make sure kids read the material. But I'm just a lowly sub, so that's not for me to figure out.
I wrote the page numbers for the unrelated grammar assignment on the board. I expected the class to open their books and start writing. Wrong. After about five minutes, I asked a student if they had ever heard of an adverb. They hadn't. As a proud card-carrying English Major, I should be able to throw together an impromptu lesson on adverbs. Unfortunately, that's not what happened. I did my best to explain. My lame definition of a "An adverb is a verb plus -ly. Use it to tell about a verb," just didn't cut it.
They had to write out the sentences and underline a word. For example:
1.) This substitute innocently thought she could control this class.
I don't think I've ever heard so may complaints. Most students got to number two on their papers and gave up. As a sub, I'm pretty sure that I'm just a place holder. The classroom teacher will probably throw the assignments in the garbage as soon as she gets back. My threats are always empty, "This counts as a grade! You better get to work; I'm collecting it at the end of the hour." How intimidating can a 5'3" white lady in ballet flats be, after all?
Alas, the life of a substitute is like a box of chocolates: you never know what you're going to get. Some things usually remain the same: lame lesson plans and unruly and bored students. Maybe I should learn to tap dance.
It was middle school Language Arts. I knew things weren't going to go well when it took me ten minutes to take roll in first period. In each class, the teacher assigned a passage to read aloud and then a completely unrelated grammar assignment. I hate group reading aloud. Whoever invented that was a fool. When I was in middle school, I would either read ahead or fall asleep. How could I expect more from sixth graders?
We all suffered through the reading aloud--I made them do it popcorn style. Meaning, they never knew who would be reading next. Sadistically, I love to choose the kids who are paying absolutely no attention. One of the few joys of subbing is getting a kid who clearly never pays attention to focus for a stretch of five minutes. And there's always one kid who is so nervous to read and doesn't know how to pronounce half of the words. As soon as that kid starts reading everyone in the class collectively groans and promptly tunes out. There has to be a better way to make sure kids read the material. But I'm just a lowly sub, so that's not for me to figure out.
I wrote the page numbers for the unrelated grammar assignment on the board. I expected the class to open their books and start writing. Wrong. After about five minutes, I asked a student if they had ever heard of an adverb. They hadn't. As a proud card-carrying English Major, I should be able to throw together an impromptu lesson on adverbs. Unfortunately, that's not what happened. I did my best to explain. My lame definition of a "An adverb is a verb plus -ly. Use it to tell about a verb," just didn't cut it.
They had to write out the sentences and underline a word. For example:
1.) This substitute innocently thought she could control this class.
I don't think I've ever heard so may complaints. Most students got to number two on their papers and gave up. As a sub, I'm pretty sure that I'm just a place holder. The classroom teacher will probably throw the assignments in the garbage as soon as she gets back. My threats are always empty, "This counts as a grade! You better get to work; I'm collecting it at the end of the hour." How intimidating can a 5'3" white lady in ballet flats be, after all?
Alas, the life of a substitute is like a box of chocolates: you never know what you're going to get. Some things usually remain the same: lame lesson plans and unruly and bored students. Maybe I should learn to tap dance.
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