When I retired from my teaching career and planned to move here to the PNW, one of the first things I did was obtain a Washington state substitute teaching credential. I did it for a number of reasons, but the obvious one is the primary one and that was because having it meant that I could, at any time, work a flexible job schedule and make a little money. It’s come in handy this past year as we tackle some unforeseen financial obstacles that arose and I’m glad of the result.
As a veteran teacher, I decided that I knew enough about being in a classroom that I would use the opportunity to be a learner, not a teacher. I did not do any subbing when I first started my career, the way many teachers do. So I knew there was much to learn from this side of the career, and I also knew from just being a teacher each day that subbing can be, and often is, a pretty difficult thing to do. You’re put “in charge” of a disparate room full of children or adolescents who smell blood in the water—weakness. You become not a replacement for their regular teacher, an authority figure who will guide them through the class using the proper lesson plan to keep them in line with their teacher’s wishes, but a target whom they may or may not want to destroy based on their whims. “What’s this guy made of? What’s he got?” If you’re lucky, the teacher has left a strong lesson plan that hinges on the students’ prior knowledge and gives them a task they must at some point share with their teacher. If you’re not, there is no lesson plan and you are rewarded with a simmering phalanx of pubescence gnashing their teeth, possibly frustrated—and certainly bored. All of this I have found to be true.
Here then are a few sketches of my substitute life.
In a math class, a young teacher for whom I’ve worked previously left behind a good, solid lesson plan. This, of course, made me happy because honestly, I can barely do my multiplication tables. I’ll let you know if your participle is dangling, but when I hear “polynomials,” I’m apt to think it’s some sort of weird new food trend featuring a rare deep sea fish, blinded by its dark surroundings, that nevertheless has managed to grow into a tasty, thin-boned meat snack. In any event, the sophomores in this class came in and immediately keyed in on “the sub,” asking the obvious and the stupid. “Are you our sub?” “Where’s Mrs. _______________?” “Wait, a sub? What are we doing?” “When’s Mrs. _______ coming back?” It’s a cacophony of speak-before-you-think angry sea lions running loose, barking at me, at each other and waiting to see if perhaps I’m the thin-boned tasty meat snack.
The one mistake the teacher made was that, while the lesson plan was solid, there was no due date attached to it, so I couldn’t say, “get this done today because it’s due.” It was a review session for an upcoming test and the only card I had to play was, “your test is in two days, so use the information she gave you and study it…” Kiss of death. Two days in the life of a high school sophomore is a lifetime. There’s no need to “study,” anything. Let the mayhem begin. Like noisy and hungry birds flitting from trees in droves, the squawking started. I’d seen this before, and I knew the only hope I had was to bargain. What I should have done is simply said the study sheet needs to be completed by the end of the period. I didn’t do that and so went into diplomacy mode which consisted of me plaintively asking, “let’s just keep the voices down.” And to be fair, for the most part, the kids did.
At one point however, it became apparent that some conversations were, though not loud, audible enough that I could hear the topics of discussion. One group grew loud enough, that I grew uncomfortable, so I asked them to focus on their study session. One young lady responded with lawyer like cross-examination, her glasses quite literally perched on the tip of her nose, while her bright pink lipstick flared against her dark purple hair. “Well, is this due today?” She then answered her own question: “No, it isn’t. So, I’ll just do this on my own time,” in a rather curt tone, dismissing the invisible ghost of a judge (me). Eschewing any notion of pointing out her disrespect, I simply replied stupidly, “well, at least keep your voices down.” She began to protest, but I walked away from her to another group. She’d won. I just didn’t let her know that I knew that.
The topic of discussion at hand was how she cheated on her girlfriend with “this other guy,” and lurid details of same. The prurient nature of the discussion was so shocking to me, that I felt both prude and embarrassed.
Meanwhile, a second plot was afoot by a clumsy, ill-tempered and vapid young lady. Her arm was in a sling and she was obviously injured. She asked to go to the nurse to, '“you know, take my meds…” I wrote her a pass, but as she left, she stopped by another student’s desk and the two of them began to take what they thought were furtive glances at me, but were so obvious that I snickered aloud and asked her when she intended to go. Her eyes flashed an odd shade of green and she sneered at me while she slipped from her pocket an obvious bag of pills and handed them to the other student. If it wasn’t an actual drug deal, it was something like it. I had options, but while I wrestled with the morality of it all, I simply didn’t choose the one that would wind up with me making an accusation that I couldn’t prove and frankly, I didn’t want to get that involved. It’s less than $25 an hour, you know? I’d rather just go home when the bell rings.
Another student got up from his desk and started wandering around the classroom talking to people. I asked him to go sit down, but instead, he said, “Mrs. ______ let’s us talk to our friends when we’re done.” I replied with, “Really? So, at some point the whole class will just be wandering around talking to each other? What a great social experiment! Though, a bit odd for a math teacher, yeah?” He slumped down and went back to his seat. When he asked to use the restroom toward the end of class, I gladly let him go.
Another conversation centered on the benefits of getting high over getting drunk. Still another had to do with more sexual promiscuity, again—among 15 and 16 year-olds.
But then there was the choir class I subbed for. Sheer glory. Ecstasy in a well-funded music dept. I was in an otherwise empty and quiet chorus room designed with risers for the kids to form into a coherent singing group. All over the room were plastered posters of classical music concerts, rock and jazz concerts from Ron Carter to the Rolling Stones and going back to The Grateful Dead in San Francisco up to a double-bill of Pearl Jam and Soundgarden in Seattle in the 90’s. There were also notes and letters from grateful kids. “Mr D., you changed my life and made me a musician…” “Thanks Mr. D. for being so caring and concerned about us. We love you!” Here I was at 8 in the morning tearing up over notes on a wall.
And then, a young man opened the door and walked in. He said, “good morning!” and strode over to shake my hand. “I’m Andrew and Mr. D. has asked me to take roll for you this morning. Austin, our choir leader, will make announcements and then he left this world search for us to complete today. Can I do anything else for you?” I nearly collapsed from the genuine joy radiating from Andrew’s kindness and countenance. Slack-jawed, I said “no, um…I think you’ve got it covered,” and I went and sat at the piano to play the middle “c” key and rethink my life.
In more than a few special education classes, I’ve been called into negotiations of various kinds. At one point, I needed to step in to break up an imminent fight between an aggressive young lady and a young man, who played on the football team. My money was on the girl, but I simply pointed out to the two of them that they would make me look bad if I had to call the office for help if they wouldn’t stand down. That sort of defused it, though as they left I swore I heard something about a flag pole. Probably just me.
And in another special education classroom, I watched as a young man, crying and trying to hide it because he felt abandoned by his friends who didn’t come to his track meet, was consoled by another young man who put his hand on his shoulder and assured him that it was only because his friends were busy with other work — and why don’t we walk home together and pick up another friend on the way?
On one occasion, I subbed for a science teacher who was so organized that I spent 7 hours of the day in near silence as each class came in, sat down, listened to my opening spiel introducing myself and about what the plan was, and went to work. I’ve never been so quiet and so bored for so long—but I did get paid.
I loved my teaching career. I had good fortune in the work I did. But in subbing, I feel like I’m more exposed to the raw edge of what many of the kids are really thinking, really feeling. It amounts to nothing more, really, than a feeling of understanding that cliche’d adage: “Everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about. Always be kind.”
Onward.
What an incredible observation piece, enjoyed reading very much! Had me laughing and cringing a few times at work. I wish i could say that im surprised by conversations the kids are having but in my experience its the same things conversation from when i was in school. Hope you are doing well Mr. Storer!
Another fun read, Mark. I too never had to sub prior to teaching, but have subbed many a period since. Although subbing for my colleagues isn’t quite the same since many students potentially already know me, it is always an adventure. Be well my friend.