The Snarky Sub

hithertokat asked: I seem to keep missing you on my dash lately, so came directly to the source to get the fix/updates. And while I'm here, just wanted to drop a line and remind you that I think you're awesome. #theend

Aw, thanks! One reason you may not have been seeing my posts as frequently is that I have not been posting as frequently…I’ve been keeping really busy with a lot of really good things. But I am making an effort to increase the updates! More soon!

Running late for a 7 am start time, I grab a bag of nuts and an apple and plan to eat breakfast before class starts. I’m setting up for the day, reading the lesson plan, when the school nurse walks in.

“Have you ever been here before?” she asks, looking worried.

“No.”

“We have some students with SEVERE allergies,” she tells me. “Make sure you look through your folder.”

Normally when I sub in an elementary school, I might see one or two medical plans about students with allergies in the folder. But in this folder they just keep coming. To be fair, the art teacher during the week has every student in the school. But even so, there are at least three students in every class that have what are labeled LIFE-THREATENING ALLERGIES. Fifty, sixty, seventy plans.

What is going on? I wonder. Is this school some kind of magnet for kids with severe allergies?

“I guess I should put these nuts away,” I say sheepishly.

The nurse nods. “And the apple,” she adds severely. “We have some students with raw fruit allergies.”

I never, ever teach without eating breakfast. But I put my food away.

“If you see a student coughing,” she says, “don’t hesitate to call 911.”

“If they’re COUGHING?” I repeat.

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Usually as a sub it’s hard to make connections in the buildings where you come and go, but I’ve been getting along great with my colleagues in the ESL classroom where I’ve been working. It’s Teacher Appreciation Week, and they are getting paraded with candy and T-shirts and who knows what else.

“Probably the reason there isn’t a Substitute Teacher Appreciation Day is that everybody figures that substitute teachers are appreciated enough already,” I muse.

Many of these teachers have been subs themselves and think this is hilarious. “Yeah,” agrees one spunky young teacher my age. “We don’t want you guys to get narcissistic.”

The spunky young teacher and I head to the office to cash in on the cookies the teachers’ union has brought us. There’s a nice note there about how teachers are unsung heroes but everything they do matters and will be appreciated someday. We walk down the hall contentedly munching our cookies.

“It was nice of the teachers’ union to bring us cookies,” I say.

“Yeah!” agrees my new friend.

“I would prefer collective bargaining rights,” I add.

She nearly spits out her cookie in laughter. “But cookies are nice,” she chortles.

And we spend the rest of our break at a coffeeshop sharing our life stories.

When the school you’re subbing at is right next to a gourmet dog food deli, the kids all ride bicycles during gym class, and half the fourth graders are gone first hour because they have orchestra rehearsal, it’s easy to infer that you’re in a pretty ritzy neighborhood.

The kids are disappointed we won’t be doing their Micro City program today because I don’t know the rules, but they are well-behaved and get to work. In social studies we learn about Community Involvement, focusing on a man in a low-income neighborhood in Philly who helped his neighbors buy vacant houses.

“This is a big problem right now,” I tell the class. “Right now there are a lot of empty houses. Has anyone ever heard the word foreclosure?”

A few kids raise their hands, but no one can define it. How can I explain this to kids this young?

“So,” I begin, “it’s very expensive to buy a house. It usually costs at least $100,000. And almost nobody has that much money, so they have to go to the bank and borrow some, and every month pay some back. That’s called a mortgage.”

They nod.

“But the banks were making bad deals with these mortgages,” I tell them. “They were making plans they didn’t think people would be able to pay back. And when they couldn’t pay them back, the economy crashed. And when the economy crashed, even more people couldn’t pay their mortgages. And when people can’t pay back their mortgages, the bank comes and takes away their houses.”

A little girl raises her hand. “In Micro City,” she says, “we have to use our points to make payments on our desks. But Lindsey didn’t pay for hers, so the teacher turned her desk around, and now she has to put her stuff in a bin on the floor.”

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One of the autistic kindergartners comes in very angry, swiping the air and coming very close to hitting the aides. “Get out of my damn way!” he hollers. “Or I’m going to smack you!”

One of the aides frowns. “Who talks to you like that?” she asks.

He doesn’t answer. My mind fills with images of angry parents, frustrated with a child whose mind works differently, yelling and hitting and screaming, and I worry.

The aides calm the student down with a compression vest, and we get to work singing songs, reading stories, and coloring alphabet pages. Some of the kids don’t talk. Some need to sit in the aides’ laps. The kid who came in angry has a few violent outbursts. The aides and I run around managing different behaviors.

We’re doing movement exercises with a video and all the kids are following along peacefully when a man enters wearing a visitor name tag. “That’s my boy!” he exclaims, approaching the child who was so angry that morning. “You’re doing such a good job!”

The boy hugs his father. “I’m so proud of you,” the father exclaims. “This is what I want to see you doing every day, following directions and paying attention to your teachers.”

I watch the exchange, moved and fascinated. I so rarely interact with parents. But I’m also wondering about the language that child came in with this morning.

After school, the father stops to talk to the aides and me. “I’m his best friend,” he tells us. “Some people might say I spoil him, but I let him eat pizza, cookies, ice cream—but it gives me something to take away if he’s not doing what he’s supposed to do.

“Last week was a bad week for him, so this weekend I took him to the playground. Out on the see-saw I asked him: what’s up? Why are you behaving like this? You’ve got to turn it around. And it looks like today he did.”

We smile and affirm that his son did a good job today. It’s clear that his father cares about him a lot.

But the question remains: Who talks to you like that?

Hmm, my answer to this has varied over time…but right now I think it’s really important not to take yourself too seriously. Have fun with the kids, and actually reach out to them. They’re not used to that from their subs, and they’ll appreciate it.

It’s also important to enforce standards, but show the kids that you trust them as much as they will allow you to without taking advantage of it. If something goes badly, handle it the best you can, but also do your best to let it roll off your back. That part I find much easier said than done. :)

“Hi!” says a teacher brightly, making copies in the office. “Are you subbing?”

I nod.

“This school,” she says, her eyes shining, “is AWESOME.” And I know it’s going to be a good day.

It’s an all-ESL school, which means the kids come from a lot of different places,  most are pretty recent arrivals, and generally aren’t afraid to ask questions. I walk around helping them with vocabulary and writing assignments.

“Teacher, what does ‘sparkle’ mean?” asks a Latina student.

“It’s when something shines in a certain way, in the light,” I explain. “Like her shirt,” pointing to a student with a bedazzled tank top.

“Oh,” she nods. “Like snow.”

“Teacher, what is ‘tangled’?” asks a Nepalese student. I try to demonstrate with my fingers. “Like hair,” he understands.

Another class is working on essays about Romeo and Juliet. The assignment is to find three people responsible for the deaths of the young lovers. One writer, a Somali boy, is indignantly defending the Capulets and Montagues:

“Romeo and Juliet didn’t even tell their parents they were in love,” he writes, “so how can the parents be at fault? Romeo and Juliet should have been talking to them. You and I both know they have no one to blame but themselves.” I help him sort his ideas into clear paragraphs.

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