The Griping Substitute

My job has been extraordinarily monotonous lately, thus the lack of regular posts.  Things have been so slow in fact--and this is amazing considering how ridiculous middle school students are--that I haven't had a funny anecdotes to tell in, gosh, months.

Instead, I'm going to complain.  You don't have to read this.  This is for me.  Catharsis.

The last week of school is pointless.  Disagree?  Tell me about it!  Who in the United States does not have close personal experience with the futility of the last week of school.  I could get into the academic and State Department of Education implications here, but that's not my gripe right now.  I always figured we could at least fool the students and parents into good attendance, support, and performance this last week by lying.  Put the last day of the school on the calendar a week later than it really is, and then tell kids the last day of school, "Oh, by the way, school's over!  Have a good summer."  Think of the problems this would solve!

As a teacher I hated the last week of school because academically it's worthless.  As a result of that worthlessness, it's pretty much impossible to maintain any kind of discipline because you've got nothing to hang over the kids' heads.  The skillful teacher can work around this, and as long as the school or district don't require final grades before the last day of school, then you might yet have a little leverage.  More than that, if you have a good relationship with your students, though, you can manage some fun activities, enjoy or movie, or go outside and play games.  As a sub, it's a different matter entirely.  Already largely without power, things are immensely more difficult this last week than any other.  My head is just about ready to blow up.

I hate the last week of school for a compounded reason: since the teachers have given up--either burned out or just done with curricula--they are unable to pass along any leverage to the subs covering for them and said subs therefore do nothing but deal with insolent, bored, hormonal teens for an hour and a half at a time, particularly as we're not allowed--well, at this school, I'm not allowed--to do anything otherwise to distract them, like take them outside to play games.  They don't know me and won't do what I ask--and why should they? --because they don't necessarily like me, they don't know me (and there are some exceptions, but not enough to dominate the rest of the unruly eighth grade population), and don't even trust me enough to start in on a game or something.  And right now, chowing down on a cold hamburger with naught but mustard, mayo, and cheese (the cafeteria ran out of ketchup, lettuce, tomatoes, and pickles during first lunch), I wonder if what I thought earlier today is true.  Do I dread the end of school because I'll have to find temp work in some factory or something in the next few day to carry on for the next four weeks?  Maybe not.

Teachers who don't adequately provide for their subs should be--

I was going to say "shot," but maybe that's a little harsh.  Maybe reprimanded.  Sheesh, I'm too nice.  No.  Teachers who don't adequately provide for their subs should be made to be a sub for a week for a teacher just like them.  Just like principals should be forced to work a semester in a classroom.  Just like students should be made to do custodial work.  Just like parents should sit in the classroom with their crappy kids....  

Okay, I'll stop.

Gripe completed.

A Decade's Enough

Yesterday I taught ... er, "taught" ... a day's worth of middle school drama classes.  Despite the fact that I've had virtually nothing to do with drama, save playing in pit orchestras, since high school, the classes went surprisingly well, and I couldn't help thinking--and posting on FB later--how I think I could actually make a pretty adequate drama teacher and really enjoy it.  However--and this by way of a combination of, 1, accolades for teaching I've received, 2, pressure to improve and improve, and, 3, my own uncertainty regarding my actual (not perceived) teaching abilities--maybe it's best that I'm done with the classroom.  Not to compare myself to the superstars (they're just the most readily available and recognized examples, though I'm sure I know a deaf dinosaur of a science teacher who would similarly qualify), but consider Michael Jordan and/or, oh, I don't know ... Paul McCartney.  Okay, maybe they're not the best examples; though the attempted returns after "retirement" or the general demise of their groups--in other words, though they didn't exactly "go out on top"--they're still better remembered for the remarkable--astounding--achievements from the height of their careers.  I don't think I ever taught like Jordan played ball or like McCartney wrote music.  Yeah, I'm a good teacher.  Yeah, I'm good with kids.  Yeah, I love my subject.  And, yeah, I think I've done some good stuff.  If I leave now, am I leaving at the "top of my career"?  Were I to stick around, would I get all beleaguered in the bureaucratic demands of the profession and crack?  While pushing for my own ideals and maturing past the recklessness that marked (more on that in a minute) really quite a lot of whatever was called "good" or "great" about my teaching and education achievements, would I lose that spark/fire and just become some zealot slave driver, beating down the kids claiming from atop my beat-up soapbox that THIS STUFF IS IMPORTANT AND WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU KIDS THAT YOU WON'T DO IT!?  I've felt vestiges of that....

More than halfway through my first year teaching in Saginaw, Michigan, a student returned to class with reportable news he'd overheard while awaiting a sit-down with the counselor.  "Mr. Center," he said, "They're calling you a lose cannon in the office."  Though inclined to take offense--and truly my hackles went right up--I was eventually, actually, pretty okay with it.  Not that the office might not be satisfied with my methods (to which they were referring), but that the results thereof were enough to garner the attention that recognized I was doing stuff differently.  I could justify everything I did against the state and district curricular requirements.  Kids were enjoying classes.  Kids were performing well--significantly better, in fact--on tests and, my personal favorite, were winning more creative writing competitions than ever their grade levels had (and many accolades to my brilliant successor, who has improved still upon those marks!).

I've always been guilty of flying by the seat of my pants--of "faking it 'til I make it" --and I'm coming to realize (because that's EXACTLY what I did yesterday with the drama classes and, again, they went really well) that the desperation and enthusiasm and my own personal excitement at the discoveries thereof....  But you can't do that forever.  Eventually, the "lose cannon" thing becomes routine which becomes easy from which eschews nothing surprising or exciting or terrifying which results in boredom which leads to everything that's bad about teaching, not least of which is an over-structured/under-creative environment certainly for students but, more importantly (yes, really), for the teachers.  I've said it before: any significant success I've had as a teacher was not because I'm an expert "teacher," but because I'm flipping crazy-excited about my subject, really know my subject, happen to be good with kids, and share everything I discover with them.

No way would I be able to do that forever.  Right?  And doesn't the death of a teacher who remains, zombie-like, in the classroom do more damage than good?  Sheesh -- maybe it's good they don't pay teachers well enough.

SEX SELLS ... er ... I mean CELLS

I'm currently grading the booklets and extra credit from the 7th Grade Science, Genetics unit (about three weeks late, but there you go).  I just finished scoring a young lady's booklet who made an innocent, I'm sure, spelling mistake, which mistakes are certainly not uncommon for 7th graders.  When I taught English, years ago, it was surprisingly common to see the word "graj," meant to indicate "garage."  The mistake I found today, however, has a bit more resonance.  On a page of class work focusing on the topic of meiosis, this young lady mistakenly spelled the male sex cell not "sperm," but "spurn."  Freudians, unite!

Good Kids

Writers and directors who put together movies in which the handicapped kid is mocked by the popular kids, or by any kids, or even just ignored are either stupid or ignorant.  Yes, kids get teased and cruelly, but they are never--and let me make this clear: NEVER--the kids with "legitimate" and visible special needs.  The 7th and 8th graders I work with now, as well as all the other high schoolers and middle schoolers I've worked with over the last decade, are silent heroes, helping, guiding, encouraging and all without even being asked.  Of course, this doesn't spare geeks and the preternaturally awkward, but that's not my point (and, yeah, if we split hairs, we all have special needs).  Certainly we're not entirely innocent, and such helping hands don't absolve humanity from other atrocities, but seeing such service warms my heart.

On an entirely different note, I have a student whose first name is "Amisi," pronounced (seriously) "ah-MEE-zee."  I can hardly believe the kids don't giggle every time I take roll; maybe I'm still just too accustomed to high school.

Consistency Teaching

Things have been pretty stable lately.  This is darn amazing.  So much so that I sometimes forget that I'm only a substitute teacher and that our in comes nowhere near to match our out.  But life, it seems, can't be content with permitting anyone's complacency.  More amazing--and markedly pathetic, really--it doesn't take very much to remind me how fragile things really are--how much I so entirely rely upon others, and, more than anyone, one Other.

For the past couple months now, I've been subbing for a seventh grade science teacher.  While I've learned that eighth graders are not universally worse than seventh graders (I taught eighth grade science next door before this, you may remember), the general pejorative classroom management issues have been offset by the convenience of daily, full-period "preps" (generally, in block schedules, like that of this school, teachers get one prep every other day).  While I can't say I've particularly enjoyed my work this go 'round (I'm not preparing the lessons, and while this makes things simpler--less demanding--it lends a certain degree of detachment--of disassociation), it is yet satisfying to work with kids and teach them something and whatever else and all the other personal benefits one might gain from teaching.

My current gig was originally set to last out through the first week of May.  I got an email this past Saturday that says otherwise.  I've got somewhere between two and four weeks left here, and then....  Who knows?  Objectively, this is just fine.  It's a big school.  There are lots of subs needed.  It's an even bigger school district.  You do the math.  I've got pretty much nothing to worry about.  Yet I worry.

In my previous job, I made good money.  Subbing, I don't.  Despite this, there was far more financial stress before than now, because back then I had no idea when/if I was going to get paid, if it would be a full check, a partial check, or if my boss would find some way of worming out of paying some portion of my check for whatever little fiscal invention he might tease out.  Here, subbing, I know exactly how much I'm making, when it will come, how much will be held for taxes, when my statements will be available, and so on.  It is remarkably consistent.  This is remarkably comforting!

But consistency, no matter where it is, so often reveals itself an illusion.  The pieces are all inter-reliant.  If one thing doesn't fall into place--like having a job to go to! --then the rest sloughs away.  It's an emotional thing, this stability--this consistency--and, really, how often are emotions stable?  I find that I'm a remarkably stable person by appearance, but that doesn't mean things are churning tumultuous beneath the surface.

I didn't have a specific thematic intention when I began this post.  And now as I write, I find my mind bending constantly (that's an important word here, measurable as it is against "consistency" and "stability") toward God.  Really, the consistency is not an illusion.  It is my faith in it that havers.  I am inconstant.  My job stability falters.  Not God.  And as Life reminds me that I'm not in control, I am reminded (intentional passive!) that God is.  Really, He's never let us down.  We've always had our needs provided, and often miraculously.  Regardless of all the inconsistent parties and influences around me, One is not.

And thank God!  The next thing will come with or without my foresight, and food will still be on the table.

TWO THINGS THAT, TODAY, HAVE MADE MY DAY

ONE:

I have been accepted to Ohio Northern University College of Law, which response is the first, positive or negative, from the seven law schools to which I have applied.  What a relief!  That means, whether I'm accepted anywhere else or not, well, I'm going to law school in the fall.  What's more, and while I can't say for sure that its role was integral in my acceptance, this validates, at least to a point, my maverick approach to writing my personal statement.  Take that, naysayers!

***

TWO:

Today is my last day subbing for 8th grade science.  (HERE's the first entry, typos and all, from my tenure in this particular classroom.)  While reaction to my time here really requires a full entry, I'm going to leave it at this: it's been a great experience, I'm actually pretty good at teaching science, and I'm really going to miss these kids--even though they're eighth graders.  All that aside, a young lady in my first period class said something really funny today.  Context: Someone needed to borrow a pen.  He took one of mine.  I let him, because he's always returned pens in the past.  When he was finished with it, I told him to just go ahead and throw it to me.  He threw it.  I didn't catch it; more accurately, I missed it.  The young lady in the back laughed, so I threw the pen at her.  (I did wait until I knew she was ready.)  She missed.  I laughed at her (this is all quite good-humored, by the way).  "And you made fun of me?" I asked, so she said: "Hey, I'm a girl.  What's your excuse."

Unfortunately, I couldn't think of anything to say that couldn't, potentially, get me into trouble.  So I only laughed with her.

PHYSICS INTUITION

Today was better.  Quite a lot better.  Certainly, I didn't have ANY time for reading and blogging East of Eden (I don't have a clue when I'm going to get to that today), and I didn't have any time to work on my NaNoWriMo, which, of course, is utterly expendable, even if I don't want it to be.

The teacher I'm covering, I was convinced, hadn't done a thing to help me out before my taking over.  I'm still not 100% convinced, but I uncovered a folder full of material for my 8th grade science classes.  Big help.  I actually had something to teach today (more on that in a minute).  For 7th grade, I thankfully have a wonderful neighbor who supplies me with plans, and we're mostly on track.  (The 8th grade is a month behind their target, which target is reached and maintained by EVERY OTHER 8th GRADE SCIENCE CLASS IN THE SCHOOL.)

During "Flex" time today (a 30-min block in which students can pretty much party if they've got good grades or get remediation if they don't) I was with the band, fixing the percussionists in prep for the concert tonight in which I will be actively filling in the blanks.

So the great part:  PHYSICS, the basics of which are the core of 8th grade science, apparently.  How cool is (are?) physics?  It is a subject entirely--at least at this level--intuitive.  I am not a science teacher.  Correction: I was not a science teacher; I am now a science teacher, and it was cool.  The kids were INTO it, we got a lot done, and it was fun.  Of course, I can barely talk now--my voice box hasn't built up the callous it usually gains by this point in a school year....  I had fun.  I knew what I was talking about.  The kids had fun.  We all learned stuff.

Unfortunately, the 7th graders are studying chemistry....

Subbing.... (not meant to be quite as pessimistic as it will certainly seem)

Being a long-term substitute teacher is like renting someone else's house and living in it 'til they decide to come back.  Being a long-term bstitute teacher who actually knows how to teach, is endorsed, and has taught a long time is like renting someone else's house when you don't want to rent the stupid house but you don't have a choice even though you've got $100,000 in the freaking bank.

***

This afternoon--I don't remember the circumstances or what I said--I muttered something to myself and a student caught me.  "Are you talking to yourself?" she asked.  "You bet," I answered.  "About the only intelligent conversation I get all day."

Paragraphing

I am a substitute teacher.  I am no longer a real teacher.  If you think there's no significant difference between the two, then either you've forgotten what it's like to be a student under a sub--especially the day-to-day kind (long-termers like me are a different kind of rotten) --or you think you know a lot more about teaching than you really do.  Substitute teachers are not real teachers, the same way that pasteurized cheese spread is not real cheese.  I admit, however, that though I'm just a sub (and as a "real" teacher, I didn't have the least trust in the lesser breed and often went to work sick just so I didn't have to repair whatever damage was done while I was gone (much of which was never necessarily the sub's fault--just symptom of the situation)), I enjoy being back in a "real" classroom and working with kids again.  On a more fundamentalist note, it's nice having regular work.

Having been a full-time, real teacher before being a long-term sub gives me a different perspective, however.  And there are lots of subs--maybe even a majority--who were once real teachers, and now I think I understand their dilemma a bit better.

I'm sure that the teacher I'm covering for--away on maternity leave--is an excellent teacher.  Nearly all the teachers in this school are young, enthusiastic, and naive.  I never thought I'd be old enough to say it!  To give a little perspective, I walk into the staff room to warm up my lunch each day, and all the other teachers who come in, or nearly all, jabbering about recalled intramural college athletics memories and dating and applying to grad school, are almost ten years younger than me.  Crap!  I'm old!

But I'm experienced!

Anyway, the point is that, like I said, I'm sure this young lady I'm covering for is wonderful.  Most likely, it's her lack of faith in substitute teachers that lead to the creation of such abysmally boring, repetitive, stale lesson plans.  The students are dying!  And if eighth graders in an inspiring classroom atmosphere are bad, imagine how they are in utter academic doldrums.

Today it's all eighth graders.  I'm still getting a feel for the kids.  There's still a lot to do in accomplishing the teacher's plans (which I have to follow! --well, I'm sure I could rebel, but she's kind of my employer, and I'd like to get more of these positions at this or other schools, especially if the trend of rejections continues from these HUNDREDS of applications we've made for other work).  I don't feel comfortable doing my own thing yet.  Yet.

We'll see.

So what brought this all on?

I read regularly from the Visual Thesaurus website.  There's a great, widely ranging collection of wordy and academic stuff there, including teaching resources.  I read the following article:

http://www.visualthesaurus.com/cm/teachersatwork/2448/

and enjoyed it.  The man GETS it.  And it fired me up a bit.  If you didn't read or don't feel like reading the article, it's about getting students to write essays and the difficulty for so many students to adequately paragraph.  Basically.  And he condemns--or at least subjectively supports my own condemnation of--6 Traits Writing.  I do my own thing, teaching kids to write.  He does his own thing.  It made me want to go back and check out my old lesson plans and tweak them.  But why?  I'm not really ever going to use them again....

I'm just a sub.

The Job Stalker

I tease my wife because she sometimes seems a bit like that prototypical blogstalker that's becoming such a stereotype anymore.  I have a bit more sympathy for her now that I've actually got a facebook page, a couple blogs, and have clicked the "next blog" button over and over again on blogger.com.  I haven't yet reached the status of stalker however, as I'm yet to return to any of those blogs, become familiar with the writers' families and friends and politics and dining habits and gastrointestinal cycles.  She hasn't gone quite that far.  But I am now a part of the social network, so to speak.

While I'm not yet a blogstalker, however, I experienced something kind of funny today.  I think I may be a job stalker.

Today was my second day, not in a row and not for the same teacher, at a same grade school from earlier in the week, which (though this has nothing to do with anything) happens to be right across the street from the house I bought and lived in when I first met my wife.  Anyway, today I was covering for one of the art/gym teachers (yes: art/gym teacher).  I looked over the plans.  Simple enough.  I met the first period of kids.  Good enough.  And I made it to lunch.  Easy enough.  However, when I watched the second group of post-lunch first graders come into the gym, I had this weird twist of deja vous.  It took me a second to realize, particularly amidst the first-grader shrieks, "Hi, Teacher!"s, and general first-grade ruckus, that this was the same group I subbed for the other day.

They were thrilled, which was mildly flattering, of course, but it remained somehow strange.  Something about their teacher being back in the building (though not in the gym) or having the kids in a different situation or the fact that, well-behaved though they were Tuesday, they were monsters today, I don't know.  It felt like I was skipping from job to job to job (which, over the last three weeks is very true), came back to this one, and suddenly it was the same but not the same: I knew the kids--or something about them--which ones to watch, which ones to baby, which ones I could joke with, which ones to just leave alone. 

I don't know if I'm telling this clearly.  It was familiar, yet strange.  Comforting to see them, yet disconcerting in the status of the situation....

That's it, anyway.  I'm sure I'll be at that school again in the relatively near future, and then, after having taught eight times as many students, grades one through six, will likely have eight times the weirdness.  Awesome.

(I want my own classroom back....)