I started taking classes again at our community college in January, this time taking prerequisites for a nursing degree. Only one of my classes that semester was not online, and I had to attend in person only two days a week, so I thought I might as well try to be a substitute teacher on the days I didn't have class. (Income and all that; you might not guess it, but I'm actually a fan.) I applied, jumped through all the paperwork hoops, was hired, and started working in April. I got far more days than I anticipated. In fact, once my college finals were over I substituted every day, although not always for the full day, for the rest of the school year.
I wonder why they don't give you any training.
I did:
10 days at the high school
5 days at a middle school
9 days at elementary schools
High school was by far the easiest. I suppose that was partially because I figured they were old enough that they knew what was expected of them and could be responsible for the consequences of doing their work or not doing it. The lesson plans the teachers left also tended to be simpler to implement, and often I would set them to do their work and then would read, looking up now and then to warn them to knock the noise level down a notch. Or to tell them to put the electric drill away and stop lancing empty soda cans -- you know -- depending on the class, (I wish I were joking on that).
Middle school was alright.
But I wonder why it is that all middle schoolers seem to think it is incumbent upon them to make paper airplanes whenever there's a sub. I'm pretty sure they think it's their job.
A troubled-looking kid in one of the special ed class in middle school was busy playing a game on his phone one day, and I told him (because he had answered several of my questions pretty intelligently) that if he worked on his math maybe he could grow up and design games someday. He told me he already knew what he wanted to be.
"What's that?" I asked.
"I can't tell you," he said significantly. "But my dad took me to this special place once, and that's what I'm going to be. That's why I'm playing this, because," he said very quietly, "it's an assassin's academy."
Alrighty then. He said straight-up later when he polled the class on their career plans that he wanted to be an assassin when he grew up, and work for the government, I think. (I suppose that's better than being a freelance assassin, which is what I was thinking originally.) And, uh, it's good to have goals, I guess.
Elementary school is exhausting. I did three days in a row of Kindergarten, and by the last day I came home and lay on the floor for the rest of the day, too tired even to watch a movie for most of it.
Elementary kids are sort of entertaining, though. One of the kids in 3rd grade came up and asked me quite seriously, "Are you from another dimension?"
No, kid, but I'm pretty sure all you guys are.
One of my Kindergarteners would constantly be coming up to me saying, "Teacher, he's telling on me! He said he was going to tell on me!" (which the other kid never did; I think he might have figured out a system here.)
After that one of the "helpful" girls in the classroom would always join in (in exactly the same whiny voice), "He's telling, too! He's telling on him telling! He's telling on him telling!"
I guess they haven't covered irony yet in Kindergarten.
Helpful kids were often as difficult as the kids who just wanted to goof off. My Kindergarteners would often want to get out their whiteboards and draw after they finished their work, (or as soon as anyone else had finished their work and pulled out theirs), and a couple of them helped themselves to the foamy erasers at the front of the room to wipe their boards with. Then a kid or two asked me if they could get an eraser, too. I said yes. And then one of the "helpful" kids said, "We're not supposed to use those!"
I kind of shrugged and told her I thought it would be okay.
"No! We're not supposed to use those!"
And then she went around and tried to confiscate the erasers from all the kids who had them, in spite of me telling her to sit down. And then other kids tried to help her, while several of the kids held on tight to the erasers. "She said I could use it!" they wailed.
And it ended up, as it usually does, in a wrestling match on the floor. And tears. I think I had a kid cry at least once in every elementary class I taught. It seemed pretty constant.
Sadly, these disturbances did not make a difference in the average classroom noise level. I think elementary children have an inherent fear of rockets, and they like to keep the noise loud enough that if one blasted off from next door, they wouldn't hear it. Or something like that.
Being a substitute, especially in elementary school, usually made me feel incompetent. Classroom management is an art I have no skill in, and I would often goof on school procedures, too. Several times I would do something like go out to supervise the kids at recess and would tell the other sub to go use the bathroom if she needed to, only to be grumpily told off by another teacher that there needed to be two teachers out with the kids at all times. Whoops.
Of course, I don't blame her for being grumpy. Constant disciplining tends to make you that way; I realized that I had become less smiley and more abrupt after a few days in elementary school. What compels people to work there every day?
On a related note, I didn't think I could make my voice go very loud. Turns out, I can get as loud and grumpy a yell out of my throat as any elementary teacher I ever met. Who knew.
Like with most jobs, there was some good and some bad. I have several sweet memories, too, and I understand a lot better about the school systems, public education, and teachers. So I count it as a good experience.
And, let's face it, I got lots of good stories.
