Sub Days 2 & 3: It's a Learning Process

Last week I subbed two half-days at Garfield Elementary in West Long Beach. I can definitely say I'm getting better, though some of that confidence obviously comes from being able to tell the students that their teacher will be back in three hours. But it turns out that a lot of being a competent sub (and, remember, that's what teachers are hoping for. If you're actually good, that's just being an over-achiever) is pretending you know what you're doing. You know, act like you've been there before, even when you've got something called "recess duty" and you have no idea what you're supposed to be doing.

I mean really. They're playing some version of kickball that makes no sense to me.

Here are some things I've learned. Future educators, take note!

1. Bring a water bottle. For serious, this has been my number one difficulty so far. It takes a lot of spit to constantly ask kids to sit down and be quiet, and when all the little childers have their ice cold Sparkletts sitting unappreciated on their desks, wasted condensation dripping onto folded paper towels, it's almost too much to bear. My first day I cupped my hands and gulped faucet water from the back of the classroom during recess. On Friday, I seriously contemplated taking some birdie sips from an abandoned Aquafina while its owner was at lunch.

2. Wear reasonable shoes. Last week I felt that my status as an authority figure was undermined by my Converse sneakers when I had three separate second-graders comment that we were shoe twins. For Tuesday's gig, I wore these slip-ons (I think Sarah Jessica Parker would call them "flats"?) that I'd gotten from Target but never worn. By Friday, my pinky-toe blister had gone down enough that I could wear my comfy four-year-old boots. Besides the fact that a first-grader asked if I'd been born in Texas, by the end of the day I could barely stand up. So. I need shoes that are comfortable, are appropriate in every situation, and won't make me look like a Texan. I've already got them, but they're against dress code.3. Pick your battles. During my Tuesday gig (in a fifth grade classroom), I was teaching a lesson on sequence words. I started with the sentence "I got picked for kickball," and invited the students to add words to the sentence and, eventually, add sentences to the story. I was feeling pretty proud of myself for making up the lesson on the fly, and the kids were pretty into it. One girl in the back corner just couldn't stop talking to the people in her group, most of whom seemed to want to participate in the lesson. I called on her to add a sentence to our story.

Girl in the Back Corner: I kicked a home-run.
Me: Okay. Can you add a sequence word to that? Something that tells us when it happens in the story?
GitBC: Oh. I kicked a big-ass home-run.

Ugh. What do I do here? I don't want to give her the satisfaction of stopping the class and making everyone focus on her while I reprimand her. So I don't react. I keep pressing her until she gives an appropriate answer, and then I move on and finish the lesson. Success, or close enough.

4. Read the signs. Not in a mystical, crystal-bally kinda way. In a "check to make sure you're not parking in a Tuesday street-sweeping zone" kinda way. Nothing like losing two-thirds of your day's pay ten minutes after walking into the job.

5. Don't let it get to you. On Friday, I was a "roving sub," spending 45 minutes in each of four different classrooms. My last assignment was in a Kindergarten class, which I limped to in my boots, bending all the way down to a knee-high drinking fountain on the way. The kids were returning from recess in a single-file line, and I followed them into the classroom. Halfway there, the last five kids in line stopped, turned around, looked at me, and busted up laughing. Busted up! Inexplicably!! It was. So. Weird. That is all.

I might spend this next week doing some more classroom observation, so I'll have some time to let these life lessons marinate before I try and convince my feet to get back into their shoes. Substituting is odd, folks, but I think I might be getting the hang of it a little bit.

Sub Day #1: "Are you a teenager?"

On Wednesday I strapped my shoes back on and took the plunge back into the world of the working: my very first substituting assignment, in a 2nd grade classroom at Emerson Charter School. Whoooooo boy.

First, let me just clarify the phrase "strapped my shoes back on." I literally mean that I put on the same clothing I used to wear to work at Borders: Target polo shirt (with a tank top underneath so as I don't bare my midriff), my only pair of jeans without holes in them, and my trusty Converse. The problem with needing to buy work clothes, see, is that you need to work to get the money to buy them.

The first thing I realize, walking onto the Emerson campus, is that I have no idea what I'm doing. I don't know where the office is, and I have only a vague idea of what I'm supposed to do when I get there. I've also shown up 40 minutes before school starts, and every one I pass in the hallway knows exactly what they're doing and exactly how they're doing it. The secretary hands me a time card and I have no idea what to do with it. Um.

The second thing I realize, walking to my classroom, is that oops! Maybe I don't really like children! It's been quite a while since I've had to deal with them directly, other than making faces at them while their parents aren't looking. Kidding. Except for those Mormon kids on the plane back from Hawaii that one time, about whom I have no regrets. Again, kidding.

When the bell rings, the children line up on the red line outside. "Are you our substitute? Where's Mrs. W--? I'm supposed to be in the front of the line. Did you know there's a small person in our class? Are you a teenager? What are we going to do today?" They are seven years old and they are hopping with energy. They aren't mean-spirited or defiant, they are just second graders and they can't stop talking, can't stop moving, can't stop asking questions. Ever.

By the end of the day, three children have sobbed at (or under) their desks. A girl got a paper cut, and a boy accidentally poked himself in the eye with his finger. One boy, who is apparently a grade or two more advanced in math and reading than his classmates, spends all day really bored and keeps trying to take a nap on the floor. When they come back from lunch, another boy won't stop singing the Freddy Kruger song: "One, two, Freddy's coming for you..." At the end of the day, it takes an extra 5 minutes to get everyone settled, and a mother is annoyed.

But! During storytime they all sit in enraptured silence as I read the Chinese Little Red Riding Hood story, Lon Po Po. It's something I'm good at, and it's pretty cool. And the teacher next door is really excited to hear that I've just joined the fraternity of educators and, impressed by my "pedigree," adds my number to his sub list.

Also, I found this hiding in the back of the classroom:


I walk out of the office to my car and I'm utterly exhausted, but, by golly, I did it. What's next?