The Greatest Love of All

All but one had left to catch the bus. I was suppose to escort them to line up for the bus, but in the end I just sent them on their way with the hope that they would make it. The one left was Evan*, who stared up at me looking very distressed as he repeated, "my mom will kill me if I don't find my mitten". Despite my reassurances that his mom would not kill him, and that he was going to miss his bus (and I was going to be late for my next job) he wouldn't budge. Evan's distress soon became my own, and tears welled up in my eyes as I passed him off to the secretary. I held it together as I shut room 294 behind me, but the drops came in a constant stream as I rode my bike home. Yes, it's sad that I cried. Not sad as in your puppy just died sad, but sad in a pathetic and pitiful sort of way.

Finding a mitten in that classroom would have been like finding a needle in a haystack, or a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow-very unlikely. It seemed like making anything happen smoothly that day fell under the category of "very unlikely". Line up for recess? Very unlikely. Sit in a circle for story time? Probably not. Stay sitting for movie time? Fat chance. Make your substitute cry? Why yes, we can do that! It was not their fault, it was my own fault for getting overwhelmed and too emotionally involved.

After a day with second graders I now see the deeper meaning to John Lennon's infamous words, "Life is what happens when you're busy making other plans". When I signed on to be a substitute teacher I thought back to my own childhood experiences of elementary school: dancing around to "Rockin' Robin" as my teacher played guitar, writing letters to the "special kid of the day" telling that classmate how awesome they were, or being excited about counting beans shaped like bugs. I have no recollection of little boys every calling me a b!tch or telling me to f-off. I don't remember kids being sent out of the classroom for being bad, or being suspended, or ripping things off the walls and throwing chairs at each other. No, none of that ever happened in my idyllic elementary school memories. But times have changed.

After discussing the days events with friends, I realized that things could have gone smoother if I would have laid down some ground rules first. Mistake number one was introducing myself as Sara. Not Ms. Sara. Not Ms. Gille. Not Ms. I'll be Your Worst Nightmare if You Misbehave. That was my first step on the rocky path to total chaos. Step two was suggesting we make name tags during the morning meeting. What began as a simple exercise with markers and paper became a 20 minute craft project with hole punchers, scissors and 5 types of yarn, all brought to me by "helpful" students. After that we attempted a name game with snapping and clapping, but no one seemed to keep the beat (myself included). It went something like "snap, snap, clap 'my name is Sara, Sara' snap, snap, clap" and evolved into a "sna- cla-my...name...is clap, sna-sar-snap, err..clap". By the time the 16 kids had muttered their name among a discontinuous harmony of snaps and claps it was time to line up for art.b

Forming shapes seems to be a skill learned early in life. A small child of four can recognize most shapes, including a square, triangle and line. So I assumed that getting the kids to form a line would be a relatively simple task. Little did I know that second grade line forming was a complex task. First there is the line leader, then the door holder and finally the caboose. And all the regulars seemed to be absent that day. After some "discussion" it was decided who would hold the door and who would lead the line. The caboose was forgotten. Now 5 minutes late for art class we paraded out the door and instantly were scolded for being too loud, even though I requested the use of "hallway voices". We eventually made it to the end of the hall where the art teacher waited, obviously unhappy with the poor line etiquette. Most kids followed him inside, but three girls stayed behind and insisted they go back to the classroom with me. In my one moment of tough love I told them that they could each sit alone in separate classrooms or they could go to art class. Two of them chose art, and the other girl didn't say anything. As we walked back to the class I asked if she wanted to read together. Her eyes lit up and she enthusiastically agreed. While the rest of the class did art, she read to me from a Roald Dahl book. The hour passed and it was time to pick up the class; reference the beginning of this paragraph to see how that went.

The next hour of class was suppose to be devoted to math. 15 minutes was devoted to getting the students to sit down, while another 5 were spent deciding who would be the "overhead projector/transparency washer". Finally they all sat and opened their books, and there was actually class participation! Kids raised their hands with answers, they walked to the front of the room and wrote responses on the overhead. It was a beautiful moment. And then someone called another kid stupid and another 10 minutes was spent discussing how we were all learning, and not knowing math doesn't make you stupid. And the offending party said they thought the offended was smart, and everyone agreed. But that didn't stop the girl from crying.

Finally we got on our coats for recess and "lined up" to go outside. By this time most of the kids had started nice and naughty lists on clipboards. I didn't ask whether these lists were for the teacher or for Santa Clause. But I did know that not all the kids making the lists were being 100% nice. Sometimes kids would try to help bring some control into the classroom (because they could tell I couldn't) but they would usually end up acerbating the problem.

The teacher would use this clicker toy to make everyone be quiet, which I tried, but it didn't have the same effect. I also tried the "raise your hand and give me five" which had limited success. The kids who tried to help would shake the shaker really loud, and then when that didn't work they would flick the lights off and on, or just turn the lights off, and my favorite technique is when they would scream at the top of their lungs "Would everyone please-stop-screaming!". The irony. I don't think there are any "bad" kids, and I do blame myself for some of the lack of control. But I also blame the parents. A kid can't learn everything there is to know about respect and empathy from school, it has to be reinforced at home. Unfortunately I could tell the lessons being taught at home were a little different.

Timothy told me, after punching his classmate Tom in the stomach, that his mom taught him to punch someone if they punched him or if they swore at him. I explained to Tim that it hurts when you punch someone, and even though it wasn't right of Tom to call him a b!tch, he should try to use his words instead of his fists to let Tom know that. I also explained to Tom how words can hurt kind of like a punch can hurt. There was a moment of silence and then they both apologized and Tim offered to give Tom a piggyback ride into the lunchroom. Beautiful moment number 2. Even though Tim didn't use his words, I did have about 10 kids come up to me to inform me that someone had told them the f word or called them a b-i-t-c-h. I would usually tell them that that was not not o.k. and be serious about it. The one exception is when Evan ran up to me to say that Ali had said he was gay. I tried hard to wipe the smile off my face but ultimately failed. I think I said something like, "Ali, can you see how someone might not want to be called something that they don't feel they are?" which even confuses me as I read it now, but I didn't want to say that "gay" was a bad word, or that being "gay" was bad.

Even though they were a little unruly, they were good kids, and I probably got hugs from 4 different kids throughout the day. It was nice to get a hug, but kind of awkward because I didn't want to reciprocate in any way for fear of coming off as a creepster. They kind of scare you at sub orientation, telling you that it is not the same classroom you remember growing up in where you would sit on your teachers lap and not have anyone think anything of it.

Even though it was not the second grade class I remembered, there was a moment after lunch that brought me back. Lets call it beautiful moment number 3.

Everyone was running around in general chaos, except for the 2 kids who had stepped outside to "cool off" because they were upset with how the class was acting (I peeked out the door at one point and the little boy was walking back and forth going 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1...1, 2, ...), when Tim stopped mid dash and said "Lets sing the rad song!" Everyone stopped in their tracks and yelled "Yeah!" and then they began something that went like this: "Who's the coolest cat in town? Sara is, Sara is, yeah yeah yeah! (as they point at me) Lets groove to the left...(then, miraculously, they form a perfect line and start dancing to the left, snapping their fingers) Lets groove to the right, oh yeah!" It was spectacular. Seriously.

And then general chaos ensued for the rest of the afternoon, and in the end the assistant principal had visited twice and one little boy called Jeremy had succeeded in making three kids cry and throwing balls and making the ceiling hangings fall. I told Jeremy he needed to leave the classroom, but he just said no, and since I couldn't physically touch him and it was almost time to leave I let him continue his reign of terror. I was like the figurehead for a country steeped in civil war.

I am not giving up on substitute teaching. Next time I will lay down some ground rules and I won't hesitate to make kids leave the classroom. I will also attempt some positive reinforcement, which I had planned on doing but quickly abandoned as things spiraled downward. And I will bring some lunch so I don't go 8 hours on a bowl of cereal alone. Why? Because, as Whitney Houston sang in 1985 (and my 6th grade choir sang in 1994) "I believe that children are the future, teach them well and let them lead the way". Ha.

*Names have been changed to protect the "innocent"