I recently attended employee orientation for yet another district (I alluded to this in "A Slow Morning in the Library"). The orientation defied my expectations, and it was geared more towards sharing the vision of the district and inspiring employees rather than focusing merely on the substitute teacher's paperwork and responsibilities.
I have yet to sub in this district, but I have begun to take advantage of employee perks--namely their wellness program. As part of the program, they offer some afternoon classes--yoga, cardio kickboxing, and zumba at present. Last Monday, I enjoyed sweating as I undertook cardio kickboxing. Before me was a wall mirror and behind a dispersion of middle aged women--mostly teachers--engaged in uppercuts and sidekicks. Having enjoyed this experience, I decided I would partake again on Monday. I woke up and taught 7th grade language arts (I was expecting 8th, but apparently that was a false impression). The day went well, with minor incidents and students mostly on task.
Returning home, I refused to let myself depart ridiculously early for the zumba class. Leaving at a more "appropriate" time, I headed towards a neighborhood I had been to many times before, and I began my search for the elementary school. Watching street names carefully, I could not locate my turn. My clock continued to tick and the radio voices blurred together as I began to fume in my frustration. I wondered what I would do if I actually found the school. Would I actually join the class late? Probably not, and yet I wanted to satisfy my desire to find the school at least. I became angry, and angrier still at my anger. I thought, this could be an opportunity to pray for this neighborhood. I uttered a sentence before winding by "Jolly Rd" and felt that some sick joke was occurring.
I then determined to return closer to home and go for a run at a lake I hadn't run at since summer. I pulled in the parking lot, took off my coat, and headed for the trail sans mp3 player. With the of my huffing and the dull and wet colors of Minnesota spring around, I gave full reign to my musings. I quickly disposed of my frustration over not finding the class, instead turning my thoughts to teaching. My arms were pale as the wilted white oak leaves below and my hands were flushed as I considered my situation. I berated myself for not being thankful for the opportunity of employment as a sub, for being so choosy in which kind of teaching jobs I accepted, for refusing to do special ed or para work. I soon had rounded a large section of the lake, and turned towards a second--wondering if there was one lake or two. As I approached forks, I continuously veered left in my counter-clockwise direction, unsure how far I had gone and would go. My sense of distance and time both dissolving like the snow which melted all around.
I know not how many miles I ran, but with each step, each choice to go further, I felt that I was doing some sort of penance, for anger, for ingratitude, for unfaithfulness. I thought of how eagerly I accepted a job babysitting on Friday, knowing it would replace a substitute teaching experience. I thought of the unemployed in this nation and I thought of the growing obesity, of the junk food I saw my students constantly eating. And I ran, climbing hills, catching glimpses of the bordering serpentine lake--still unsure whether it was indeed one lake or three. I yielded my musings to God and to the physical strain, finally able to recognize where I was again--previously having had all trees and snow and leaves meld into indistinct forms. About 3/4 of a mile before the end of my run, I saw a man standing with his bike on the trail. I tried to avoid his gaze as I passed, and he whispered, "there's a bald eagle in that tree." Turning and still running in place, I looked up. I recognized the form, though its bald head was hidden in it's wings. I thought of the hawk I often see perched on the same street lamp on 610 East right before the 252 exit. Today I had glanced it after my frustrated driving, and I felt something like redemption.
I continued to my car, veering off for a cool down walk onto the dock, the melting lake revealing cigarette buts and beer cans below. At the end of the dock I gazed at the tiny bubbles forming where ice met recently melted water. I walked back to my car, wondering at those who sat motionless in their cars contemplating the lake under a hazy sky, wondered if they were looking for redemption, and rolling down my window, I drove home.
Monday, March 21, 2011
Sunday, March 20, 2011
The Rise and Fall of the Substitute Teacher
Don't walk out of here looking defeated. I tried to encourage myself as much as possible after a first grade teacher witnessed me standing in the middle of an art room, surrounded by a whir of first graders in various stages of putting on coats, cleaning (or rather NOT cleaning) their spaces, and chattering happily to each other. It was time for them to go to the bus and they were not ready. A couple hallways and minutes later, I asked the same teacher for some clarification on bus duty and she, after joining me outside, practically took over the duty as I watched teachers and students avoid the puddle dominating the sidewalk and choose between walking through mud-saturated grass or ice-saturated snow.
Little did I know that that would be the first of many trials in substitute teaching last week. Classroom management. The two cryptic words which encapsulate so much for any teacher or student. As I think back to Thursday, the specific students and incidents blur together into the emotion of frustration and defeat. I was teaching art at a junior high school. All day, junior high boys made flat refusals to by instructions, swearing under their breath, dryly declaring that they don't care how their behavior affects their classmates, clenching fists and huffing, or swearing at me and turning quickly as if they could escape the consequences. As one class of 33+ filed out and the next filed in, the behaviors continued. Markers constantly thrown, students unyielding, talking-talking-talking, and always moving.
I left the school discouraged--especially since I knew I was returning the next day--and determined that I had to run. This emotional coping strategy has been with me since I was in junior high, and typically I have run to deal with anger, but having run also to mourn, fume, or lament. I walked into my house, immediately changed, grabbed my mp3 player and began pounding the pavement. My mp3 player uttered calm melodies, and I let them be calm--waiting about a mile before I switched it to The Gossip.
And as I ran, I mused. I thought of the discipline structure at the school--each part of the chain of consequences involved removing the student from the learning environment. Let's say that Fernando just can't keep a lid on his mouth and prefers to stand or wander rather than sit. Daily he is punished/disciplined by being removed from the learning--first for 30 seconds, then for 5 minutes, then to another classroom, and then finally removed entirely from the class. Each time, he gets further and further behind in his work and each time it is harder for him to catch on. The work becomes more difficult--decreasing his motivation to behave and increasing the negative behaviors. I picked up the pace as I saw the helplessness of this spiral. I thought of Fernando acting out in high school until he dropped out at sixteen--remembering the atrocious drop out rates in urban areas of my community. I then thought of my other students--the on-task students. Whether gifted or not, their pace of learning is constantly being affected by the outbursts of their fellow students. Having 33 students in a classroom, I may be trying to root out why a student is acting out by talking one-one-one with that student. During that time, one student asks me for a pass to the nurse, another to the bathroom, another has a question on the assignment, and in the distance I see Michael and Tony throwing markers at each other. And I continued to run and to lament over this broken system. I lamented that I was tempted to spend more time subbing in the suburbs instead just because I have found the students more behaved and on task.
There is some redemption to this story. I had to go back to the school Friday--the last day before their spring break. Reflecting again on how I could be faithful to these students, I began to formulate a plan. I had read an anecdote on Thursday about oranges--sometimes the ones that look the most perfect are dry, flavorful, and stringy. And sometimes, it is the most despised of oranges that houses the most delicious fruit. I thought of my students and prayed that I would not be a respecter of persons--that I would not judge on appearances. I walked into the school hopeful. A couple staff recognized me and asked how I was or gave me surprised gazes because I had returned to that school.
I entered the classroom and planned. I used the white board to create visuals and opening activities to engage the students. I wrote up expectations and an agenda for the day. I thought of how I would introduce myself to sound more human and developed a reward structure for class behavior. By the end of second hour, I used accents with students (6th graders are so easily impressed) and gave some students the promised reward, knowledge of my first name, and they were again impressed. In some small way, I had a victory. I smiled when talking and spent extra time getting to know students rather than trying to intimidate them into better behavior. Maybe I should have called this the "Fall and Rise" rather than "Rise and Fall," however I know that I will have many more falls, and I'm okay with that.
Little did I know that that would be the first of many trials in substitute teaching last week. Classroom management. The two cryptic words which encapsulate so much for any teacher or student. As I think back to Thursday, the specific students and incidents blur together into the emotion of frustration and defeat. I was teaching art at a junior high school. All day, junior high boys made flat refusals to by instructions, swearing under their breath, dryly declaring that they don't care how their behavior affects their classmates, clenching fists and huffing, or swearing at me and turning quickly as if they could escape the consequences. As one class of 33+ filed out and the next filed in, the behaviors continued. Markers constantly thrown, students unyielding, talking-talking-talking, and always moving.
I left the school discouraged--especially since I knew I was returning the next day--and determined that I had to run. This emotional coping strategy has been with me since I was in junior high, and typically I have run to deal with anger, but having run also to mourn, fume, or lament. I walked into my house, immediately changed, grabbed my mp3 player and began pounding the pavement. My mp3 player uttered calm melodies, and I let them be calm--waiting about a mile before I switched it to The Gossip.
And as I ran, I mused. I thought of the discipline structure at the school--each part of the chain of consequences involved removing the student from the learning environment. Let's say that Fernando just can't keep a lid on his mouth and prefers to stand or wander rather than sit. Daily he is punished/disciplined by being removed from the learning--first for 30 seconds, then for 5 minutes, then to another classroom, and then finally removed entirely from the class. Each time, he gets further and further behind in his work and each time it is harder for him to catch on. The work becomes more difficult--decreasing his motivation to behave and increasing the negative behaviors. I picked up the pace as I saw the helplessness of this spiral. I thought of Fernando acting out in high school until he dropped out at sixteen--remembering the atrocious drop out rates in urban areas of my community. I then thought of my other students--the on-task students. Whether gifted or not, their pace of learning is constantly being affected by the outbursts of their fellow students. Having 33 students in a classroom, I may be trying to root out why a student is acting out by talking one-one-one with that student. During that time, one student asks me for a pass to the nurse, another to the bathroom, another has a question on the assignment, and in the distance I see Michael and Tony throwing markers at each other. And I continued to run and to lament over this broken system. I lamented that I was tempted to spend more time subbing in the suburbs instead just because I have found the students more behaved and on task.
There is some redemption to this story. I had to go back to the school Friday--the last day before their spring break. Reflecting again on how I could be faithful to these students, I began to formulate a plan. I had read an anecdote on Thursday about oranges--sometimes the ones that look the most perfect are dry, flavorful, and stringy. And sometimes, it is the most despised of oranges that houses the most delicious fruit. I thought of my students and prayed that I would not be a respecter of persons--that I would not judge on appearances. I walked into the school hopeful. A couple staff recognized me and asked how I was or gave me surprised gazes because I had returned to that school.
I entered the classroom and planned. I used the white board to create visuals and opening activities to engage the students. I wrote up expectations and an agenda for the day. I thought of how I would introduce myself to sound more human and developed a reward structure for class behavior. By the end of second hour, I used accents with students (6th graders are so easily impressed) and gave some students the promised reward, knowledge of my first name, and they were again impressed. In some small way, I had a victory. I smiled when talking and spent extra time getting to know students rather than trying to intimidate them into better behavior. Maybe I should have called this the "Fall and Rise" rather than "Rise and Fall," however I know that I will have many more falls, and I'm okay with that.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Quick Thinking
In order to be a successful substitute teacher, you must be able to think on your feet and make quick decisions. (Note that I am not necessarily declaring this as a successful substitute teacher.) Without quick thinking, a sub will not know what to do when a given activity completely flops, when the worksheets haven't been provided, when the student declares, "this is what we always do." As a sub, I must quickly flesh out parts of lesson plans that are vague or respond to unique behavior issues.
I have frequently mentioned the automated system that gives me jobs each day. If I hesitate in accepting jobs online, it is likely that they will quickly be snatched up by another sub. If decision-making is not instantaneous, there are plenty of other teachers eager for a job. I had been contemplating not subbing tomorrow. Not that I have anything to do tomorrow, I just didn't feel like it (I sound like my students now) and I knew that I had a full-time position for Thursday and Friday already. However, as stated previously, I've been meditating on faithfulness. So, since arriving home from my half day in an 8th grade science class, I've been refreshing the jobs page to see potential positions.
As I looked at the page, I saw two words "world languages," beckoning. Let me begin by saying that I am not bilingual. I have dabbled in a few languages (some Chinese lessons, three years high school Spanish, currently studying Czech) but I am fluent in English alone. This was the thought that came to me after the wave of attraction subsided from the words "world languages." Yet, it's a job. Feeling unqualified for this position, I began contemplating how this system works.
Substitute teachers can sub in more than their own subject area, as evidenced by my recent teaching in band, vocal music, engineering, science, and so forth. Teachers know that they aren't necessarily going to get a sub in their specified field. When I subbed for vocal music, the teacher was glad I was at least in the fine arts field rather than a generic elementary. Because my license is K-12, I can teach (and have taught) in an ordinary elementary classroom or in a very specific high school classroom. Teachers know this, and they plan accordingly--whether that means simplifying a lesson or generating a new lesson just for a sub. Because the purpose of the substitute is to ensure the continuation of the students' learning, teachers will and do seek out subs they know can get things done in their classroom, but this teacher had not asked anyone specific. The world languages teacher had the job posted onto the website . . .
As I looked at the world languages posting, I continually refreshed the page, partially hoping that someone would snatch up the job as a divine sign that I shouldn't take the job. Yet it remained, and I thought, at what other time would I have an opportunity to just try out a world languages class and see what it even is? So I did it. I clicked "Accept."
Cheers to substituting. This time tomorrow I will be arriving at home, having had a new experience in a "dual immersion language arts" middle school classroom.
I have frequently mentioned the automated system that gives me jobs each day. If I hesitate in accepting jobs online, it is likely that they will quickly be snatched up by another sub. If decision-making is not instantaneous, there are plenty of other teachers eager for a job. I had been contemplating not subbing tomorrow. Not that I have anything to do tomorrow, I just didn't feel like it (I sound like my students now) and I knew that I had a full-time position for Thursday and Friday already. However, as stated previously, I've been meditating on faithfulness. So, since arriving home from my half day in an 8th grade science class, I've been refreshing the jobs page to see potential positions.
As I looked at the page, I saw two words "world languages," beckoning. Let me begin by saying that I am not bilingual. I have dabbled in a few languages (some Chinese lessons, three years high school Spanish, currently studying Czech) but I am fluent in English alone. This was the thought that came to me after the wave of attraction subsided from the words "world languages." Yet, it's a job. Feeling unqualified for this position, I began contemplating how this system works.
Substitute teachers can sub in more than their own subject area, as evidenced by my recent teaching in band, vocal music, engineering, science, and so forth. Teachers know that they aren't necessarily going to get a sub in their specified field. When I subbed for vocal music, the teacher was glad I was at least in the fine arts field rather than a generic elementary. Because my license is K-12, I can teach (and have taught) in an ordinary elementary classroom or in a very specific high school classroom. Teachers know this, and they plan accordingly--whether that means simplifying a lesson or generating a new lesson just for a sub. Because the purpose of the substitute is to ensure the continuation of the students' learning, teachers will and do seek out subs they know can get things done in their classroom, but this teacher had not asked anyone specific. The world languages teacher had the job posted onto the website . . .
As I looked at the world languages posting, I continually refreshed the page, partially hoping that someone would snatch up the job as a divine sign that I shouldn't take the job. Yet it remained, and I thought, at what other time would I have an opportunity to just try out a world languages class and see what it even is? So I did it. I clicked "Accept."
Cheers to substituting. This time tomorrow I will be arriving at home, having had a new experience in a "dual immersion language arts" middle school classroom.
Monday, March 14, 2011
A poor prophet, but (hopefully) a better teacher
Here I sit: dressed, fed, and ready for the day. If only I was in this same condition an hour ago.
The last week or so, I have noticed a change in my sleep patterns. I have been going to bed early (around 10 PM), stirring around 3 AM, and often getting up with the first sub call around 5:30 AM. This has held even on days that my sub job does not begin until 7:45 or later. Over the weekend, I worked overnight asleep shifts at my other job, and the pattern of early waking continued.
This morning, I woke to my alarm at 6 AM, and I realized that I had yet to get a call from the automated system. Due to spring break in some districts, I figured there would not be jobs available, and resolved to allow myself to sleep longer. My first call came at 6:50 AM--a half day job in art! I pressed 2 to listen to the job again (lest my ears deceive me) and then accepted. Knowing it didn't begin until after noon, I thought I'd return to my slumber.
Ring went the phone six minutes later. High school science, half day, beginning at 7:30 AM. Looking at the clock, I realized it would be nearly impossible to look up directions to the school, make myself presentable, and get to the school on time. So I rejected the job while getting up.
My alarm goes off at 6 AM Monday through Friday so I can get myself ready in anticipation for an event such as the above. I have been thinking lately about faithfulness, and wanting to exercise it in all areas of my life. In particular, I have been thinking of faithfulness in regards to personal gifts. I know that I have been gifted in art and teaching, and I want to be faithful with those gifts. Yesterday I had been thinking about faithfulness in subbing as serving the students to the best of my ability in every classroom I enter. This morning, I felt unfaithful by not getting up and ready in anticipation for a potential job. Rather, I became a person of hopelessness, deceiving myself into the impossibility of getting a substitute job today. There were, however, opportunities to teach, even to teach a whole day. I will begrudge the situation no further, but be thankful for the opportunity to teach in my specialty area this afternoon.
The last week or so, I have noticed a change in my sleep patterns. I have been going to bed early (around 10 PM), stirring around 3 AM, and often getting up with the first sub call around 5:30 AM. This has held even on days that my sub job does not begin until 7:45 or later. Over the weekend, I worked overnight asleep shifts at my other job, and the pattern of early waking continued.
This morning, I woke to my alarm at 6 AM, and I realized that I had yet to get a call from the automated system. Due to spring break in some districts, I figured there would not be jobs available, and resolved to allow myself to sleep longer. My first call came at 6:50 AM--a half day job in art! I pressed 2 to listen to the job again (lest my ears deceive me) and then accepted. Knowing it didn't begin until after noon, I thought I'd return to my slumber.
Ring went the phone six minutes later. High school science, half day, beginning at 7:30 AM. Looking at the clock, I realized it would be nearly impossible to look up directions to the school, make myself presentable, and get to the school on time. So I rejected the job while getting up.
My alarm goes off at 6 AM Monday through Friday so I can get myself ready in anticipation for an event such as the above. I have been thinking lately about faithfulness, and wanting to exercise it in all areas of my life. In particular, I have been thinking of faithfulness in regards to personal gifts. I know that I have been gifted in art and teaching, and I want to be faithful with those gifts. Yesterday I had been thinking about faithfulness in subbing as serving the students to the best of my ability in every classroom I enter. This morning, I felt unfaithful by not getting up and ready in anticipation for a potential job. Rather, I became a person of hopelessness, deceiving myself into the impossibility of getting a substitute job today. There were, however, opportunities to teach, even to teach a whole day. I will begrudge the situation no further, but be thankful for the opportunity to teach in my specialty area this afternoon.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Labrynths and Walkouts
Friday did not end with junior high band. I dashed home for lunch prior to heading to a high school to teach biology. I knew I was close as I began to see bumper-to-bumper parking along the city streets. I quickly joined suit and began walking towards the school. I could see by the white "15" above the nearest door that it was not the main entrance. Fifteen is quite a large number, and I began walking towards the increasing numbers, thinking I would be at the main entrance soon. I rounded a corner and continued to walk, spotting school brick on the next city block. Surely the school couldn't continue onto the next city block? It didn't, though it filled its own block and spread upward with its multiple floors. After striding past door 19, the main entrance came in sight. I found the main office and then my classroom.
The afternoon's nemesis was to be technology. I already knew that I had to show videos in the classes (not my favorite, but simple enough), and I saw that the DVD player was attached to the computer and I would need to sign in--or someone would need to--in order for me to project the DVD. I quickly called for assistance. After being redirected, a tech guy told me that I should use my login. Well, somewhere along the line, I never received my district login information (a task for Monday). After talking with him, he gave me what ought to be my login, and some hints as to the password. Striding across the room, I uttered a prayer, unsure whether I even knew the answers to the tech man's hints. As I was within arms reach of the computer, I heard a noise and swiveled my head. Lo and behold, the classroom teacher entered. She had been at the school in the morning and was departing for the afternoon. She signed in to the computer and gave me some further information prior to departing.
The classes were rather unremarkable. There were friendly students, to be sure, but the film was only able to hold their interest in waves. During my first class, a student asked me if I were a student-teacher. That same hour another student asked me if I was a "real" teacher. When she continued questioning and found out that I don't have a permanent teaching position aside from substituting, I think I negated my answer.
The next class, a rather talkative student reached out his hand to me and introduced himself. Not thinking, I introduced myself by my first name--as I typically do with adults who offer handshakes. He reacted immediately, complimenting my "real" name. The rest of the class was pretty ordinary, the aforementioned student did question me later in the class, wondering if I'd memorized all the student names. Apparently I had used enough of the names that I remembered from taking attendance to impress.
I went to the office prior to the last period--the teacher I was subbing for didn't have a last hour class. En route, I heard a student in the hall exclaim, "Man, my substitute today was a b****." I chastised him (hiding my substitute teacher badge as I passed). As I continued on, I heard utterings of a walkout among the students. By the time I got to the office, staff were communicating about students crowding outside. As I neared the school exit, I saw stern-faced staff, urging students to leave if they were going to and to not come back. One student uttered, "a lot of kids probably don't even know what we're doing." As I descended the stairs, I saw the alley before me crowded with students--as if on a pilgrimage. In the journey toward my car, I saw scattered groups of students as well as a police car circling the school. I'm not sure what spurred the walkout, but then again, I'm just a substitute.
The afternoon's nemesis was to be technology. I already knew that I had to show videos in the classes (not my favorite, but simple enough), and I saw that the DVD player was attached to the computer and I would need to sign in--or someone would need to--in order for me to project the DVD. I quickly called for assistance. After being redirected, a tech guy told me that I should use my login. Well, somewhere along the line, I never received my district login information (a task for Monday). After talking with him, he gave me what ought to be my login, and some hints as to the password. Striding across the room, I uttered a prayer, unsure whether I even knew the answers to the tech man's hints. As I was within arms reach of the computer, I heard a noise and swiveled my head. Lo and behold, the classroom teacher entered. She had been at the school in the morning and was departing for the afternoon. She signed in to the computer and gave me some further information prior to departing.
The classes were rather unremarkable. There were friendly students, to be sure, but the film was only able to hold their interest in waves. During my first class, a student asked me if I were a student-teacher. That same hour another student asked me if I was a "real" teacher. When she continued questioning and found out that I don't have a permanent teaching position aside from substituting, I think I negated my answer.
The next class, a rather talkative student reached out his hand to me and introduced himself. Not thinking, I introduced myself by my first name--as I typically do with adults who offer handshakes. He reacted immediately, complimenting my "real" name. The rest of the class was pretty ordinary, the aforementioned student did question me later in the class, wondering if I'd memorized all the student names. Apparently I had used enough of the names that I remembered from taking attendance to impress.
I went to the office prior to the last period--the teacher I was subbing for didn't have a last hour class. En route, I heard a student in the hall exclaim, "Man, my substitute today was a b****." I chastised him (hiding my substitute teacher badge as I passed). As I continued on, I heard utterings of a walkout among the students. By the time I got to the office, staff were communicating about students crowding outside. As I neared the school exit, I saw stern-faced staff, urging students to leave if they were going to and to not come back. One student uttered, "a lot of kids probably don't even know what we're doing." As I descended the stairs, I saw the alley before me crowded with students--as if on a pilgrimage. In the journey toward my car, I saw scattered groups of students as well as a police car circling the school. I'm not sure what spurred the walkout, but then again, I'm just a substitute.
Friday, March 11, 2011
Reading Left to Right
Well, it's happened, I thought, standing in dim light, overlooking the carpeted, tiered band room. The room and stage were empty--of noise, of students, and of light. No lesson plans. What am I going to do? I don't even know how long the classes are or which grades I'll have. I wracked my brain, grateful that I'd arrived extra early, pacing the room for inspiration, for something that would engage the students for a given hour but that would also be concrete, valuable strides forward in their music study. At 7:55 AM, a student walked in, and I feared that it was my first student of the day. He asked if I was the sub--it was then that I noted the crisp, white, freshly-printed pages in his hand. I eagerly took them--class lists AND sub notes. I was saved--somewhat. Two classes--7th/8th grade band and 6th grade band. 8 students in the former and 14 in the latter. I couldn't believe my eyes; I've become accustomed to thirty-student classes. I recheked to see if they'd missed something. They hadn't. That was truly the size of the classes. I soon found out why.
First hour, the students were slow to pull out their music and put their instruments together. The percussionists hardly even played--for which I learned to be grateful. The students were friendly, and I allowed a little off-topic banter though some talk I didn't know how to respond to. As I was helping a clarinetist identify the notes in her music, her friend--an inactive percussionist--declared, "I like your stomach." Dumbfounded, I didn't know whether to respond with some reassuring words regarding her body image or to engage in a conversation about the benefits of a healthy lifestyle. I chose no response as the wisest course, and I allowed my attention to be turned back to the music.
I continued to help decipher the notes for students, and I moved on to assist a trumpeter. At the beginning of the hour, we had chatted about Asia, particularly about Japan's earthquake and her trip to the United Arab Emirates. Now, the loquacious girl and I were singing through the rhythms on her music. She followed along with her finger--reading right to left. I showed her that the music read left to right and began singing it with her. I realized that not only was she memorizing the notes as we read (based on the annotation), she also couldn't tell the difference between a dotted quarter note and a half note. The trumpeter next to her was willing to finger through the parts, but refused to play a single note in the class--something his friend (an inactive percussionist) reported as regular course.
So class came and went. The students were pleasant--if not entirely on task--but soon it was time for the sixth graders to arrive. It was about 30 seconds before I realized I had runners on my hand. Back and forth across the fifty-yard span of the band room, one rummer continuously relayed objects from the back room to the stage. There were to be fourteen kids in my class and only eleven showed up. (Today was snow-day make-up.) Seven were percussionists. Simultaneously runners and percussionists. Stage to backstage. Back room to stairs to door to stage to backstage to seat across stage and repeat. When the feet were still, the drumsticks were not. I had four woodwinds (three clarinetists and one flutist). Two of my three clarinetists refused to play due to broken reeds. One proceeded to the back room and reported that the box of reeds was empty. The flutist would not play until after I helped her write out the "letters." I asked if she wanted me to help her with her notes. "No, I just want the letters." As I helped her, she commented, "You smell like powder."
Again unsure how to respond, I said, "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"
"Powder smells good. It's a good thing. You know, like, baby powder. You smell like baby powder." She continued to marvel at me as I quickly wrote in her "letters" so that rehearsal could be continued. She wondered how on earth I knew what the notes were. Had the percussionists not been so eagerly prodding each other with their drumsticks and running laps, I might have taken the time to review the staff with her, you know F-A-C-E, et cetera, those things I remember learning in elementary school.
Halfway through the class, a percussionist ran to the back room and retrieved two reeds. I was flabbergasted, looking at the demure sixth-grader who had uttered a lie so boldly and so blank-faced.
The rehearsal was a challenge to say the least. One of my runners would run whenever my eyes weren't on him. From his chair to stage left. Center stage. Auditorium floor. Behind the steps. Behind the stacked chairs. Back stage. Amidst the curtains. I directed half of the "Hey Song" staring at him, keeping time, but cuing in no instruments. (Only one clarinetist and four drummers were playing anyhow--and the drummers without music.)
When I dismissed the students to put their instruments away, two of the girls that had remained silent the entire period went off. "I can't believe how disrespectful you guys are bein." And so on. At the end of the hour, a teacher/member of staff came in and redirected a student that had been launching himself over a mounted handrail. I'm not sure who this man was, but his presence made me feel inadequate.
I often wonder what the real goal of a substitute should be. Substitute teachers help kids learn through ensuring continuation of education when their regular educators are absent. Or at least, they should. Many bring in the perspective that if a sub got through the day and the kids are safe, that the day was successful. I disagree. This morning's experience (I went to a high school for the afternoon) definitely felt more like a "survive" instance than a "thrive" instance; however, I can sit at home peaceably, knowing that one loquacious seventh grader now knows that sheet music reads from left to right.
First hour, the students were slow to pull out their music and put their instruments together. The percussionists hardly even played--for which I learned to be grateful. The students were friendly, and I allowed a little off-topic banter though some talk I didn't know how to respond to. As I was helping a clarinetist identify the notes in her music, her friend--an inactive percussionist--declared, "I like your stomach." Dumbfounded, I didn't know whether to respond with some reassuring words regarding her body image or to engage in a conversation about the benefits of a healthy lifestyle. I chose no response as the wisest course, and I allowed my attention to be turned back to the music.
I continued to help decipher the notes for students, and I moved on to assist a trumpeter. At the beginning of the hour, we had chatted about Asia, particularly about Japan's earthquake and her trip to the United Arab Emirates. Now, the loquacious girl and I were singing through the rhythms on her music. She followed along with her finger--reading right to left. I showed her that the music read left to right and began singing it with her. I realized that not only was she memorizing the notes as we read (based on the annotation), she also couldn't tell the difference between a dotted quarter note and a half note. The trumpeter next to her was willing to finger through the parts, but refused to play a single note in the class--something his friend (an inactive percussionist) reported as regular course.
So class came and went. The students were pleasant--if not entirely on task--but soon it was time for the sixth graders to arrive. It was about 30 seconds before I realized I had runners on my hand. Back and forth across the fifty-yard span of the band room, one rummer continuously relayed objects from the back room to the stage. There were to be fourteen kids in my class and only eleven showed up. (Today was snow-day make-up.) Seven were percussionists. Simultaneously runners and percussionists. Stage to backstage. Back room to stairs to door to stage to backstage to seat across stage and repeat. When the feet were still, the drumsticks were not. I had four woodwinds (three clarinetists and one flutist). Two of my three clarinetists refused to play due to broken reeds. One proceeded to the back room and reported that the box of reeds was empty. The flutist would not play until after I helped her write out the "letters." I asked if she wanted me to help her with her notes. "No, I just want the letters." As I helped her, she commented, "You smell like powder."
Again unsure how to respond, I said, "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"
"Powder smells good. It's a good thing. You know, like, baby powder. You smell like baby powder." She continued to marvel at me as I quickly wrote in her "letters" so that rehearsal could be continued. She wondered how on earth I knew what the notes were. Had the percussionists not been so eagerly prodding each other with their drumsticks and running laps, I might have taken the time to review the staff with her, you know F-A-C-E, et cetera, those things I remember learning in elementary school.
Halfway through the class, a percussionist ran to the back room and retrieved two reeds. I was flabbergasted, looking at the demure sixth-grader who had uttered a lie so boldly and so blank-faced.
The rehearsal was a challenge to say the least. One of my runners would run whenever my eyes weren't on him. From his chair to stage left. Center stage. Auditorium floor. Behind the steps. Behind the stacked chairs. Back stage. Amidst the curtains. I directed half of the "Hey Song" staring at him, keeping time, but cuing in no instruments. (Only one clarinetist and four drummers were playing anyhow--and the drummers without music.)
When I dismissed the students to put their instruments away, two of the girls that had remained silent the entire period went off. "I can't believe how disrespectful you guys are bein." And so on. At the end of the hour, a teacher/member of staff came in and redirected a student that had been launching himself over a mounted handrail. I'm not sure who this man was, but his presence made me feel inadequate.
I often wonder what the real goal of a substitute should be. Substitute teachers help kids learn through ensuring continuation of education when their regular educators are absent. Or at least, they should. Many bring in the perspective that if a sub got through the day and the kids are safe, that the day was successful. I disagree. This morning's experience (I went to a high school for the afternoon) definitely felt more like a "survive" instance than a "thrive" instance; however, I can sit at home peaceably, knowing that one loquacious seventh grader now knows that sheet music reads from left to right.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
A Slow Morning in the Library
It's spring break. Somewhere. I sub in multiple districts, and not all of the districts have the same spring break week. This means that subbing selections at present are paltry. Let's say only two metro area districts are on spring break right now. Let's also assume that I am not the only teacher in the metro area which is employed by multiple districts. Given the two above assumptions, we are left with a lot of subs that still want to work and less available postings. As such, I have only worked two half days subbing so far this week: music and 2nd grade. Yesterday I deliberately took off, today--undeliberately.
So I still got up a little after 6 AM and began a productive morning. This afternoon I am going to orientation for yet another district, so I had to print off some paperwork to fill out. Not owning a printer, I ventured to the library and was surprised to see a group of about 25 people waiting in the library's foyer. My disorientation was compounded by being accosted by a gentlemen who swore that he had met me somewhere before. I denied the aquaintance--truthfully--and then proceeded to check my watch. 9:57 AM. I was part of the crowd waiting for the library to open. So I joined the crowd and calmly watched the divider rise and the bookworms scramble through. It was quite anticlimactic really. I returned Jhumpa Lahiri's Unaccustomed Earth, printed the necessary forms (W-4, I-9, background check, direct deposit--the works) and then ventured to hunt down some Buechner.
Presently, I ought to return to my paperwork, so I am prepared for the 3.5 hours I will spend this afternoon in an orientation that will probably be strangely similar to four orientations I have already attended. I might sneak in a small knitting project and assess the tone of the meeting before pulling it out . . .
So I still got up a little after 6 AM and began a productive morning. This afternoon I am going to orientation for yet another district, so I had to print off some paperwork to fill out. Not owning a printer, I ventured to the library and was surprised to see a group of about 25 people waiting in the library's foyer. My disorientation was compounded by being accosted by a gentlemen who swore that he had met me somewhere before. I denied the aquaintance--truthfully--and then proceeded to check my watch. 9:57 AM. I was part of the crowd waiting for the library to open. So I joined the crowd and calmly watched the divider rise and the bookworms scramble through. It was quite anticlimactic really. I returned Jhumpa Lahiri's Unaccustomed Earth, printed the necessary forms (W-4, I-9, background check, direct deposit--the works) and then ventured to hunt down some Buechner.
Presently, I ought to return to my paperwork, so I am prepared for the 3.5 hours I will spend this afternoon in an orientation that will probably be strangely similar to four orientations I have already attended. I might sneak in a small knitting project and assess the tone of the meeting before pulling it out . . .
Monday, March 7, 2011
Elementary Music
Last night I agreed to pick up a roommate from the airport, mentally stashing the 2:08 PM arrival time. I was happy to do so, thinking this was yet another example of how lovely the flexibility of substitute teaching can be. I arrived home and pulled up the sub postings for Monday--disappointed to see a full day art position lasting till 3:30 PM. Still convinced my going to the airport was a wise choice, I changed my availability for today, and at 6:15 AM I accepted a half day teaching elementary music--unsure what was in store.
By the time I was in my car, I was grinning at the prospect. The classroom was white and bare. Some posters were scattered about, but the white tiles seemed to bleach the entire room with the exception of the bright orange and purple textbooks which glowed from their shelves. While surveying the room, I dialed the regular music teacher and received sub plans. I was to teach fifth, second, and fourth grade, utilizing those glowing textbooks which reminded me so much of my own elementary music experience.
My fifth graders were a perfect picture of the various ways 10-year-old's act while entering adolescence. There was the over-confident girl who happily sang out her parts and was quick to criticize others (this girl also complimented my hair and asked to touch it--her friend narrating that she did this to everyone she met). There were the awkward boys which were too bashful to sing, but they attempted to disguise this fact with unconvincing nonchalance--as if they were too cool to sing or stand next to a girl. After grouping, regrouping, and redistributing parts, I did get all the students to sing. I counted this only a partial victory. The boys, having lost the cool factor of noncompliance took on new rebellion by singing out the word "potato" as "poe-TAH-toe." I told them that this was culturally inaccurate (it was a Creole song), but decided I wouldn't push the battle beyond a few teacher looks. They were singing after all.
The second and fourth graders both had large portions of the class time wherein they were allowed to choose songs from their respective textbooks to sing. The second graders were quite curious about all the available songs and at one point chose a Chinese song. One of the boys raised his hand. I went over and knelt down next to where he sat criss-cross-applesauce. "This song reminds me of Kung Fu Panda. This song is Chinese, and in China they do karate and kung fu. In karate they use Chinese. I do karate, so I pretty much know Chinese." I may have jumbled his narrative a bit, but I can't say that's surprising considering the form of logic he used. The second graders were sweet, and the fourth graders were just as endearing.
My fourth graders came in with their recorders and sheet music. As they entered, I heard something that had yet to be uttered in my presence as a substitute teacher. "Yes! We have a sub today!" From what I gather, they were either ill-prepared for or nonplussed about playing their recorders. I introduced myself (unable to restrain a genuine grin) and told them we were doing "free singing" for the day. I walked through the procedure we would use for choosing and singing songs. Students asked if this meant everyone was doing solos. They were disappointed when I said we would be singing as a group; however, their excitement wasn't entirely deterred, for a student in the back exclaimed, "I like you already!" and another student seconded.
I was even more entertained as the fourth graders selected Christmas songs to sing--including The Twelve Days of Christmas. I don't think I've ever heard the song so happily before. During the following song, the regular music teacher entered and I relinquished the classroom. Still smiling, I brought my key and sub folder back to the main office and sang the entire drive home.
By the time I was in my car, I was grinning at the prospect. The classroom was white and bare. Some posters were scattered about, but the white tiles seemed to bleach the entire room with the exception of the bright orange and purple textbooks which glowed from their shelves. While surveying the room, I dialed the regular music teacher and received sub plans. I was to teach fifth, second, and fourth grade, utilizing those glowing textbooks which reminded me so much of my own elementary music experience.
My fifth graders were a perfect picture of the various ways 10-year-old's act while entering adolescence. There was the over-confident girl who happily sang out her parts and was quick to criticize others (this girl also complimented my hair and asked to touch it--her friend narrating that she did this to everyone she met). There were the awkward boys which were too bashful to sing, but they attempted to disguise this fact with unconvincing nonchalance--as if they were too cool to sing or stand next to a girl. After grouping, regrouping, and redistributing parts, I did get all the students to sing. I counted this only a partial victory. The boys, having lost the cool factor of noncompliance took on new rebellion by singing out the word "potato" as "poe-TAH-toe." I told them that this was culturally inaccurate (it was a Creole song), but decided I wouldn't push the battle beyond a few teacher looks. They were singing after all.
The second and fourth graders both had large portions of the class time wherein they were allowed to choose songs from their respective textbooks to sing. The second graders were quite curious about all the available songs and at one point chose a Chinese song. One of the boys raised his hand. I went over and knelt down next to where he sat criss-cross-applesauce. "This song reminds me of Kung Fu Panda. This song is Chinese, and in China they do karate and kung fu. In karate they use Chinese. I do karate, so I pretty much know Chinese." I may have jumbled his narrative a bit, but I can't say that's surprising considering the form of logic he used. The second graders were sweet, and the fourth graders were just as endearing.
My fourth graders came in with their recorders and sheet music. As they entered, I heard something that had yet to be uttered in my presence as a substitute teacher. "Yes! We have a sub today!" From what I gather, they were either ill-prepared for or nonplussed about playing their recorders. I introduced myself (unable to restrain a genuine grin) and told them we were doing "free singing" for the day. I walked through the procedure we would use for choosing and singing songs. Students asked if this meant everyone was doing solos. They were disappointed when I said we would be singing as a group; however, their excitement wasn't entirely deterred, for a student in the back exclaimed, "I like you already!" and another student seconded.
I was even more entertained as the fourth graders selected Christmas songs to sing--including The Twelve Days of Christmas. I don't think I've ever heard the song so happily before. During the following song, the regular music teacher entered and I relinquished the classroom. Still smiling, I brought my key and sub folder back to the main office and sang the entire drive home.
Friday, March 4, 2011
A Groggy 5:36 AM
Being a sub means that you get to choose your own schedule. I could take a couple days off for a trip to see family in Iowa or I could decide that I only wanted to sub every other day. I could do only half days or construct weeks on end wherein I am at two schools every day. At 2:30 today I will be leaving my house for my other job. Originally I thought this would mean that I couldn't sub--then I realized that there are ample half-day needs and planned on doing a half day.
I was already tired before I left a friends last night at 9 PM. I read for a while and then fell asleep shortly after 10 pm. At 5:36 AM, my phone rang. It was for a sub job, the sub job. High School. Language Arts. 7:20 to 10:55 AM. Perfect. I would get up, get ready, teach, and still half a bit of a breather before my other job. So I went to press 1 to accept.
I missed and pressed the tiny little 4 on my cell phone. I hear, "I will not call you again today."
I had pressed the button which rejects the job and stops further calls from that district. Part of me is an English teacher at heart. When I think about classroom management strategies or rubrics, I think of how to apply it to a high school language arts course. Then I remember that I'm a licensed art teacher. I would have loved to spend a couple hours in the language arts classroom; however, the subbing system is internally consistent. If I reject it on the phone, it's take off the website listing as well.
This gave me a fear of pressing the wrong button throughout the morning in the four more calls I received. At 6:18 AM, I woke in a panic--wondering if I'd unintentionally accepted some other sub job. I awkwardly reached over to my laptop on the nearby desk--too lazy to get my entire body out of bed--and signed in online. I checked my schedule, and to my relief there were no jobs that I'd sleepily accepted. I groggily listened through other calls from the staffing service, but was still mourning over the loss of an opportunity to sub in a high school language arts classroom.
Now my sights are turned to Monday, as I wonder what subbing opportunities it holds.
I was already tired before I left a friends last night at 9 PM. I read for a while and then fell asleep shortly after 10 pm. At 5:36 AM, my phone rang. It was for a sub job, the sub job. High School. Language Arts. 7:20 to 10:55 AM. Perfect. I would get up, get ready, teach, and still half a bit of a breather before my other job. So I went to press 1 to accept.
I missed and pressed the tiny little 4 on my cell phone. I hear, "I will not call you again today."
I had pressed the button which rejects the job and stops further calls from that district. Part of me is an English teacher at heart. When I think about classroom management strategies or rubrics, I think of how to apply it to a high school language arts course. Then I remember that I'm a licensed art teacher. I would have loved to spend a couple hours in the language arts classroom; however, the subbing system is internally consistent. If I reject it on the phone, it's take off the website listing as well.
This gave me a fear of pressing the wrong button throughout the morning in the four more calls I received. At 6:18 AM, I woke in a panic--wondering if I'd unintentionally accepted some other sub job. I awkwardly reached over to my laptop on the nearby desk--too lazy to get my entire body out of bed--and signed in online. I checked my schedule, and to my relief there were no jobs that I'd sleepily accepted. I groggily listened through other calls from the staffing service, but was still mourning over the loss of an opportunity to sub in a high school language arts classroom.
Now my sights are turned to Monday, as I wonder what subbing opportunities it holds.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Social Studies
I'm a big fan of history--a narrative of time which always casts back to the same themes throughout differing contexts. So seeing a full-day need for a high school social studies sub, I instantly accepted the absence. I arrived at the enormous high school, scoping out parking spaces and hunting for the main entrance. I entered the building and saw three offices. I decided to go for the center one and signed in on the blue sheet available. I then stood awkwardly--having never taught in this school before. The secretary saw my puppy dog eyes and directed me to another office within the catacombs. I was given a badge, a binder, and instructions about a drill for that day. I wandered up some carpeted stairs within the unending offices and found myself in an expansive room with rows upon rows of cubicles. I thought I was in a high school, but perhaps I was mistaken.
I wove through the rows, searching for the brown name plate of the teacher I was to be that day. I found her desk and put down my jacket, then began picking through binders and folders, wondering where her sub plans were. I left the space and went to a hallway--seeing numbers near doors but no names. In my continued confusion I took another lap and a gracious woman found the number of the classroom I was in. I found my way easily enough, and then began the search for sub plans again. Finally I noticed two stacks of paper on some of the student desks and read through the plans.
Films that day. In every class. There were a few other responsibilities--giving out worksheets for notetaking and for an upcoming test, taking attendance, and conducting the drill that day. Overall, however, my main task was to press play, adjust the volume, and wake up sleepy students. I recognize that these films were chosen for the educational enhancement of the students, however, I was bored out of my mind. At length, I allowed myself to read the occasional paragraph out of the book I had brought along while I sat in the back. So the rhythm of my actions changed to: read a paragraph, scan the room, redirect (if necessary), read a paragraph . . . At the end of the day I had a planning period. I read. The end.
Yes, the life of a sub can be exciting, full of jumbles of activities, worksheets, referral forms, and getting lost in schools, but it can also be remarkably ordinary--void of disruptive students and involved lesson plans.
I wove through the rows, searching for the brown name plate of the teacher I was to be that day. I found her desk and put down my jacket, then began picking through binders and folders, wondering where her sub plans were. I left the space and went to a hallway--seeing numbers near doors but no names. In my continued confusion I took another lap and a gracious woman found the number of the classroom I was in. I found my way easily enough, and then began the search for sub plans again. Finally I noticed two stacks of paper on some of the student desks and read through the plans.
Films that day. In every class. There were a few other responsibilities--giving out worksheets for notetaking and for an upcoming test, taking attendance, and conducting the drill that day. Overall, however, my main task was to press play, adjust the volume, and wake up sleepy students. I recognize that these films were chosen for the educational enhancement of the students, however, I was bored out of my mind. At length, I allowed myself to read the occasional paragraph out of the book I had brought along while I sat in the back. So the rhythm of my actions changed to: read a paragraph, scan the room, redirect (if necessary), read a paragraph . . . At the end of the day I had a planning period. I read. The end.
Yes, the life of a sub can be exciting, full of jumbles of activities, worksheets, referral forms, and getting lost in schools, but it can also be remarkably ordinary--void of disruptive students and involved lesson plans.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Early Bird Catches the Worm and Digs out the Grand Am . . .
Whenever I accept a sub assignment, I am given the expected assignment length. It ends up being something like 10:55-2:30 or 11:46 to 3:15 or 7:20-2:30. Given these odd numbers, it's hard to gauge how much prep time or concluding time is factored in. Generally, I aim to arrive fifteen minutes before a given assignment time. This continues to prove quite helpful in two particular ways.
The first is the obvious reasoning: creating a good impression and giving one a safety net of prep time. In one instance, the start time was 7:45. At 7:30 I was in the classroom reading over the sub notes. There I found that the teacher had an AM duty at 7:45--which I would have been late for had I gotten into the classroom at 7:45 AM. In another instance, the teacher was leaving for a half day meeting which meant that I could have a little face-to-face action with the teacher, as well as get some instruction verbally rather than just through the sub note. I was early for her class again a couple days later and received a gushing "You're early again! I love that about you!"
The second way in which being early is helpful is a little less suck-up-to-the-classroom-teacher-ish. Being early is extremely valuable because you never know what will happen. The life of a substitute is completely based on variable. Someone is called for jury duty, has a meeting, has a sick child, etc. etc. and needs a sub. I might have a teacher ask me to sub for her two weeks in advance, two days in advance, or have a phone call me about subbing at 7:45 AM when it's already 8 AM. I am employed in multiple districts and could be with a different age group, subject matter, and/or district any day of the week. These are all fairly obvious aspects of being a sub.
Here's another obvious truth: it snows in Minnesota. A lot--and Minneapolis isn't particularly good at clearing snow out promptly. About a week ago I speculated as to whether I really needed to leave as soon as I'd intended. I decided that it wouldn't hurt and began my drive, finding the school readily. It was situated on a one-way street in Minneapolis, and I missed the turn in to the parking lot. I turned into a residential street in order to loop around again. The roads were white with snow and I saw clusters of hipsters at regular intervals digging out their cars from the weekend snowfall. Between the parked cars and the rest of the street, each residential street could only really accommodate one-way travel. I prepared to turn right to loop back to the school and I saw a van coming from that very street. Knowing that the roads were made especially narrow by the snow, I made my turn quite sharply--into a mush of tire-induced peaks of snow. I had significantly slowed into the turn and found myself stuck.
Apparently the Minnesota Nice was turned down that day, and many people passed me as I analyzed the situation of my car--stuck on the corner of a residential street in the snow two blocks from my substitute assignment. I retrieved the shovel my father had graciously placed into my trunk and began digging around the tires. Some clever digging around each of the tires was all I needed. I entered my car again and successfully navigated it out. Just in time--for a man had slowed his truck and was about to offer his help. As much as I felt helpless at the beginning of this event, I really don't like help from strangers. So I'll judge them when they don't offer help and refuse their help when they do (but at least I'll think them nice).
I then successfully drove my car to the school and parked it in the appropriate lot and fell on the ice as I walked to the school. But all of that aside--I was signing in at the office five minutes early.
The first is the obvious reasoning: creating a good impression and giving one a safety net of prep time. In one instance, the start time was 7:45. At 7:30 I was in the classroom reading over the sub notes. There I found that the teacher had an AM duty at 7:45--which I would have been late for had I gotten into the classroom at 7:45 AM. In another instance, the teacher was leaving for a half day meeting which meant that I could have a little face-to-face action with the teacher, as well as get some instruction verbally rather than just through the sub note. I was early for her class again a couple days later and received a gushing "You're early again! I love that about you!"
The second way in which being early is helpful is a little less suck-up-to-the-classroom-teacher-ish. Being early is extremely valuable because you never know what will happen. The life of a substitute is completely based on variable. Someone is called for jury duty, has a meeting, has a sick child, etc. etc. and needs a sub. I might have a teacher ask me to sub for her two weeks in advance, two days in advance, or have a phone call me about subbing at 7:45 AM when it's already 8 AM. I am employed in multiple districts and could be with a different age group, subject matter, and/or district any day of the week. These are all fairly obvious aspects of being a sub.
Here's another obvious truth: it snows in Minnesota. A lot--and Minneapolis isn't particularly good at clearing snow out promptly. About a week ago I speculated as to whether I really needed to leave as soon as I'd intended. I decided that it wouldn't hurt and began my drive, finding the school readily. It was situated on a one-way street in Minneapolis, and I missed the turn in to the parking lot. I turned into a residential street in order to loop around again. The roads were white with snow and I saw clusters of hipsters at regular intervals digging out their cars from the weekend snowfall. Between the parked cars and the rest of the street, each residential street could only really accommodate one-way travel. I prepared to turn right to loop back to the school and I saw a van coming from that very street. Knowing that the roads were made especially narrow by the snow, I made my turn quite sharply--into a mush of tire-induced peaks of snow. I had significantly slowed into the turn and found myself stuck.
Apparently the Minnesota Nice was turned down that day, and many people passed me as I analyzed the situation of my car--stuck on the corner of a residential street in the snow two blocks from my substitute assignment. I retrieved the shovel my father had graciously placed into my trunk and began digging around the tires. Some clever digging around each of the tires was all I needed. I entered my car again and successfully navigated it out. Just in time--for a man had slowed his truck and was about to offer his help. As much as I felt helpless at the beginning of this event, I really don't like help from strangers. So I'll judge them when they don't offer help and refuse their help when they do (but at least I'll think them nice).
I then successfully drove my car to the school and parked it in the appropriate lot and fell on the ice as I walked to the school. But all of that aside--I was signing in at the office five minutes early.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Faves
I had the pleasure of returning to the high school in which I completed one of my student teaching experiences. I had a handful of the same students, but most students that I saw were completely new faces. I had introduced the work for the painting class and was floating around while answering questions. The students took me at my word when I told them I was a painter and quickly began asking my advice about color-mixing, blending, and various other aspects of painting. I had just given a rather shy boy a crash-course on blending when a girl approached me.
I had noticed her before. She was quite energetic, moving about various parts of the classroom and chatting--always with a smile on her face. She approached me. "You're, like, my favorite substitute teacher. You're so laid back." I didn't know how to respond; I gave a bit of a blank stare. "You don't seem like you yell," she continued.
I broke from my blank acknowledgment, "I honestly can't remember the last time I yelled." I then related a story of a microphone check at church when I was asked to speak loudly into the mic. I said, "Loud noises!" I was quickly redirected because apparently saying the word "loud" is not actually the same as being loud. If anything, she was mildly entertained by the story. It might have been better if I'd skipped the story--but who knows, I might still be the favorite sub.
I had noticed her before. She was quite energetic, moving about various parts of the classroom and chatting--always with a smile on her face. She approached me. "You're, like, my favorite substitute teacher. You're so laid back." I didn't know how to respond; I gave a bit of a blank stare. "You don't seem like you yell," she continued.
I broke from my blank acknowledgment, "I honestly can't remember the last time I yelled." I then related a story of a microphone check at church when I was asked to speak loudly into the mic. I said, "Loud noises!" I was quickly redirected because apparently saying the word "loud" is not actually the same as being loud. If anything, she was mildly entertained by the story. It might have been better if I'd skipped the story--but who knows, I might still be the favorite sub.
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