Where in the world is Paula? In a 2nd/3rd grade combo-class. My girlfriend and former colleague (I used to be a teacher) asked me to substitute in her class yesterday. I said, “Sure!”
I like kids. They tell you the craziest things. Ask you the craziest things. Rub their hands over your pantyhose because they’ve never seen them before. And they don’t understand how your calves could possibly look that smooth. (That happened in a classroom in rural Texas. Not much occasion for pantyhose there.) In other words, kids are unpredictable and delightful, and I was happy to spend the day in their presence.
I actually think I’m a better teacher than a flight attendant. Being a flight attendant is selfish but necessary for my mental health. However, teaching is satisfying and the opposite of selfish. It is also very exhausting! Especially at the hippie school I subbed at yesterday.
I affectionately refer to it as “the hippie school” because they have no textbooks, no homework, no desks. Extrinsic incentives, such as stars and treasure chests, are not allowed. Consequences are barely tolerated. The kids call the teachers using their first names. Oh, and there are no walls. The classrooms are pods, all interconnected like a hippie commune. I got in trouble when I taught there because my class was walking in a line.
I didn’t last long at this school. I quickly found out that I like structure!
At least I didn’t have to meditate yesterday. When I taught there, we were expected to meditate daily with our students. I don’t know how to meditate, and no one mentioned this in the interview. My students and I would close our eyes and breathe loudly while I muttered some nonsense about “picture this.” Needless to say, this school wasn’t a perfect fit for me, but I could substitute for a day. Right?
As a substitute teacher, I dread P.E. and/or going outside with the kids. It’s unconfined and difficult to manage. My friend’s lesson plan: “Take the kids to the garden. Have them show you around and ask them to look for the most interesting rock they can find. We’re going to write about it tomorrow.”
Sure thing, but did I mention they don’t walk in lines?
So… we selected a line leader, Georgia. Talked about what it means to be a line leader (she’s in front). Talked about walking quietly past working classrooms. Then, I told them to bring their writing journals and pencils because they would take notes and write every detail about their rock. We talked about adjectives and descriptive words. In other words, I attempted to apply some structure.
The minute we got out there, they threw their journals down and started running all over the place playing tag. “You’re it.” One girl had a giant flagstone ready to drop on her toes. Two boys were playing tug-a-war with another gigantic stepping stone.
While I was looking over this mayhem, a (different classroom’s) garden caught my eye. Their garden bed was covered with beautiful tulips in bloom.
I walked over to The Wild Ones, announced in my stern teacher voice, “We’re going back to the classroom. Georgia, come here. Everyone line up behind Georgia.” The Wild Ones froze. “Why are we going back to the classroom?” (Really?)
I said, “Because you’re not doing what I asked you to do.” Pause “Are you going to do what I asked you to do? Or are we going back?”
They all got to work. Things were going great. I actually considered staying out longer than the allotted time. Until I glanced over and saw some students picking tulips.
At this point, you’re probably wondering what kind of flight attendant I am. Ha!
But, overall, we had a great day, and we ended on a high note. After cleaning up our final project (watercolors), everyone was seated, waiting for the dismissal bell. I realized we still had eight minutes. Uh oh. Elementary-age kids cannot have eight idle minutes. So, I whipped out a book from my Mary Poppins bag and started to read about history’s strangest medical cures. Most of them are super gross, like frog soup, caterpillar fungus, skunk oil, maggots, mummy powder… you get the idea. As I read history’s three strangest cures for a sore throat and the kids were voting on which one they thought actually worked, the bell rang.
Not one student moved. The entire class sat in suspense, waiting to hear more.
What a nice way to end the day!
But you know what wasn’t nice? Watching an overweight girl keep her long jacket zipped up all day. (It was a warm day.) I see this more often with middle-school-age kids. But younger kids can be sensitive too. I don’t say anything dumb to them like, “Why don’t you take off your jacket?” They realize it’s hot. And I realize it isn’t a jacket; it’s a shield. My wise grandmother, Pauline, used to say, “Growing up is the hardest thing you’ll ever do.” I think she was right. Growing up is hard work.
And so is teaching.
I know I told you that I was subbing as a favor to my friend. But after some reflection, I think it was she who actually did me a favor. It felt good to be back in the classroom, even a classroom in a hippie school.