Lessons learned by a substitute teacher

It's been two full months since I started subbing, and have been lucky enough to have a job every day since I got my first job (see previous blog).  Over these past weeks, I have learned more about teaching than I did in all my college years combined.  Subbing is proving to be one of the most enjoyable, diverse, difficult, exciting, stressful, and hilarious things I have ever done.  I have subbed just about everything by now: high school PE/health, middle school science, kindergarten, 3rd grade, special ed, high school culinary, 4/5th grade, middle school reading, etc., etc.

Here are a FEW things I have learned...

1.  Students remember those things you wish they wouldn't... like when I say, "next time I come, I'll ____," they ALWAYS hold me accountable.  How can they remember these specific details but can't remember what 6x7 is?

2.  Some secretaries are very kind, welcoming, and helpful; others are... not.  I guess it's only fair they assume someone who's never been in the building before should know where everything is.

3.  The last 90 minutes of full day kindergarten is simply a practice in meltdown avoidance.

4.  There is one major difference between teaching high school PE and kindergarten PE: the high schoolers are bigger.

5.  You do not need "prizes" to be an effective teacher with good classroom management.  In fact, you don't need prizes to make students like you, what they really want is just a good teacher.

6.  Although you technically only need to arrive 30 minutes early, if you're planning on having any idea what you're doing for the day, knowing where the music room is that you will be taking kids to at 10:30, deciphering the lesson plans left in seeming hieroglyphs, making the copies that weren't left for an activity, etc., I suggest you arrive AT LEAST 45 minutes early.  An hour if you're a bit overly paranoid, like me.

7.  Pay attention to the student whose name who you know within the first 10 minutes of class... you will likely need to give them some extra "attention" today.

8.  As a substitute, there is a 92% chance the principal will unexpectedly drop by to "check in."  Be on guard, they're really coming to make sure you, as a substitute, are competent.

9.  87% of aforementioned principal drop-ins happen during a transition time after an exceedingly messy art project.

10.  Even if you really get on students about their chattiness, lack of focus, or tendency to be continually off task, they still love you at the end of the day.  Kids want to be held accountable.

11.  Watching the movie "Freedom Writers" during your first year of teaching will undoubtedly make you feel like you're Hillary Swank.

12.  Always bring a back-up plan (duh).  This became very clear to me when I came into a class with this on the lesson plans: "1:00-2:00 - teacher's choice!"  The exclamation point was probably supposed to be a happy exclamation, but for me (this was one of my first sub jobs), it was more of an oh-my-gosh-I-didn't-know-I-was-supposed-to-have-planned-an-activity-for-a-class-that's-not-mine exclamation.  From that day on, I always bring at least two good books, mad libs, a riddle book, various tongue twisters, and an age-appropriate activity that could take anywhere from 30-60 minutes.

13.  Food allergies run high these days.  Don't even think about bringing food rewards.  I may have learned this the hard way... (And apparently Dum-Dums are made in a plant ravaged with peanut remains?)

14.  Having 45 students in a PE class is totally normal, and according to the district, totally effective.  I beg to differ.

15.  Any sub job posting that has "this job includes bus duty, lunchroom duty, and recess duty" in the job details should be immediately avoided.

16.  Recess as "teacher" is infinitely less fun than I remember recess being as "student."

17.  Being a new face in the classroom, you're a mystery that every student craves to solve.  They want to know your age, they want to know about your family, they want to know... if you're pregnant.

18.  Never pose a question that begins with a phrase like, "How does Mrs. Smith...," you will get 30 different answer yelled at you simultaneously and you'll wish you'd never asked.

19.  When in doubt, forget the confusing, last-minute lesson plans and do what you know how to do best: just TEACH.

Going back to high school... as teacher?!

I did it.  I subbed my first day.  In PE.  High school PE.  Surviving this makes me think I can handle anything now.  Almost an invincible feeling.  And here's how it went:

Upon arriving to the high school, I was feeling pretty good about being ten minutes early and having found the staff parking lot with incredible ease.  I was feeling so confident, I didn’t even bother drinking the last fourth of my coffee (now that’s confidence!).  I waltzed right in the doors and found my way to the office.  And when I say “find my way,” I actually mean, got lost on the wrong floor and eventually found my way to the office at the exact moment I was due to arrive (good thing I had that 10 minute buffer). 

When the secretary handed me a hefty lanyard of keys and told me she didn’t know where the locker room was (and I wondered how could that even be possible), the principal generously offered to escort me there.  During our somewhat long and uncomfortable walk to the elusive locker room, he asked me some questions:

Principal: “So do you teach PE?”

Me: “No…”

Principal: “So have you been in high schools to substitute?”

Me: “Uh… no.”

Principal: “….”

Me: “But I love high schoolers!”

I’m sure at this point he was thinking I was about to have an interesting day.  I was just very thankful he didn’t ask if this was my first day subbing.  Because it sure was.

Before classes began, I decided to scope out the premises.  There are locks to EVERYTHING.  This is, as I found out, the reason for the key-laden lanyard I was given.  (This lock/key situation was a constant battle throughout the day.)  Apparently the “righty-tighty, lefty-loosey” motto is NOT a universal law.  

First period came and along with it came Ultimate Frisbee.  Not one of my better athletic skills.  Thankfully, I was mostly in charge of getting cones and Frisbees out of the supply room.  One student broke out a bowl of Fruit Loops.  I told him this wasn’t a good time for that.  He said he was starving.  How do I argue with “starving?”

Second period came with tennis and the instruction for me to “teach students a basic serve.”  I did my best to explain what I have grown up watching Venus and Serena do and then asked “so who wants to demonstrate?!”  Surprisingly, there were no takers.  I volunteered someone wearing a “Varsity Tennis” shirt. 

Period three came with the weight room and a workout with things like “hex bar dead lifts” and “quick snatch lift” on it.  To which I instructed, “if you don’t know what one of the lifts is, I suggest you move on to the next one.”  I also attempted to use the sound system to “pump up some jams.”  After the first CD skipped and made odd sounds, I told students this was my dubstep version.  That wasn’t funny.  So I put on oldies instead.  That was frowned upon.

Period four was like period three. 

Period five was my “prep,” which really means nothing for a substitute but “shoot, shoulda brought my sudoku.”

Period six was back to the tennis courts.  It was now pretty warm outside and me asking students to run two laps around the tennis courts was apparently totally uncalled for.  PE is NOT for sweating, little did I know.

It was a good day.  I might even say I had fun.  I would even dare to say I would do it again.  Aside from the humorous recollections of the day, I really do love working with students.  I love being the listening ear for their stories they so desperately want to share.  I can’t imagine doing anything else.  And I can honestly say I can’t wait to take on my next sub job: middle school PE!

A simple summary of observations:

    1.     Any time is a good time to eat Fruit Loops.  Even during the warm-up for PE.

    2.     Analog clocks are a thing of the past and an unbreakable code.

    3.     Billy Preston’s song “Nothing From Nothing” is not a cool song to listen to in the weight room (I was thinking it was great until I noticed the disapproving looks on the forty faces staring back at me).

    4.     When the word “hustle” is yelled, that means, “walk slower, please.”

    5.     When asked to “run” that means, “just walk around at any pace you’d like, preferably really slowly.”

    6.     Having to stay in the locker room until the bell rings is absolute torture.

    7.     Run for 5 minutes?!  You might as well make me run a marathon. 

    8.     It’s totally unfair to mark anyone as “tardy” for only being 20 minutes late. 

    9.     Having to play tennis in the PE class called “racquet sports” is a crime and unreasonable. 

  10.  The stranger the name, the less likely the nickname will make logical sense.  (Ajuhdareev=Sam, Quishaw=Andy) …but for real, these names are solely made to make substitutes calling role look ridiculous.

I might look back and laugh, maybe.

No matter how optimistic you pride yourself in being, there are just some days that classify as nothing short of “bad.”  Today was one of those “special” days.  My goal for today was to be productive, efficient, and cross off items on my currently overwhelming to-do list.  In an attempt to get some straight-up answers as to how I get my Washington teaching license, I decided to hit the BIG city of Bellingham and visit Western Washington University.  You may not think much of Western, as it is not UW, USC, or another ghastly large state school, but coming from Corban, which is essentially a couple buildings on the side of a hill, I was on a big-time campus. 

As I turned onto the road that was supposedly going to lead me where I needed to go, I ran across the “visitors” building.  This seemed like the logical place for someone like me who doesn’t have a clue to go first.  Turns out, I was right.  Apparently you have pay to park by the hour at this place!  Clue number one that I am no longer on Corban campus.  So I decided to pay for one hour parking, thinking I was having a particularly successful and efficient day and keeping this mission to under an hour would be effortless.  Upon asking for a map, which the lady so nicely traced all over in red pen to show me exactly how I was to find my way to lot 17G, I walked back to my car doing that typical dig-through-your-purse-causally-so-no-one-see-you-panic thing to find my key.  But as I reached my car with still no key in hand, I’m sure my panic was now evident on my face.  I dug for another 2 minutes before I took that humiliating squat to the ground where you can really get a good digging in your purse.  I emptied out all the contents, nothing.  I patted all my pockets, nothing. 

Shamefully, I walked back to the visitors (or as it should be called, “Navigating College Campuses for Idiots”) building.  I informed them I must have left my keys here.  Nothing.  So they directed me to the campus police officer where my key would be located if someone found it and turned it in.  I rounded the corner of this building and asked the police man if he had my key.  He asked me to wait while he went and looked (as I thought to myself, “if it had been turned in, it would probably still be sitting on that desk of yours…”).  He came back and asked when I lost my key.  “About 5 minutes ago.”  With a patronizing chuckle, he told me that no, my key had not been found. 

Back to the parking lot I went; I dug around a few more times.  Back into the Idiots office I went.  Surprisingly, that front desk that didn’t have my key on it two minutes ago still didn’t have my key!  So back to the car again.  I dumped everything out of the purse and contemplated the most mature way to call mom and ask if she could bring me my spare key.  It was at this moment I found my key.  In my purse. 

With a newfound sense of success (and wasting a good 15 minutes of that hour of parking I paid for), I set off to find lot 17G.  I repeated the lines the lady told me, “right out of the lot, right at the light.”  But after one of those rights, I got a little distracted by the sweat accumulating under my arms after having survived that stressful event of losing and finding keys.  During this effort to remove my cardigan, I realized I had not been looking for lot 17G.  So I pulled into the nearest lot and rolled the window down to get some help from a rather official looking, older lady.  After having to explain my situation to her about 3 times, I realized I had not chosen well in looking for someone to help streamline my campus navigation process. 

I tried my best to nicely tell her I’d figure it out on my own, when I saw the sign notifying me this was, in fact, lot 17G.  Hallelujah.  I parked, hopped out of the car (with campus map in hand) and said a prayer that I could make my way to Miller Hall, find this answer-filled genie, and make it back to 17G in under the now 40 minutes I had remaining on this parking permit.  It was at this moment the aforementioned “helper” decides she wants to discuss what year my Jetta is.  I DON’T KNOW, and I did not pay for this hour-long parking to talk about my car. 

 I’m sure I looked really cool to all the students getting out of class as I sped walked through campus covering my face with this map.  The map showed that Miller Hall was by the “Red Square,” building 23, and parking lot 10G.  That would be really helpful if I new what or where any of those things were.  By the grace of God alone, I somehow ran into Miller Hall.  You might think my problems are over at this point.  Think again. 

I walk in, feeling all “successful” again.  From the outside, this building looks like any other campus building: square, brick, students walking in and out, the typical. But on the inside, it’s like some sort of cruel maze created to confuse campus idiots like me.  There were four floors, with a few “sub-floors” mixed in there, too.  As I’m walking through what appears to be some sort of café, the hallway all of a sudden turns into outside.  “What?  Why is there no roof here?  What if it were raining?” Another sign (probably the seventh sign by now) that this is not Corban.  We always have roofs.  They might leak, but we have roofs. 

I find a map on a wall and stare at it for a good 4 or 5 minutes in an attempt to find a room that looks like it might have that genie with the information I need to know.  I pick room 250.  This also happens to be on one of the mysterious sub-floors.  After a few more circles around this ridiculous maze, I find it: room 250.  The lady was nice enough, but informs me I will actually be finding that genie in room 150.  I find my way to the stairs again and take, what I am sure is, the longest route.  This secretary is much less helpful and friendly.  In fact, she never got off the phone.  Thankfully, someone else came out, seeing my bewildered and I’m sure slightly haggard-looking self at this point.  She invites me in and then informs me of the process to obtain a Washington teaching license.  Turns out the test I got passing scores back from today, won’t work.  She tells me I have to take the tests that say “Washington” at the top of them.  I don’t know if this was an attempt to be humorous, but I wasn’t finding it all too funny. 

Surprisingly, I made it back to lot 17G, and found my car, with 7 minutes to spare. 

I felt like crying.  Why can’t there be a universal teaching license?  Why can’t all the states’ names be at the top of those tests?  Why are there endless hoops to jump through in order to get a license?  Why can’t I seem to figure out how to use maps?  This past hour had been one for the record books.  Could anything else have gone wrong?!  (Which it did… the freeway entrance ramp I needed to use was closed, and as you can probably guess, my navigating skills took me a very round-about way to find another entrance to the freeway.)

Now, 4 hours after this afternoon debacle, I can laugh at what happened.  The fact that I spent 15 minutes looking for the lost key located in my purse, the fact that I just so happened to run into the one lady on campus with no sense of urgency or parking lot knowledge, the fact that Miller Hall is a crazed, cruel, and occasionally roofless maze, is actually pretty hilarious.  All of these issues were just minor obstacles in my way of getting to the answer genie.  And, looking back, they make for a pretty good story.  Not to mention, I managed to navigate and get answers in my allotted hour of parking.

All this nonsense about re-taking tests and filling out copious amounts of paperwork are just obstacles in my way of getting a teaching license.  But I’ll get around them eventually.  Who knows, I might even laugh some day when I think about the summer I tried to get my Washington license.  The summer I re-took essentially the same test I took (and passed) mere months prior.  Maybe.  Not yet. 

I am reminded of my favorite verse, “Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer” (Romans 12:12).  This is all in God’s hands.  I don’t need to worry.  I just need to stay joyful, have a little patience, and trust in God’s bigger plan.  So I might run into a few metaphorical “lost” keys, unhelpful “helpers,” and Miller mazes.  But I’m sure it will make the end (successful) result that much sweeter.  

He's calling you to do the "Boot Scootin' Boogie"

In a house full of student teachers, we don’t get out much.  But in celebration of a roommate’s birthday, we took it upon ourselves to embrace the true culture of Oregon: line dancing.  I love to dance, however, I wouldn’t consider myself gifted in the area.  But seeing as I always have a good time playing “Just Dance” on the Wii, and I’m always looking for new ways to get in a workout, I figured the night should be fun, or at the very least, eventful.    

When we arrived at the Silver Spur, the scene I saw as I walked in the door was not at all what I expected.  Yes, there were people dancing; yes, they were wearing cowboy boots; yes, there was country music; yes, there were even a few cowboy hats.  But the looks on the faces of the people dancing was not at all what my imagination had conjured up on our long (roundabout) way to our Friday night hangout.  And trust me, I had time to create a pretty vivid image in my mind, as we were lost for a good ten extra minutes.  Their faces were lifeless.  They weren’t smiling, singing, or appearing to have a good time in any way.  This is not what the movies show line dancing to be like; the people in the movies are always smiling and having a ball.

Not having a clue how to do the “shuffle step,” the “chasse,” the “hoedown throw down,” or the “wild wild west boogie,” we decided it best to sit out the first few dances in an attempt try to gain some sort of knowledge on this supposedly festive, but seemingly lifeless, form of dance.

After getting up the courage to brave the dance floor, our group of 8 decided to join in.  We weren’t exactly naturals… our performance during the first few dances was actually rather pitiful.  I stepped on a few toes, ran into a few “regulars,” and laughed my way through “Redneck Girl,” “Watermelon Crawl,” and “Boot Scootin’ Boogie.”  I watched the feet of the regulars, and man with striking similarities to Alan Jackson called out the moves for our hopeless group of “city folk.” 

Maybe our dancing was inhibiting the “groove” these naturals had established before our chaotic arrival, but I saw a change in their lifeless faces.  People were smiling (disregard the fact they were probably laughing at us).  People seemed to be having fun.  Maybe they liked the challenge of having to dance around a bunch of obstacles.  Maybe they liked seeing new faces.  Maybe they just really liked the way I was singing “Boot Scootin’ Boogie.”  But there was finally joy on the dance floor. 

Sometimes God brings us into situations where we feel like we have a metaphorical pair of two left feet.  It can be intimidating.  You might end up feeling like you have nothing of value or skill to offer.  And you may feel like you’d prefer to sit outside the dance floor.  I don’t mean to make light of the importance of God’s call with my reference to line dancing; following His will can be a scary and intimidating thing.  But it is an important truth to remember that God uses us in our weaknesses to be lights and servants to the world around us. 

“And He has said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for power is perfected in weakness.’  Most gladly, therefore, I will rather boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may dwell in me.”  -2 Corinthians 12:9

Prepare to be surprised in how God uses your weaknesses (possibly even more than your strengths) in your service.  Maybe your role in service will end up looking a lot different than you imagined, but trust that God has the power to use you in the way He calls you… even if He’s calling you to do the “Boot Scootin’ Boogie.” 

Digging through the trash for a retainer in an Oregon monsoon

It’s been said that friends make the good times better, the bad times more bearable, and in my humble opinion, the weird times funnier.  My best friend (and roommate) has proven this point to me over and over again.  As I was getting ready for bed last night a sinking feeling overwhelmed me as I realized I had taken out my retainer, put it in a paper towel, and then placed it on the kitchen counter.  (Why I thought it was a good idea to remove my retainer in the kitchen is a mystery to me.  I probably wasn’t thinking clearly at 6 in the morning.)  I vaguely remembered clearing off the kitchen counter sometime in the afternoon, and most likely that clearing included the paper-towel-wrapped piece of plastic tooth preservation.

After about 4 minutes of panicking, my better half and best friend calmly told me that we were going to get on our shoes, put on coats, go out to the trash bin sitting on the side of the street, and dig through to find my retainer (which was recently replaced from being thrown away and lost last year).  We walked outside into the typical Oregon monsoon, opened the big green lid, and pulled out the most recent bag of household kitchen trash.  It was quite the scene, complete with Ziploc bags on our hands as “gloves.” 

We dug through the rotten turkey meat, the pesto covered noodles, the eggshells, the soggy paper towels, the glops of yogurt, and other such trashy items.  As disgusting as this all was, I couldn’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness. 

Just as I was losing hope, I found a wadded up paper towel slightly resembling the roof of my mouth.  Retainer obtained.                         

As thrilled as I was to have my retainer back, I was highly disappointed in finding out via google that no, I could not dishwash, bleach, or boil my now more than slightly germy tooth preserver. 

But regardless, I fell asleep laughing.  And I couldn’t help but think that I most likely would have just left my retainer for the garbage man if I hadn’t had the encouragement of a good friend to choose the better route and dig through the trash.  Isn’t that really what friends do?  They help us dig through the trash.  Sometimes that comes in the form of being the one who’s there when the chips are down.  Sometimes that comes in the form of being the one to confront you when no one else will.  Or sometimes it just literally means digging through the trash to find a lost retainer.

I am reminded of this in Ecclesiastes, “Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their work; if one falls down, his friend can help pick him up.  But pity the man who falls and has no one to help him up.”  (4:9-10)

I am thankful for those friends who help me up.  Or help me dig through the trash for a retainer in an Oregon monsoon.  

You would do this

Seeing as it’s about time for student teaching and classes to start up, I made my way down to Salem yesterday to move into the house we are renting.  All I could think about on my drive down was this cute yellow house I have been dying to get into.  By the time I got to Salem, it was about 9pm and getting dark.  I turned onto the street where our beloved yellow house resides and I began smiling from ear to ear.  I got to the top of the hill, which I knew meant I was finally at our house, I pulled into the driveway, grabbed the first suitcase that fell out of the car when I opened the door, and waltzed my way to the front door.

Before I had left, I wrote down the key box code on my hand to make sure I wouldn’t get locked out.  As I walked/waltzed/flopped my way to the front door, I look down on my hand, pleased that the code is still present and visible.  I open the screen door to get to the key box, but it didn’t seem to be there anymore.  I wondered where it would have been moved to, so I used the light of my cell phone to search the premises for this essential key (no pun intended) to my entrance. 

Now I begin to panic.  How am I going to get in?  Why would they take away the key box when they had just sent me the email telling me the code?  As I got myself into this panicked frenzy, I realized there were lights on in the house.  “Hmm, that’s funny.  I thought I was the first to move in.”

Then I noticed the furniture in the front living room (which I was seeing because I had my face pressed up to the window) was different than I had remembered. 

This is when I realize I am at the wrong house.  Completely humiliated, I grab my hefty suitcase, my purse, and run for my car.  I remember getting into my car and saying under my breath, “you would do this, Jill!”  Apparently, I turned into the driveway one house too soon. 

I sat for a long time trying to tie this into something Biblical… like how heaven awaits us but we’ll get there on the first try, or how we need to pay attention to the details, or how we have to stay focused until the very end, or something along those lines.  But then I realized this is just a funny story.  If it teaches you any lesson, let it be this: write down the house number to the house you’re moving into before you get there.