Thursday, January 17, 2008

#3: Journal Notes on Subbing Assignment for 1-2 November 2007

Proctoring an exam isn't really "subbing" (see entry below) -- so my first "genuine" assignment came two days later in a middle school about 45 minutes up the Lake Michigan coast from my first assignment. The town is upscale, a charming summer resort town, yet affluent year round. We were still on Daylight Savings Time so it was pitch black as I tried to find the school. The directions I had been given included landmarks that had since changed names, or been demolished, so, again, I was a few minutes late.

This is a mostly white school. The layout of the school is elegant -- an airy central hub with four color-coded sub-sections for each middle school grade. (In one hall were wonderful posters by Lawrence W.Swienciki [1994] on mathematics from traditional as well as indigenous peoples -- I especially loved the Navajo one -- we don't usually think of indigenous peoples as having sophisticated mathematical concepts -- these posters indicate otherwise.)

I was assigned to 7th and 8th grades in Language Arts classes. Instead of individual desks, the room held tables with two chairs on either sides so that there were four students per table. Unfortunately, table-sharing seems to invite more chaos than usual. The boys were loud, noisy, sometimes physically aggressive with their classmates (several girls ended up in tears); on the other hand, sadly, many of the girls would have fit into TV sitcoms focused on narcissistic, spoiled "princesses."

The assignment for the 8th grade classes was Daniel Keyes' deeply moving novel, *Flowers for Algernon,* which raises profound ethical and social issues. We went around the room as each student read a brief passage. I was surprised that so many read so poorly, in muffled tones, and with no expression (they certainly had plenty of volume and expression when not reading!). Despite my questions, few seemed to grasp the deeper implications of the story, nor, despite late night movies, were they aware of the 1968 Cliff Robertson *Charly* film on the same theme. (One student, however, cared enough to research this and he told the class about it the next day, which pleased me.)

The 7th grade classes were working on autobiographical timelines and I was impressed with the creativity many of them showed. One young girl in particular showed a sophisticated use of design in her asymmetrical serpentine curves and lovely colors. I complimented her on this but she acted as if it were nothing. She said it would all end in death, as would she in a few years (her autobiographical timeline ended only a few years later). Sometimes it's hard to know how seriously to take these kids but I took this one very, very seriously. "Yes," I replied, "I understand. I was in my 20's before I felt as you do, so you're ahead of me, but I do understand the pull of death. Yet I survived -- I'm now 67 and things seem worthwhile to me, even though they never did in my 20's and 30's and I honestly never thought I'd live this long. Yet I'm glad I did. I hope you'll stick it out -- you have some wonderful gifts as an artist."

I don't know if she heard me. I hope she did. She definitely has a strong artistic sense and perhaps that will save her life. Life/death issues too often hang upon such slender threads.

There is a boy in that school too -- a very young Harry Potter-type coupled with surprising maturity. I've never regretted not having children but if I could have been given a guarantee that I'd have such a son, I think I might have agreed. He told me his grandmother is a professor, which would make her probably 15-20 years younger than me, but still a colleague. I truly envy her such a delightful grandson.

A third student, a gorgeous blond girl, also stands out in my memory. She was quite noisy and uncooperative but eventually told me she wants to be a model -- she added that an agent had already contacted her. Given her looks, I could see why, but my heart sank. I've known too many such girls. Their lives usually don't end well. I looked her in the eye and said that men hiring beautiful young women like her would never think of her as ANYthing but an object. She looked surprised. "You deserve better," I said, and walked away, because I knew she'd never discuss the issue further. Not at her age. She's one of those spoiled princesses who believes the world is her oyster and has no power to harm her.

But I hope she heard me and will remember that she can do so much better.

A fourth student threw a classic tantrum when I instructed her class to write opening paragraphs on their timeline instead of completing their artistic graphics. She shouted at me, closed her books, and sat immobile, surly, refusing to cooperate. I finally sent her to the office because she was so disruptive to the rest of the class.

Later, in re-reading the teacher's instructions, I realized that it would have been ok for students to work on their graphics instead of completing the opening paragraphs. I apologized and explained this to the rest of the class. I planned to set the record straight with the surly student the following day but she never showed up. Well, ok, sometimes subs make mistakes in interpreting lesson plans. But the student's reaction was really over the top. Cutting me some slack and writing her autobiographical paragraphs instead of completing her artwork should not have become so messy. Mine was an honest mistake. She didn't have to be such a brat.

Looking back to that day nearly three months ago, I recall only those four students. The rest fade into a blur. But when I re-read the notes I made that day, the noise comes rushing back and nearly overwhelms me. I was constantly shouting at them, trying to get control and usually failing. I remember that at the end of that first day I went out to my car and simply sat there for a long time, watching the wind-tossed trees lining the parking lot. I didn't dare drive yet. I felt too broken. I felt like a bug whose limbs had been pulled off by thoughtless children. I felt like a shattered doll, with nothing left.

It was a two-day assignment, however. I had to pull myself together for the next day -- and somehow I did.

Mercifully, the next morning went surprisingly well because most of each class was scheduled to be spent in the school's lovely library. The children were well-behaved, reasonably quiet, and I could feel my whole body beginning to relax from the stress of the preceding day.

Unfortunately, everything unraveled during the final two hours after lunch. Both the librarian and I failed to control those two classes and the librarian finally expelled them in sheer exasperation.

Hurt and bewildered, I asked the last class what had happened, why had they run so amuck. I got four clear answers from them:

1) we're 7th graders
2) we're still high on all our Halloween candy
3) it's Friday and we just wanna be OUTTA HERE!!!!
4) we're 7th graders

I understood -- but ---- well, ::sigh::

Anyway, that was my first real experience in subbing. In the coming weeks, things would get both better -- and much worse....

Tuesday, January 15, 2008

#2: Journal Notes on Subbing Assignment for 30 October 2007

In my small part of the world, subbing has been outsourced to a company that represents much of Michigan. The advantage is that one can accept computer-listed assignments days, even weeks, ahead of time instead of having to wait for 5am telephone calls seeking replacements for last minute teacher absences.

I like this very much. As a nightowl, the very idea of a 5am call is brutal. If I can accept an assignment a day or two ahead of time, I can ease into it gently. I can pack my lunch the night before, drink "sleepytime tea," and turn in at an unseemly but necessarily early hour.

My first assignment under this new system (which in my area went into effect July 2007) sent me to a large, mostly black highschool on October 30, 2007. It was still dark when I tried to find the school. There are studies proving that teenagers need more sleep than they're getting and should actually start their school days around 10am. Such data is unknown in most American schools. The youngsters are expected around 7-7:30am.

At that hour, it's too dark to see street signs so I usually get lost and arrive late. That day was no exception and I was about five minutes late. The students were lined up in the cold and I couldn't find an unlocked door to get inside. Another teacher finally helped me out. Once inside, what struck me was a hallway filled with long, wild, dense Halloween streamers of orange and black crape paper. It was very rich and magical. I had never seen anything like it. I felt like an awed child walking into that hallway. Surely, this was a place where children's creativity would be nurtured.

Reality hit when I reached the school office. I was one of several subs that day and the office people didn't know what to do with us. The computers were down and there was no way to figure out where we were supposed to go. I was initially sent to a French classroom. But, as I told them, I couldn't teach French. Latin, yes, some German and Spanish, but not French. I was told it didn't matter -- they didn't have a regular French teacher anyway -- just endless subs. I was settling in when a young, handsome, cheerful fellow arrived and said he was replacing me and I should go back to the office. Turns out he knew some French. I was greatly relieved.

I made my way back through the halls, including the magical forest of Halloween streamers, and returned to the office. Three subs were now ahead of me: a gentle, middle-aged black man with a heavy African accent who had subbed there before -- after 30 minutes he was sent to a classroom on the second floor. An older black woman was soon sent to yet another classroom. But another black woman and I sat waiting for an hour. She was very young -- early 20's -- and she got a call on her cell phone asking if she was available to accept a last minute assignment at another school where a friend of hers was in charge.

She got up and told the office staff that she had another job if they didn't know where to send her. Then we again sat together, waiting. She told me that when she was in highschool, she and her classmates were truly awful to subs, so she could understand where kids were coming from when they saw a sub. But she let them know they couldn't fool her. That's how she got control, she said. I was amazed. I had gone to a Catholic highschool in the early to mid 1950's and can't honestly remember ever having a sub. If a nun were ill, another nun took her place. I couldn't imagine being rotten to a sub.

An hour passed as we talked, sharing experiences, often laughing. Finally she was told that it would be ok if she took the other assignment. She did, wished me well, and left immediately. It was 9am by then. Soon afterwards I was informed that I should drive to the other end of town to help proctor a Michigan Merit Exam. Seniors from this same school had already been bused there an hour earlier.

It was daylight but I still got lost again. Finally I found the abandoned school that now serves as an exam site. I was quietly introduced to the teacher in charge of one of many rooms full of seniors from the school I had left. I asked how I could help her. We agreed that I should walk up and down the aisles but we didn't want to make the students nervous so I was careful not to pace too much. The room was very cold and many students were shivering. The heating system was down, we were told. I felt very sorry for the kids -- exams are always stressful and being cold didn't help much.

Those kids did their best although I have to say that maybe 30% of them just gave up, pulled their hoodies up over their heads like little turtles, and fell asleep at their desks. I tried to awaken a few but their teacher, who, as I've mentioned, was in charge of our room (there were many students in other rooms that day), regretfully whispered to me that we weren't supposed to talk to them or help them in any way. I liked her -- we both knew this test was a crock, but there was nothing we could do about it. And when a state examiner came to our room later that morning, we both did what was expected and reluctantly walked up and down every few minutes.

I was struck by how hunched over most of the kids were. Did they have vision problems? Had anyone checked? Didn't they know that being hunched over would interfere with the supply of oxygen getting to their brains? I asked if I could make an annoucement reminding them to breathe in deeply but I was told that communicating with them was forbidden. Later, when I was assigned to walk some of the girls to the bathroom, I'd whisper, "Don't forget to breathe." But I don't think it helped much. These tests are sheer madness. This isn't education. It's "obedience training" and it isn't working.

Later, the teacher (who teaches English, by the way, and loves medieval literature) told me that these seniors had initially taken this Merit Exam the year before as juniors. Out of a class of some 200, only five had passed! All the rest were failures and were now repeating the test.

Only five had passed?!!!! I was shocked. Either something was horribly wrong with that test or else the school is in dreadful trouble. I found it hard to believe. The numbers made no sense to me. This is Bush's "No Child Left Behind" at its worst.

I have since mentioned this incident to others around here and have found that very few share my sense of shock. They aren't surprised at all -- they tell me that such schools simply pass these kids along and hope for the best. When too many fail, the government punishes such schools by imposing stricter standards (but without additional funding to achieve such standards).

Punishes the schools? This is crazy. These are impoverished schools in disintegrating neighborhoods. We need to give them more money and improve the employment opportunities for their parents. Punitive measures are absurd. We all know the statistics. These beautiful kids will wind up as fodder in rich white men's wars. Or else they'll be put in rich white men's prisons. This is unacceptable. But what on earth are we to do?

I ended that day in a deep depression. Everything is stacked against these kids. What is wrong with us that we're allowing this? We have put men on the moon. Why are we letting these exhausted children, turtle-ing in their thin hoodies, fall through the cracks?

#1: Tuesday, January 15, 2008: HOW THIS BLOG BEGAN

I am an academic who in the late '70's and '80's taught adult courses for Community Services at Ventura and Oxnard Colleges, as well as for Ojai's World University -- all in Southern California. The courses I taught were in creative writing, dream interpretation for writers and other artists, and past life explorations (via guided imagery/active imagination).

In 1992 I earned a Ph.D. in Religious Studies from the University of California, Santa Barbara. My areas of expertise are world religions, aesthetics, and cross-cultural mythology (ancient India, Egypt, Mesopotamia, Greece, medieval Europe, and Native American).

Between 1994 and 2003, I taught in a small graduate institute near Santa Barbara, California. During that time, I guided dozens of mythology and clinical psychology students through their own doctoral work. The average age of my students during those years was 47.

Today, semi-retired in my home state of Michigan, a state with the highest unemployment rate in the nation, I have turned to substitute teaching ("subbing") in order to make ends meet. Here, I encounter students the age of the children and grandchildren of the adults I once taught. As a single woman who never had children, it has been a sobering experience.

Out of my deep concern for current educational issues in middle and high schools, I have decided to create this blog for others who, as substitute teachers, have a front row seat when it comes to what is happening in this country's so-called "education." Hopefully, this will also prove insightful to parents and, perhaps, to the few students who might stumble across it.

The "subbing" portion of my "Subbing/Grubbing" blog is clear. "Grubbing" is probably less clear. On a superficial level, it has to do with an often "grubby," untidy, dirty, messy situation in today's schools. But for subs, working in a precarious economy, it also implies obtaining a much-needed "grubstake" -- i.e., the money paid to "prospectors" for their work in this educational enterprise. Like everyone else, we have bills to pay.

It isn't just about paying bills, of course. "Grub" also means food, which suggests that subs, if given a chance, could provide rich nourishment to the students we encounter. Unfortunately, we are rarely given that chance -- students see us as targets. They play us, con us, insult us, and force us to be "noise Nazis." At the end of a long day, we may often feel like broken, shattered toys. This is when another meaning of "grub" comes into play -- as Websters defines it: "to work hard, especially at something menial or tedious; drudge." Subs work very hard and too often are treated as worthless drudges. This is difficult to accept, especially when we care so much.

Finally, however, there is yet another relevant meaning of "grubbing," which has to do with extracting precious ore. Among the reasons I have created this blog is to reveal that intractable yet wonderful "ore" in the minds of our students.

P.S. -- I'm new to blogs and have no idea if this version will get posted or not. :-( Nor do I know if the previous unfinished 1/14/08 draft will be deleted and replaced with this correct version. Google's blog service doesn't seem very user friendly. This may be my first and last entry since I can't figure out how to keep adding to this blog.

23 January 2008 update: I have solved some of the technical issues and will keep making entries, time-permitting. Please be patient. :-)