#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....