#9: Journal Notes on Subbing Assignment for 28 November 2007

After being with those delightful special-ed students for a half-day on Tuesday, November 27th (see entry below), I checked the sub website around 9:30pm that night to look for future assignments. To my surprise, there was another special-ed opening the very next day, this time at a highschool about ten minutes away from me. It was a day-long assignment, 8am-2:55pm. Inspired by my experience earlier that day, I immediately accepted it.

The next morning, 28 November 2007, I got my directions mixed up and first went to the middle school. The staff sent me to the highschool up the road, but I could not find a faculty parking lot. Some subs "case the joint" a day or two ahead of time so they know what to expect, but that takes extra time and gas-money that many of us cannot afford. Finally, I parked where I could but, as so often happens, the nearest door was locked. I could see students wandering the halls inside but no one heard my knocks until one of the regular teachers spotted me and let me in. She was very friendly, took me to the main office, and wished me a pleasant day.

I apologized to the office staff for being late, explaining that I'd parked and first gone to the middle school. No one had a problem with that. They had me sign in and when another woman entered the office, they explained that she was my regular teacher's para-professional aide, who would be there to help me all day. I will call her Mrs. X. They sent me off with her, winding through corridors until we finally reached "our" room. Mrs. X seemed a pleasant, warm, friendly woman -- I tagged her as a soccer mom type, which is to say, an extrovert, greatly invested in her children. I wasn't far wrong. She has an attractive blond daughter in the highschool who is involved in many student activities; I think she may have had a second daughter too but I didn't meet her.

Mrs. X had her own desk in the classroom, located front and center. The regular teacher's desk was way off to the far side, in a corner. This seemed a little odd to me but I figured it was a mutual decision on the part of the women. I went to the desk in the far corner and looked over the lesson assignments. I learned then why I was there -- the regular teacher had fallen ill the day before and was still sick. She wrote that Mrs. X would be able to tell me if the previous day's lesson plans needed to be carried over to the current day, or if we could start fresh. "If the kids need to finish yesterday's lesson plans," she wrote, "please have them finish before beginning today's plans." That seemed fair to me, which meant I would be relying greatly upon Mrs. X's input, but I had no problem with that. She knew the students and knew what had happened the day before.

The first class, senior English, was supposed to work on Macbeth projects, which were due the following day. I first introduced myself, calling them "young earthlings," then explaining that I'm an old earthling who enjoys interacting with young ones after many years of teaching students the ages of their parents or grandparents. I pointed out that they need to be pretty much the best educated generation we've ever produced so they can help fix problems caused by the poor choices made by my generation and the boomers behind us. I wrote my last name on the board with "Dr." as my title and then added that I'm a retired professor who taught graduate students in S. California for 9 years. I told them that my Ph.D. is in Religious Studies from the University of California, Santa Barbara, which means I know a lot about world religions, rituals, mythology, fairy tales, and neat things like dragons, ghosts, witches, wizards, grails, and Harry Potter.

That was my standard introduction at the time. It gave them a sense of who I am, which is sometimes helpful, sometimes not. This time, it was apparently helpful, as I learned when the English teacher in the room next door stopped by to welcome me later on. She said, "They came to my room all excited after your class and told me you'd called them 'earthlings.' They really liked that!" We laughed and I thanked her for letting me know. (I would be subbing for her early the following week.)

My introduction tends to elicit similar questions, regardless of what school I am in. "Do you believe in dragons?" is quite common. I reply that I do indeed believe in them and consider them among my best friends -- not that I actually SEE dragons, I am careful to point out, but I do "believe" they're there, perched on the roof of my house, for example, or flying around between my trees, protecting my land. If disbelieving students persist with more questions, I point out that cross-culturally, there are too many fairytales and legends about dragons -- in some part of the psyche, or on what is known as "the imaginal plane," they must be "real."

Another common question is "Do you believe in ghosts?" Answering that one has to be kept more carefully nuanced because it impacts deeper belief systems about death itself. My usual answer runs something like this: "You have to understand that I myself have never seen or even felt a ghost, but many indigenous peoples see the ghosts of their ancestors and I see no reason to doubt them. I also have friends who are quite psychic and frequently see ghosts. I have no reason to doubt them either, so I do think that probably ghosts exist. I have a friend (Richard Senate) in California, in fact, who actually takes people on tours of local haunted buildings -- including a theatre in Ventura where I used to run the lighting. However, I study such phenomena as a scholar, not a 'believer'."

(Note: quite unexpectedly, one of the young ladies later told me about a well-known ghost that haunts that school's own theatre and was accepted as quite natural by an earlier drama teacher.)

Sometimes I am asked if I know any witches -- not if I AM one, but do I *know* any. That's a curious distinction, especially considering later events at that school. Students intuitively seemed to "get" that someone like me probably *would* know such folk, but not that I'm one of them. And having lived in Southern California for 26 years, yes, of course, I've known witches. Several have even been insightful graduate students of mine. Also, I used to attend solstice and equinox rituals in Topanga Canyon with a group of Unitarian women from Ventura who had connections with a coven down there. It was a great coven, very welcoming of sisters who follow other paths. In their spiral dance, for example, they raised marvelous cones of energy, or so they all said and felt. I, alas, not being psychically gifted, didn't feel a darn thing. But the others obviously felt it, even some of the Unitarians (a group of which, by the way, I am not a member -- I had simply done some goddess workshops for them and become friends with them). So, yes, I know and respect witches.

Sometimes I am asked if I am married. That's an easy one -- no nuances needed. "No," I reply. "I'm one of the lucky ones." I enjoy the reaction that gets -- some of the girls' heads actually shoot straight upwards in disbelief. They look startled, but then they're also smiling, as if they love it that someone dares to say that. Depending upon the age group, I explain that many of my friends have gone through devastating divorces, which is why I think myself lucky. "I was very much in love with a few guys when I was younger," I explain. "But they were Peter Pans -- I mean, they were never going to grow up. Peter Pan doesn't marry Wendy -- he just leaves her with a bunch of Lost Boys. I knew early on that I deserved better than that. So, yes, I'm lucky not to have married."

Another frequent question is "How old are you?" I'm not sure why that's of interest to "young earthlings" but I never hesitate to tell them my actual age -- 67 back in 2007, and now 68, as of early January 2008. The young need "age-touchstones" like that. It creates a psychic ladder between us and gives a friendly feeling to a number that otherwise might seem utterly alien and scary.

Twice (so far) I have been asked if I can do magic spells. Both times I have dissolved into laughter. "Yes," I finally reply. "Back in the 1960's I cast several magic spells to win the heart of a guy named Roger. But they didn't work so I'm obviously no good at magic spells!" And I continue laughing because it really was a good joke on me -- and now the students join in as well. Both times I got the sense that they were relieved by my answer.

There are fine lines here -- and boundaries that need to be respected. These young earthlings are full of questions and they're not getting enough answers in today's culture. If I pretend to be some woo-woo person with magic abilities, I would be cheating them. ARE there people with such abilities? Certainly there are. There is too much scholarly evidence about shamanic traditions, etc to deny this. Am I one of them? Absolutely not. But because I have been trained to hold the boundaries and give credence to what too many continue to scorn as "irrational," I, and many like me, can make important bridges for these kids. They deserve to know this.

There is one final question that seems to come up a lot, for reasons I cannot fathom: "Have you ever smoked pot?" Is pot still that common in their world? I have no idea. But when I'm asked a question in a classroom setting, it's as if I have a *geas* upon me to answer honestly. I could be wrong, but for me, that's what it means to be a teacher. "Yes," I reply, "but only once. I can't stand its smell. It's awful. But in my 20's when I lived in New York City, I was in love with an actor named Roger and he was into pot. I refused to try it because it stank to high heaven but one night he came over and said he had a really special kind of pot from Hawaii and I just had to try it. So I said ok. I was sitting at my upright piano, fooling around with chords. Roger lit a joint and handed it to me. Well, it burned my nose and it was awful. He said I needed to inhale it and he tried to teach me how to do that. But it just stank too much and I refused. I didn't want to breathe it in. I never got high from it and couldn't understand why Roger liked it. So that's my only experience with smoking pot. Needless to say, I don't recommend it -- or any other drug. I don't think our bodies like them."

Anyway, I have gotten ahead of myself. Let me return to that first hour: after my introduction, Mrs. X took over. She ran a tight ship and I was grateful not to have to keep shouting to keep the students focused on the task at hand. At times, I walked up and down the rows in case I could help anyone, but mostly I spent my time familiarizing myself with relevant textbooks on the teacher's desk.

The second class, 9th grade English, was a combined class with the students of the regular teacher's husband, who also taught there. Mrs. X would be elsewhere for that hour so I accompanied my students to a nearby classroom. There, the assignment was to watch a portion of a gripping film, *Black Like Me.* The teacher made excellent points about racism and the students seemed quite engaged with the film. (The school, I should point out, was a racial mix of white and Hispanic students with only a few African-Americans.) I sat near the back of the room and made myself useful by taking charge of turning the overhead lights off and on before and after the film, something I happen to enjoy doing.

The third hour was what used to be called "Study Hall," but now goes by many names. Here, it was called "Focus." Students were supposed to be working on their homework from other classes. If they had none, they could read a book or newspaper. Several had an art project due the following day and they were anxious about completing it in time. The project involved weaving brightly colored yarn into mandalic patterns. Some were quite lovely with beautiful, subtle color choices. Others were a bit garish but the students were happy with them and I praised their work. The art project demanded adherence to several rules but one student told me she couldn't follow the rules because they violated what she wanted to do. I supported her choices -- when a student is that determined, she really needs to be given her head and encouraged to run with her ideas. She would have done it anyway, with or without me, but, as it happens, I agreed with her.

Mrs X wasn't there during this third period so I had more interaction with the students. Some of the questions I have outlined above came up during this hour.

Fourth hour, Junior English, students watched the conclusion of *The Most Dangerous Game* and then turned in worksheets based on it. After that, they were to take turns reading O. Henry's "Gift of the Magi." They read somewhat better than students in other schools where I had recently subbed but we only got through about 6 pages before the bell rang. I happen to love O. Henry's short story and tried to add some of my own comments but no one was interested, so I dropped it.

First, fourth, and sixth hour (see below) classes were all special-ed. I saw no difference between these students and regular ones. Unless Mrs. X was in control, all seemed equally unfocused and noisy. Here, the size of these classes was about 20, which definitely seemed too large if they were supposed to be given "special" attention. I still haven't figured out how it is determined which students belong in regular classes, and which in special education.

I am again getting ahead of myself, however. Lunch was followed by "Conference," which is also called "Prep" in other schools. It is, in other words, "free time" in which to prepare the rest of the day's lessons. Mrs. X was elsewhere for part of this time but then she returned with a lunch tray from the cafeteria. I had my own tempeh sandwich, as usual. She showed me a sideroom where there was a sink and refrigerator, shared with the English teacher next door. She told me I was welcome to use the bottled water in that room, which I appreciated since I tend to get dehydrated while subbing -- it does take a good deal of energy.

Then we settled down to our lunches. She asked where I lived and I explained that I have a lovely Sears house built c. 1910. It turned out that Mrs. X also loves old homes and knew of several Sears houses in her town as well. We chatted pleasantly about old houses, gardens, and many other issues. I was enjoying the conversation -- it's always nice to find a kindred soul who shares one's appreciation of things like old houses.

In one of the preceding classes, by the way, after I had introduced myself and explained about my doctorate, one of the students had asked about the California graduate school in which I had taught after getting my degree. I had given a generic response without naming the school. Then I moved onto something else. But now Mrs. X expressed interest, wondering where I had taught. So I explained, naming the institute and briefly outlining the courses I had taught. She asked about my own degree then. Technically, it's in Religious Studies but that means a lot of different things to non-academics. I mentioned my own areas of expertise -- history of religions, comparative mythology, Hinduism, Buddhism, Native American traditions, folklore, fairy tales, rituals.

"Are you a Christian?" she asked.

I should have seen that coming but didn't. It's really not a question one asks of someone with a degree from a major secular university. We aren't theologians. We study the history of religions, whether worldwide or indigenous. As professional scholars, our own "beliefs" have little relevance. One of my doctoral committee members, for example, is a well known Indologist. The fact that he is also a Presbyterian who even serves on courts determining heresy matters is not relevant to his role as an Indologist.

Part of my training, however, as noted above, is to answer questions in a classroom setting as honestly as I can. I do this with students, regardless of their ages, and I felt I needed to do the same with this para-professional. The smartest answer was simply to say "Yes." Instead, I gave her honesty: "I study the history of religions," I began. "That means I know a lot about what happens behind the scenes in many religions. I respect all of them but I'm too aware of the political reasons behind various translations and interpretations of scripture, for example, as well as other theological problems and disputes. So I cannot claim to be a 'believer' when I know too well what has been concealed from people down the ages. So, no, I am not a Christian, although I respect Christians."

At that point the bell rang and sixth hour sophomore English students flooded into the room. I wanted to explain to Mrs. X about my own predeliction for indigenous, earth-based traditions as well as for various compassionate Buddhist traditions, but there was no time. I let it go.

Sixth hour was the same assignment as fourth hour. Students worked on their *The Most Dangerous Game* worksheets and we never got to O. Henry. In between 6th and 7th hour, I walked through the halls to fill my mug with water. I always seem to be thirsty when I'm subbing and I didn't want to use up too much of the water Mrs. X had offered me in the sideroom. I passed the friendly teacher who had let me into the school that morning. "How is everything going?" she asked.

"Fine," I said. "The students are great."

"How's your teacher's aide?"

"She seems fine too -- she has a good sense of the kids and keeps them under control."

The woman gave me an odd look. "She's the wife of a school board member," she said quietly. "Be careful."

I felt a chill go through me. I know from past experience that I'm not always the best judge of character. What I had seen as a harmless soccer mom might have been wildly wrong. Reality spun around me and turned everything upside down. I thanked the woman, deeply valuing her warning. I realized from the look on her face that she herself had been a target of bias and prejudice -- her words had come from hard experience.

But what to do? In the spirit of continuing our earlier discussion, should I offer a brief explanation to Mrs. X about my own spiritual beliefs? But I doubted they would make any sense to her. She was a Christian. Christians don't have a good track record when it comes to listening to views not in sync with their own. And what IS a Christian anyway? Many "Christians" believe the Catholic Church is Satan's Whore. Many Catholics see upstart Protestant (i.e., "Christian") sects, heretics all, as a bad joke. When I was growing up Catholic in the '40's and '50's, it was considered a sin even to *enter* a Protestant church.

No wonder I resonate with earth-based traditions, none of which has a word for "religion." The closest they have are words that can only be translated as "way" or "path" -- akin to the Tao -- in other words, a "pathway," walked moment to moment, in harmony with deeper spiritual realities. It is a path. It is never turned into a WMD.

I decided to let it go. Hopefully, the rapport we had established over disscussing old houses would temper her prejudices. If not, so be it.

Since then, of course, I have often thought about my response to her question, "Are you a Christian?" One of my former doctoral advisees tells me that such a question is in and of itself already toxic and the only safe response is "yes." Otherwise, one puts oneself too much at risk. I know she's right but it still sticks in my craw. So, should I ever be asked this again, here is my most carefully considered response:

"I consider Jesus a dear friend - and his mother as well, but -- and no offense -- most 'Christians' are bigoted, arrogant, and narrow-minded. They are surely causing Jesus much sorrow because of the way they have perverted his message. So, call me a 'Jesus-lover,' but, thank god, I'm no 'Christian' -- and, hopefully, neither are you!"

Anyway, to return to November 28th, there was still one more class to go, 7th hour, a "regular" class of mixed grades. This was a drama class and Mrs. X had told me hours earlier that these were very high-strung, melodramatic students. The week before they had reduced one sub to tears -- that sub had walked out, leaving Mrs. X to pick up the pieces.

I was actually looking forward to this class. Drama is my "thing" -- I have acted in off-Broadway productions, run lights for drama, ballet, and children's theatre as a way of supporting my graduate studies, and even won an award for a three act musical, buddhasong, I wrote in graduate school. I knew I would like these high-strung kids.

The assignment, unfortunately, was to show them a DVD of *On the Town* with Frank Sinatra. They had seen part of it the preceding day. Now they were to finish it. It turns out that this entire class had been to NYC a few months earlier on a class trip with their regular teacher (whom I was beginning to like more and more, especially after I saw photos of her with these kids -- they obviously adored one another). Someone had donated the DVD to the class -- I thought it was their teacher, but she later told me it was someone else. She, personally, had no emotional investment in the DVD and was in no way hurt that her students hadn't liked it. In the beginning, however, thinking the DVD was their teacher's gift, I went out of my way to defend it. Discussing the film in terms of "film history," I asked them, "What if you're at audition in Hollywood and you're asked to do a take-off or 'riff' on one of the sailors' roles in this film, just to give the director an idea of your range and creativity? You may think the movie is really corney but it's earned a place in the history of cinema. Show some respect -- make it work for you!" So I'd tried but, honestly, it was a hard sell, even for me.

Mrs. X, by the way, was an aide in another classroom during this 7th period. She did not reappear until near the very end. I was on my own. And, I have to say, I'm no Sinatra fan. He was before my time and I have never understood his so-called charm. I felt the film was dated and dull -- and so, obviously, did the 7th hour students. The noise levels rose and kept on rising.

Finally, I turned off the DVD and tried to get the kids to create characters for a skit. They loved the idea. One guy said he wanted to play a gangster. A girl played his best friend. Another guy played a Hispanic drug dealer. Unfortunately, no one really got into character enough to "find" a storyline, but they got a lot of laughs from their classmates. After about five minutes, they were out of material and I sent the actors back to their desks.

"Would you like to hear about the origins of Hindu sacred theatre?" I asked.

I heard groans and verbal protests against listening to "history."

"It's not history", I said, "it's story -- mythology. Once upon a time, there was a goddess named Vak...." This is the myth of the ancient Hindu goddess Vak, whose name continues to resonate in our words, vocal, voice, vois, vox, evoke, vocation, etc. This perked them up -- "story" is always going to grip highstrung, high-spirited drama people -- especially a story about the origins of theatre itself. And this is a great story with gods, demons, sibling rivalry, a huge serpent, lethal poisons.......

I didn't realize that we were only moments away from the end of the class. Mrs. X entered the room and seemed surprised that I was obviously enjoying the students, not at all frantic or ready to flee, and the students seemed interested in what I had to say.

"Once upon a time, the goddess Vak lived in secret at the bottom of the Great Ocean," I began anew.

Alas, the closing bell rang and that was that.

The students scattered while I wrote up a few notes for the regular teacher. Mrs. X's daughter turned up and I learned they were going to an event in Kalamazoo over the weekend, but snow was forecast, so I wished them well and a safe return.

Sometime later, while I was gathering up my things (including a big box of handpuppets I'd brought since I had no idea what kind of special-ed students I might be faced with), one of the boys returned, the 16 year old son of a contractor/landscaper. He just wanted to talk about "things," nothing in particular, but he mentioned how much he wanted a job. Since I enjoy networking, and knew of a landscaper looking for good help, I mentioned this and he was interested. It turned out that my contact needed someone fulltime, not a student, but maybe something will come of it one day. One never knows.

Final notes: when I said goodby to Mrs. X that day, I told her I'd be back on Friday, the 30th, for I had already committed myself to a 1/2 day woodshop class that afternoon. As subs, we are dependent upon always-shifting availabilities. We can check the sub-website every five minutes and find nothing. And then, suddenly, something appears. That afternoon woodshop class had opened up November 27th, just after 9am. This means I had accepted it even before leaving for the delightful special-ed students the day before.

Before I left the building after the drama class, I first sought out the woodworking teacher just to be sure I wasn't way out of line in accepting the assignment (I had e-mailed him after first accepting it but he hadn't responded yet). He was a lovely guy, taking off an afternoon to take his highschool daughter to a doctor. He told me that the law forbids students to work with equipment unless their regular teacher is there so he would have me play a "Home Improvement" video for his classes. I was relieved -- I am a menace around machinery. Besides really liking him (he's won statewide awards for many years for his students' excellent work), I also was entranced by the smell of fresh-cut wood in his shop. I hadn't smelled that in years -- it reminded me of my maternal grandfather's basement workshop, a place I had loved as a child, watching him work -- it was intoxicating. I could hardly wait to sub in the woodworking classes on Friday.

I went to the front office to sign out, chatted briefly with the secretary, and was soon on my way. Overall, despite a lingering worry over Mrs X's inappropriate question, it had been an interesting, demanding, and worthwhile day.