I never thought of myself as being particularly kind. Towards the end of the school year, a young middle school lad told me in the company of his pals, “You’re the best sub we’ve had this year!” I asked why and, after a pause, he managed to answer: “You’re … kind.” I became the “fist-bump sub” in hallways. I designed a name tag that read: “I’m a sub – be nice!” I asked students to call me Buddy. It was my experience that if one wants to engage with youngsters (I vaguely recall being one), they are more than happy and eager to oblige. “Subbing” isn’t “babysitting.” Like any job opportunity, what you get back is equal to the effort you put in. “OK,” I said, “I want to try to remember the names of the good guys.”Īs I walked away, Jackson said with a grin: “Hey! You’re one of the good guys, too.” The next day I had “lunch duty.” I noticed one of the well-behaved young lads from the previous day. Clandestine chatting and snacking … oy! Alas, I managed to survive. Water bottles needed to be repeatedly filled. The kids worked me over like a buttered Christian tossed to famished lions. The following day, I was thrown into a sixth-grade middle school science class. Once the bell rings and the roll call is taken, I introduce myself and they get to work. The only Spanish I know is “Dos cervezas, por favor!” No matter – teachers nowadays post lesson plans on Google Classroom. On my first day last January, I was assigned to a high school Spanish class. There’s an urgent need in Maine – and most everywhere else. Teacher burnout and pandemic upheaval haven’t helped matters.
These days, our schools need all the help they can get. Curious and undaunted, I signed up for an interview and was approved for middle and high schools.
I’d been warned “It’s like babysitting, man!” “There’s no respect in classrooms anymore!” I’d been told that kids don’t take “subs” seriously (unless they’re sandwiches). I noticed a banner in town calling for substitute teachers and school bus drivers.