SUBSTITUTE TEACHER TALES: WALKING IDIOPHONES

Long ago, an unknown author wrote: "Sunshine and rainbows, and ribbons for hair bows--
that's what little girls are made of..."

I don't think he or she had any idea what the future held. 

Hair ornamentation isn't new, but there may be an argument, in the interest of education, for "Less is more", at least when it comes to the "hair bows". 

I've noticed in the last month or so, that a head full of accessories is more distracting to a student than a visitor walking into the room. 

Little girls with a head full of barrettes will spend half of the day twirling them, unsnapping and snapping them, chewing on them, or aggressively retrieving them from other people--or the floor.

I submit that if you incorporate every last barrette, bow, and bead in the economy-sized package, while creating your child's hairstyle, cute/creative though it may be, your child--and any kid near her--will hear, and be in danger of learning next to nothing in school for the duration of the hairdo.

Your child, the walking idiophone, will delight in hearing the rattling, clicking, and clacking that compete with other sounds in the classroom...like...well...for example...the teacher's voice...giving directions...after which your child will yell out, "Umm. What are we s'posed to do?". 

Her classmates, on the other hand, will be positively mesmerized by all of the colors and shapes, and unable to keep their little hands to themselves...about which your child will yell out, "Stop touching me! "E'scuse me. Can you tell her to stop touching me?" or "Can you tell her to give me back my barrette(s)?"  (With so many, weighing down tiny little heads, it's amazing that one barrette would even be missed.)

Perhaps the issue can be turned into a teachable moment for instructors OTHER than, let's say, the Music specialist ( who may not have had enough money in the budget to purchase percussion instruments, and might actually welcome the noisy hair rhythms.

Here's an idea:
"Little__________has 248 barrettes in her hair that threaten to poke her eye out, create a choking hazard, or launch a colorful projectile every time she turns her head. 

Twenty-seven of them are blue. 

Sixteen of them are orange. Forty-one are pink. 

Five are white. 

Nine are red.

The rest are green. 

How many green barrettes are in Little __________'s hair?

Show your work".

SUBSTITUTE TEACHER TALES: THE BEST PERSON FOR THE JOB

I finished my long-term sub assignment. 

(Thank you, thank you, Jesus. My voice is thanking me that I can now resume it's normal, singing-friendly level.)

I realize my heart is still in the classroom--part of it, anyway. 

I was delighted to be asked to stay on at the school until the end of the school year. 

There's a vacancy in the library, it seems. 

A peaceful place. 

A haven. 

A place where I can channel my inner Sharon Bell Mathis, pretend to be a great storyteller, and read to the children the books that I loved hearing as a child. 

Saying "Yes" to the principal, was a no-brainer.

On Friday morning, I met the teacher whose classroom had been turned over to me on April 22. 

I was never so happy to see a total stranger. 

The class had been a bit of a challenge the first week, and I wondered if I still had the energy and patience to do the job. 

I was 25 years old when I became a substitute teacher. I was 26 when I became a full-time Art teacher. That young lady is long gone, (as evidenced by my initial huffing and puffing up the very steep Elmira Street hill, on my daily walks to the school), but not her love for seeing a child learn. 

I noticed by week two, I was taking that hill with a lot more speed and enthusiasm and a lot less "Lord, have mercy".

I imagine the kids were wondering, "Who is this lady coming in here and taking over?" 

I was wondering how long they would stand for no-nonsense, old-school me. 

Which day would I find myself tossed into the supply closet, my mouth sealed with glue, and my hands and feet bound with jump ropes? 

In the words of the great philosopher, Tamar Braxton, "Oh, they tried it". 

Not surprisingly, however, they soon settled down when they realized I wasn't going anywhere, and actually expected them to work.

I believe with all my heart and soul that children want order. They want direction. They want boundaries, and want to be safe. 

When are the so-called experts ever going to learn that you can't have it both ways? 

You can't allow and encourage literal chaos all year, and then suddenly expect some kids to sit independently and stoically for hours, with a Dixon Ticonderoga #2 pencil, and ace a standardized test.

I'm so thankful that I didn't quit, or get discouraged. There's a lot one could murmur about, but why? 

My mantra each day was "Try to leave it better than you found it". 

I have to admit that sassy, eye-rolling, defiant little kids who think they're adults; who haven't been made to mind their manners, know nothing of consequences, and haven't been adequately informed as to what school is really all about--those little darlings-- can be downright exhausting. 

I contend that it's the discipline piece, or lack thereof, that discourages a lot of people from pursuing careers in Education. 

Fortunately, out of the 27 or so kids, (Again, what happened to smaller class sizes?) only two made it vitally necessary for me to revamp my prayer life, but in the end, even they said, "Thank you".

I told the children, often, that their teacher would be back-- even though I wasn't always sure. 

It seemed to reassure them. Me, too. 

It didn't take long to see who needed what, in terms of academics, and I was determined that their learning would continue. 

I used whatever was available to me in the classroom, and created lessons. 

I STILL can't believe how much I enjoyed teaching Math.

I got the call on Thursday night that the teacher would be returning on Friday morning. I was asked to stay for the day just to ease the transition. 

When I met her, we hugged, and I got all misty. 

I'd never been clear about the circumstances surrounding her absence, but always felt compelled to keep her in my prayers. 

The few times we'd spoken, I always got the feeling that she didn't just like to teach, she needed and wanted to, but systems were in the way, as only systems can be. 

Parents who'd had bad experiences at school themselves were in the way, as only parents can be. Racism and mistrust were in the way, too.

You have to appreciate a teacher who KNOWS what serious academic, behavioral, and parental issues lie in her class, and yet, she STILL wants to teach.

I immediately began filling her in on what I thought she needed to know, and what we'd been doing in her absence.  

We decided she'd surprise the children. 

I was singing the Morning Meeting song with the kids (a song which gives an opportunity for each child's name to be sung) as they sat "criss-cross apple sauce" on the alphabet carpet. 

As we sang, the teacher hid in the supply closet. When the last child's name was sung, and after they insisted on singing mine, I sang the teacher's name, pointed behind them, and she opened the door. 

It was a wonderful sight to see them so happy, AND to see a teacher so dedicated to her students.

I hear it a lot--"Black children need Black teachers". Maybe that's true in some instances, I don't know, but you have to hear an individual's personal story, sometimes. Who is more qualified to do one thing or another? The person who's read about it, or the person who's been there? 

Pain, hurt, rejection, abuse, abandonment, failure, and lack know no skin color. 

They are all about equal opportunity.

The best person for the job may not look like you. The person who helps you to reach your highest potential, or appreciates what you have to offer, may not, either.

Black children need caring, competent human beings who see the statistics, hear the rhetoric, recognize the needs, sidestep the over-the-top, unnecessary drama some parents can bring, brave the neighborhood legends and stereotypes, and yet STILL want to teach them. 

They need human beings who know what's not working, have the courage to say so, and the creativity to implement something else. 

They need human beings who sincerely embrace "Children First" and "No Child Left Behind" as truth; as ways of life, and not just catchy slogans for bumper stickers. 

Kids need teachers who care.

WEDNESDAY THOUGHTS: SUBSTITUTE TEACHER TALES

There's a little anxiety in the air at the school. 

The faculty and staff have been notified that a total reconstruction is taking place. 

I hope there won't be too many changes. The children really do need some sense of security, continuity, and community.

A parent walked into the classroom, and whispered that he heard someone stole the rims off of my black, Cadillac Escalade. 

Considering my leisurely walk each day, it would have been more on point if he'd whispered that someone stole the strings out of my sneakers...or the buckles off of my shoes. 

An Escalade, for someone to steal the rims off of, WOULD be nice, though...lol

The student who has given me the most trouble since I started my long-term assignment, actually behaved himself today, AND completed his work. We were both happy. As soon as one student gets it together, however, another one (or three) decides to take over the class clown role. 

Isn't that just the way?

I tried a new seating arrangement today. 

Some of the children need to be in a lecture-like position--facing front. They have to focus. 

The Math assessment let me know that many of the children need more help. 

Seven of them, however, aced it.

I HATED Math in school. 

My left-brained, brilliant, big sister always says HOW Math is taught, makes all the difference. Patience and creativity are required.  

I can't believe I'M trying to encourage kids to LOVE Math, and realize how it is present in EVERYTHING. You can't get away from it! It's like The Blob! 

The biggest challenge for some of the students, seems to be comprehending word problems. (Please introduce words and books and comprehension to your child as early as you can. Right out of the womb, when your anesthesia wears off, isn't too soon.) 

Some of the children see the numbers, and forget all about the directions; they forget all about which operation to use, too, so, 9 -2 might suddenly equal 11, and they'll bet money that 8+5 is 3. 

The directions read, "Draw a picture to show 3+2 = 5 ". 

Some of them comply with something like OOO + OO = OOOOO. 

Others, however, stop reading at the word "picture", so you can imagine how BEAUTIFUL their math papers are--colorfully decorated with houses, and clouds, and flowers, and rainbows, and Sponge Bob.... Of course you know I LOVE the pictures, but, that's not the skill we're going after during the Math block. 

I'm going to keep plugging away, though. 

It's nice to see actual light bulb moments.


I felt just a little more hopeful on the walk home.

SUNDAY THOUGHTS: SUBSTITUTE TEACHER TALES

I thought about the red or white carnations I'd see at church, as a child, on so many Mothers' Days. 

Never knowing what being without my mother was like, I'd always feel so sad for the white carnation wearers. I didn't understand what any of them had to smile about. 

I know now. 

Good memories of a good mother are priceless.

Then, I thought of all the women who may not have endured the physical labor of childbirth, but they're making a difference in the lives of children just the same.

Last week, I met an extremely overwhelmed grandmother who has been raising her two grandsons. 

Four years ago, her daughter was killed. 

Her tear-stained face showed the stress of dealing with children who, perhaps because of their loss, or because they are allowed to, take every opportunity they can to act out. 

There was something so unbelievably wrong about the scene. The sight of a grandmother, showing outward signs that she's been neglecting herself, sitting in the office of a school, sobbing uncontrollably into crumbling tissues, while her grandson sat dry-eyed and unmoved, was infuriating.

To say that her grandsons stay in trouble at school would be an understatement. 

Their behavior is atrocious. 

It's the kind of behavior that, back in the day, would have led to a trip to the proverbial woodshed. 

It's the kind of behavior that would have gotten them kicked completely out of school. 

It's the kind of behavior that keeps teachers from teaching, and scores of students from learning. 

It's the kind of behavior that goes on every day in classrooms all over the country, and teachers now feel powerless to do anything about it, except squander precious instructional time scribbling behavioral reports, and referral forms. 

Considering how quickly offending students are sent back to the scene of the crime, some teachers no longer bother to document behavioral issues, or phone parents at all. 

When did kids get to the point where a trip to the principal's office, threats to contact parents, or even suspension became mere jokes?  

(I'm really beginning to wonder if there is a concerted effort to keep disruptive students in class so that no learning takes place--except to learn how to behave like a complete fool without the benefit of compensation or fame. )

What I have learned, as a result of dealing with the younger child, is that he will follow directions. 

He's smart. 

He knows exactly what he is doing. 

He's just been allowed to get away with much too much, for much too long, and there have been no consequences that matter to him. 

What I've also noticed is a culture of fearful people who have essentially given up, and a generation of children who learn to say "You better not touch me!" before they even know how to spell their own names. 

Everything is now corporal punishment, and kids, armed with the erroneous notion that they don't have to follow directions, have only to say that Miss or Mister so-and-so did this or that, and the attention is off of them and their unruliness, and on the frustrated teachers.

Those who used to be strong; who used to be vocal; who used to see wrong and address it, have had their hands slapped so many times for doing the right thing, that they choose to cope by no longer seeing what's going on around them. 

They simply no longer respond. 

They no longer dare to correct. 

They just concentrate on keeping their jobs. 

Their profession used to be in Education. 

Now it's Corralling Kids from 8:30 until 3:15.

It was heartbreaking to see the grandmother's swollen face, and hear her say, "Maybe this is too much for me. Maybe I can't do this. Maybe I need to get some help. I'm so tired. I'm too old for this".

The counselor did her best to stay on the script-- a useless, weak, mechanical, laughable script, filled with sappy language and mnemonics that never adequately addressed the child's behavior--and made me want to throw up. 

Even as she went through the motions, I could hear in her voice that she didn't even believe in what she was saying. 

Her scripted words had no teeth.

It's the "merry, merry month of May", doggone it. The school year is practically over. 

This kid had done everything from fighting, to cursing, to disrupting class, to leaving the class and playing in the halls, to standing on tables, to destroying school property. 

I hear his brother has demonstrated his own brand of havoc on the upper floors of the school. 

Now, all of a sudden, a contract between student, teacher, and parent was going to miraculously change things? Or is it that this contract should have been initiated months ago, and something needed to be in writing? 

I could tell the child wasn't paying the counselor a lick of attention. He was saying exactly what she wanted to hear, and as soon as the conference ended, would revert back to his uncontrollable self. 

One more of the grandmother's tears hit the table, and I'd had enough. I shouted, "Look at your grandmother! Look at her! Look at her tears. Why is she crying?" 

Before I knew it, I was crying.
The child got out of his chair, turned to his grandmother, and put his arms around her neck. 

"I love you, Grandma. I love you, Grandma. Don't cry. I'm gonna be good."

The counselor knew it was time to put the paper down, just be honest, say what we were both thinking, and perhaps, apologize later. 

She also had any number of similar sessions scheduled for the day, and had already spent more than the allotted time with this family. 

What this family needed wasn't going to be fixed in an hour or two. It had taken years to make the mess, but starting somewhere seemed to be a good idea. First up, was ending the sugar-coating. 

We were all in agreement. 

Some of the new-fangled ideas about children were ruining them, so why not ditch them, and employ what works? 

Children need order. 

They need discipline. 

They want direction. 

They cannot be left to raise themselves. 

They can't enjoy equality with the adults around them. 

They do have a place. 

They can't be allowed to say and do whatever they want. 

The difference between right and wrong has to be taught--EARLY. 

Consequences have to be effective.

Between the counselor and me, our collective comments weren't anything the grandmother didn't already know:
"It's YOUR house. 

YOU'RE the adult. 

YOU are in charge. 

YOU set the rules.  

The Bible says, "Train up a child in the way he should go..." Don't let the child train YOU. 

It's not too late to turn this around. 

Whatever worked with your children, will work with your grandchildren. 

Don't abandon what you know will get results. 

I wouldn't have a child in my house I had to be afraid of. 

No child could remain in my house who wouldn't listen, or mind their manners--especially not a child I'm feeding, clothing, and sheltering! 

I don't ever, EVER remember my Mama throwing up her hands and saying, "I don't know what to do with them." If anybody was going to be stressed out, it wasn't going to be Mama! 

I know you're tired; it's all over your face; it's in your body language, but if you're going to continue to raise these children, you have to stand up, and stand up NOW. 

Too many people are trying to be friends with children. 

Too many are adopting ways that don't work; borrowing stuff off of TV; listening to advice from people who haven't raised a hamster-- let alone a child. 

Too many are trying to be politically correct buddies, while children are acting like they're losing their minds, and getting academically dumber by the day. 

There's no democracy in your house! 

It is a dictatorship. It's a loving dictatorship, but a dictatorship just the same. 

You talk. They listen. 

You lead. They follow. 

Their rights are limited. 

They have a right to breathe and be safe. 

Their responsibilities are great. 

They are to follow directions, and assist in the ways that they can. 

YOU are the one who establishes order in your home. Take back control of your house, TODAY. 

Stress will kill you quicker than Cancer. 

It's past time to let those boys know who's running things, and it's not THEM. 

It's not the neighborhood. Bad neighborhoods have been around since the beginning of time. 

It's the adults behind the locked doors of the neighborhood homes that make the difference. 

No matter what's going on around you, it doesn't have to infect your house--unless you allow it. 

Get your strength back. 

Make this the LAST time you're seen crying in public because of the wrong THEY have done. 

Set the standard in your house, and don't bend. 

They have temporarily forgotten who the Mama is. Remind them until they remember."

Motherhood isn't a popularity contest. 

The affirmation, gratitude and thanks may come later than sooner, but they DO come, and the sacrifices and labor are worth it.

God bless any and every woman who is raising a child who proceeded from the womb of another.

WEDNESDAY THOUGHTS: SUBSTITUTE TEACHER TALES

Today was better—much, much better. 

I got up early, and took the brisk walk to the school. 

I'm noticing I'm tackling that hill a lot easier than I did back in April. 

I'll just add "physical fitness" to the "pros" list of my subbing experience. 

I didn't have to raise my voice at all today. The disruptive students have dwindled down to one. Progress! He is making me wonder if divine intervention is in order. 

He respects no one--not the principal, dean of students, educational aide, his grandmother, nor me. 

When I met his big brother this afternoon, and asked if he could help him improve his behavior, and be a good example for him, he said, "He doesn't look up to me. He won't do anything I say. I try to help him with his schoolwork, but I don't know why he acts like he does". 

Maybe it was too much responsibility to lay on a 5th grader. 

I had to write a referral once again. I'm beginning to wonder if I'm just practicing my penmanship, because nothing ever happens. I'm convinced that he simply wants and needs all of my attention. 

His behavior is markedly different when there's not an audience.

I know all of their names now. 

I've met several parents who seem to be glad that I'll be there for a while. 

For the most part, except for that one little darling, for whom I will continue to pray, the aide and I have managed to maintain a decent amount of order during the day.

 

They just needed routine. 

They just needed to know that I wasn't going to leave them. 

They also needed to know that their actions yielded consequences, and that their classroom environment had everything to do with how, and whether they learned anything. 

Something as simple as me mounting and displaying their artwork and classwork, bringing plants, and cleaning their desks and coat closet, made them happy. 

They asked, 

"Why are you doing that? Why are you cleaning up?" 

I told them that it bothered me that they were working and eating at dirty desks. 

They seemed to be surprised that I gave them paper towels— not just to cover their desks, but on which they could put their food. 

"This way, when you're done, you can ball up everything and put it into the trashcan." 

They thought that was a novel idea.

My attempt to read "The Story About Ping" failed miserably during morning meeting. Sitting quietly, listening attentively, and keeping their hands and feet to themselves was, for some reason, a challenge. 

I found out that something happened on the way to school that distracted them. They wanted to talk about it. I had to be flexible, and use it as a teachable moment. I sent them back to their seats, and asked them to open their composition notebooks so that they could write about it. 

I've noticed that many of them need lots of help with their handwriting. I gave them another writing assignment. By the time they got tired of writing vocabulary words that ended in "ng" and "nk", and writing number sentences, it was time to visit the library. 

The aide made a good point to them: "You will be taking tests in second grade, you know. You'd better get used to sitting quietly and writing".

So far they've been great about collecting pennies, and participating in the book drive. I kept several students in the classroom with me, while others went to the library. We reviewed the school rules and school pledge. I know. It's May. I just think, "Better late than never".

At lunchtime, I remained in the cafeteria with the class a little longer than I planned. I was pleasantly surprised to see them in a nice neat line when I went to pick them up from the playground after recess. "Are we quiet Miss Williams?" 

They were.

When I got back to the classroom, the very nice school secretary brought a wonderful plate of Jamaican cuisine to me, since I unintentionally missed the Teacher Appreciation lunch that the principal so graciously catered for the faculty and staff.

This afternoon, "The Story of Ping" was a lot more successful. As a matter of fact, they seemed transfixed. Maybe it was hearing about all of Ping's family members. A little math revealed that the classic story is 80 years old this year. Just as an incentive, I offered a cash prize to the student who could tell me the correct total of Ping's family members. Little Philia was the only one who answered, "67!" 

I know teachers aren't supposed to have favorites, but she is special to me. I found out she is the daughter of one of my former elementary school students. It's like looking into her mother’s face all over again. She was so well behaved, and when she found out I was her daughter's sub, she told her, "I didn't give Ms. Williams any trouble, and you'd better not!" 

I do love running into former students. It's a little bit of a shocker that they are now parents, but nonetheless, something that puts a smile on my face--especially if they're responsible parents.

As I left the school this afternoon, I looked up, saw the storm clouds, and picked up my pace. Contemplating what tomorrow will bring has become a habit. Being thankful that I made it through the day has, too.

I pray for their absent teacher. I pray for them. I pray for their parents. I pray for myself. 

All I know is what my teachers taught me. I know their methods worked. They were caring, but firm. They were purveyors of order. Classroom management was not a problem. They were considered our parents away from home. 

The announcement this morning was a bit telling. Faculty members were absent, but no substitutes were available to cover for them. I wondered if it's really that none were available, or that, based on past history with students, or perceptions of schools east of the river, none would accept the assignments.

It's good to be at home. I'm tired. I'm thinking about those kids as I type. The progress they've made is remarkable. I am not going to leave them. It's so ironic that I read this while checking mail:

"It is important for you to recover from recent stress by leaning on Me. Be strong. Don't give up. All things that represent a problem, are only stepping stones to understanding the work of My kingdom more completely. Keep looking up, says the LORD. Never forget that I am leading you to victory.

"Not that I have already attained, or am already perfected; but I press on, that I may lay hold of that for which Christ Jesus has also laid hold of me." ~Philippians 3:12

I needed that.

SUBSTITUTE TEACHER TALES: PARENTS

What a difference the experience was from one parent to another.

 

This morning a child's mother and father dropped in to check on their son's progress. They were both very pleasant, and delighted by the contents of their son's folder. Their expectations weren't exactly high, and they thanked me for helping him.

 

This afternoon in an IEP meeting, a concerned father spoke passionately on behalf of his painfully shy daughter. There was an attempt to label her, and place her in special education. 

I was glad I'd created individual folders for the students, so that I could show everyone attending the meeting what his daughter had been doing for the past 2 weeks. 

He wasn't surprised at all. It’s what he’d been pleading all along.  

She can do the work. 

She is bright. 

Her classroom behavior is exemplary. She will succeed. He was right. What she does at home has been replicated in school. Why did everyone assume she had special needs just because she was quiet, shy, and well behaved?

I made it to 3:15. 

I told the children who walk home, or are picked up by their parents or siblings, to gather their things and line up. 

I told the students who participate in after-care to stay in their seats and be respectful of the educational aide. 

I walked the "walkers" to the front door. Several of them left with family members. There were a few children still with me when the rain started to fall a little harder. I told them we would go back to the classroom, and wait until whomever was picking them up arrived.

Before I even got to the classroom door, I heard the commotion and knew "Stay in your seats" went in one ear, out the other, and they hadn't paid any mind to the educational aide. 

As I opened the door and entered, I heard a scream then wailing. 

One little girl had left her seat at one end of the room, and was across the room swinging between desks. I guess she missed a swing, because the result was a bump on her head and a bloodied mouth. 

She came to me crying, and I got her things and tried to comfort her as I escorted her to the nurse. The school nurse had the situation under control, and notified the child's parent, so I went back to the classroom.

Not long after that, I heard my name and the educational aide's name being called over the PA system. 

As I approached the office, the principal warned me there was an angry parent waiting for an explanation.

I'm a mother. I've experienced the falls and accidents. I understand the fear and frustration when a child gets hurt. What I don't understand is an irate parent who refuses to acknowledge that their child neither listens to instructions, shows respect, nor follows directions, and is thereby responsible for any mishaps that occur. 

In no way could the parent reason that had her child only remained in her seat as she was told, the accident wouldn't have happened. Her anger was directed squarely at me.

The parent was in rare form. Perhaps the parent gets some kind of power trip out of yelling at adults, and hurling accusations and insults, but I was determined that I would not be on the receiving end of her rant. I shouldn't have had to defend myself. I wasn't the one swinging between desks. My standing up and preparing to leave only made the parent madder. (I have got to remember that argumentative people hate it when you walk away from them.) 

I had no intention to sit there. She mentioned my "attitude". 

I definitely had one. It was the attitude of a person who knows that nothing you say will matter, there would be no reasoning, and so, the meeting was pointless. 

I wonder if people really think you're supposed to sit peacefully while they verbally attack you? 

I wonder if they expect you to just sit docilely and allow them to take pot shots at you? 

My parting words were, "The person you should be talking to this way is your child". 

That just made her even madder. She yelled something as I left the inner office, and I could still hear her as I left the outer office. 

I wonder if she remembered that her child was sitting there watching it all.

I'd spent hours, not only with her child, but with others who are challenged when it comes to following simple directions, and mastering first grade objectives. 

It was the end of the day. The parent should have saved her speech for her child. 

Perhaps it is the child who needs to be reminded what school is all about; what she needs to do, when, where and how--not the adults whom the child notoriously disrespects each and every day.

A parent is a child's first teacher. The parent's nastiness only made me less inclined to be sympathetic to anyone except her child. 

She is the one who will suffer. 

She is the one who is learning that her actions don't have consequences. She's learning that blame is to be placed everywhere except where it belongs. 

People know their children. Unfortunately, they have decided that when it comes to discipline, none is needed, or they admit they don't know what to do. 

So many parents are single-handedly ruining their children by failing to parent, and making enemies out of the very people who, if allowed, could be of the greatest assistance--teachers.

 

If one's child is frequently disrespectful, what does a parent expect school staff to do? Put up with it? Celebrate it? 

One of the things the parent mentioned was that she'd like to be notified every time her child misbehaves in the classroom. I submit that the educational aide and I would be writing referral notices and talking on the phone with her all day, every day. That's just not feasible or reasonable. It would be fine if there were only 10 children in the class--not 27. Exactly when would we have time for instructing the other 26 students? 

It never occurred to her to visit the school more often so that she could observe her child in action. I didn't need parenting or reprimanding. Her child did.

The parent concluded that I don't belong in a classroom, should be fired, and she also admonished me to keep my hands off of her child. That was a bit of a shock, as it implied I had harmed her child. It made me wonder if this parent is a litigious person looking for someone to convert into a cash cow. ( Good luck if anyone seeks to get substantial amounts of money from me. ) 

Why are so many parents looking for someone to sue? Why is that the go-to? I didn't exactly think that guiding a hurt child, by placing my hand on her upper back as we walked, would constitute abuse or corporal punishment. What is this culture of parents going to schools and threatening to "have your job"? 

I submit that there aren't enough parents who visit their children's schools regularly enough to even know what their child's teacher's job entails. If they did, they would know that it's not such a glamorous thing to have, and some teachers would gladly relinquish the job and some of the children to the first taker. 

PTA meetings look like teacher get-togethers.

I also submit that after one day spent in the classroom, many parents would be less inclined to see their child's teacher as someone to be berated, mistrusted, and reviled. Maybe they'd even want to help. 

It would be nice to be in a classroom full of children who are all well-mannered, respectful, smart, prepared, and armed with instructions on how to behave properly. Perhaps that school exists somewhere in a perfect world.

I suppose it would have been nice if someone had warned me that this parent has had run-ins with the office staff, other teachers, and was once even banned from the school. Why people are appeased in their wrongdoing is beyond me. I'm not interested in merely humoring someone. People should be honest and up front. If you don't like your child's teacher, the school, or the curriculum, let it be because the fault lies with them all, but if the fault lies with one's own parenting, one needs to be honest and stop trying to lay blame everywhere else.

It's sad when people reject help, lash out at those whose aim is to be of assistance, don't see the good, and train their children to become detrimental to their own educational futures.

 

Maybe I made a mistake by asking the parent if her daughter rolled her eyes at her, or talked back to her while at home. The parent's "yes" answer told me all I needed to know. Whatever a child is allowed to get away with at home, in the mind of the child, is acceptable everywhere else and with everyone else. If mommy thinks it's cute, why shouldn't the teacher?

I hate to admit it, but all the way home, and even as I type, I've been considering not going back. Someone even suggested I have a glass of wine. Now why should I have to become a drinker? 

Who needs the stress? Who gets up in the morning to go and help little children learn to read, and write, and reason, and looks forward to dealing with madness? Who bothers to get up armed with lessons and materials, only to be insulted at the end of the day by a total stranger? 

"Why not go somewhere where your efforts will be appreciated and welcomed?", I said to myself. Then, I answered my own question. "That was only one parent whose obvious issues have nothing to do with you. There's something else going on that you know nothing about. You can't let one person erase the progress that has been made. Whether she knows it or not, you are helping her child, and the child is the one who matters most. You should be used to it by now. 

There's always a giant. There's always a bully. There's always a nasty, hateful, strife-loving spirit. That spirit seeks you out and wants you to run. 

You should have anticipated it. 

Walking away is not an option. 

Not this time".

The children are a product of their parents and environment, and they shouldn't be penalized. 

The children's regular teacher may not be coming back. They've already been left once. They shouldn't be left again. I don't want to abandon them so close to the end of the year. I reminded myself that I chose to go to the school. I could have chosen to go anywhere else in the city.

It pains me to hear people's frustration. It pains me to see how woefully behind the children are academically, while it seems that school systems around the country are focusing on everything except children. 

I hate to think that children are being set up to fail. 

Why are there 27 children in the class? 

What happened to "Children First"? 

Why do disruptive students experience such ineffective consequences?  

Why can't some of them write their names or count, or spell, or compute? 

Why do they fight one another daily? 

Why are they so defiant? 

Why are they not phased in the least by threats of missed privileges? 

Why is a trip to the principal's office, or a phone call to the home, something that they literally laugh off?

Why should I be afraid when all I want to do is teach?

What I experienced this afternoon, though nothing new, lets me know why it is so difficult to get good people to remain in the classroom. It's not always the unruly students. Sometimes it's their unruly parents who make the whole idea of helping children seem like a very, very bad idea.

SUBSTITUTE TEACHER TALES: RANT FROM THE CLASSROOM

Yesterday afternoon, I had a long talk with the more disruptive students in the class. 

I hated that they were missing Music class (I'm a stickler that special subject classes are not treats, or negotiation chips, but vital parts of the curriculum), but I used the time, while the majority of the children were out of the classroom, to sit them down and let them examine their own behavior. 

As they talked, they transformed from little agents of the devil, to quite innocent cherubs, who were well aware of their antics. 

No one, however, had ever called them on it.

I thought I'd only be with them a few weeks, but it looks like I'll be with them until the end of the school year. 

I'm beginning to see great improvement in their behavior. 

My mission to restore sanity to their classroom really has less to do with them, and more to do with my own need for peace, cleanliness and order. 

They don't know that though, but they deserve a decent learning environment. 

The fact that they were working and eating on filthy, sticky desks made me angry. 

Those giant rolls of brown paper towels were not for decoration. 

At the end of each day, after they were gone, I'd break out the Dawn, Lysol, and Clorox wipes. In the morning, I showed them how to make their own place mats, and help each other clean up after eating breakfast.  

They treated the mass cleanup I conducted like a game. After turning over their desks, we found and organized enough supplies and books to accommodate everyone. 

We cleaned every corner. 

They even set up a mini library. 

We found articles of clothing and toys they thought they'd lost. 

Even the custodian was in shock when he came to bring new trash bags and paper towels. 

I have always firmly believed that nothing can be done in chaos except losing one's entire mind. 

I don't intend to do that, and I also don't intend to be a babysitter. 

I walked them outside and asked them to read the school's marquee. 

Does it say "circus", or "day care center"? No. 

"S-C-H-O-O-L spells SCHOOL!" one of them pointed out to me, as if she'd had an epiphany.

 

They marched back inside, reminding each other which side of the hallway they should walk on, and put their index fingers up to their lips, encouraging each other to remain quiet as they walked through the corridor back to their classroom. 

"So they do listen", I thought to myself.
I was impressed.

Many of the children are very bright. 

It's painfully obvious that most of them have been allowed to get out of hand, thereby ensuring that they have learned little or nothing of what learning standards documents indicate they should know, at this point in the school year. 

When it's time to work, it's clear that many of them have no idea what school is all about. 

Every day since September, for some of them, it seems, has been a perpetual recess period straight out of an Alfred Hitchcock-themed episode of Romper Room. 

Minus whatever technology they have grown accustomed to using to keep them busy, I was told, "You're going to have to teach all day, and come up with things for them to do." 

It would have been rude for me to reply, "Well, duh!", so I kept it to myself. 

I guess a substitute teacher who actually teaches, is a rare bird, but shouldn't be. 

I kind of thought that was the idea: 

In the absence of the classroom teacher, do whatever is necessary to make sure the educational process continues. That means think, prepare, assess, be creative. Work.

I had my suspicions about what was going on, and why I am now a long-term substitute. 

Going home determined but exhausted each day, gave me a telling glimpse of what the teacher has had to endure. 

It took me 10 days, but they are now, all, listening to my instructions. Some of them aren't happy about it, but hey, they're in first grade. 

Being respectful, doing their classwork, and minding their little manners isn't an option. 

They know I mean business. 

They also know I care.

It tickles me how many of them have biblical names. I want to laugh at myself every time I say, "Jeremiah! Sit down and pay attention.", 

"Malachi! No talking. Get to work." 

One is even called "Cyncere", and he is sincerely a handful. 

There's a little girl who fights like she wants to be Laila Ali. One group of girls, who apparently have been told they are women, or have been regularly allowed to dip into grown folks' conversations, caught me quite off guard, as they talked about the problems they are having with their "men". 

One little girl was close to being tagged with a learning disability, just because she was shy and not as talkative as the others.

Some of the children come in each day very hungry and unkempt. 

I'm glad the school stocks clean clothes. I've confiscated chips, sodas, and candy bars that were intended to be breakfast, and steered them toward the more nutritious options available in the school breakfast. (I asked a mother about her child's morning fare, and she said, "I been wondering where my fruit punch sodas were going! He leaves out after I do in the morning.")

One can't write his name, so we practice. 

A few can dance and recite rap lyrics, but can't read or spell. 

Another sings to herself all day; another rolls her eyes and sucks her thumb in response to no matter what anyone says to her; 

one has a fixed pout on her face as if she is perpetually mad at something; 

another has a habit of applying gobs of lip gloss, and glitter eye shadow, and comes in some days appearing a bit clownish. 

There are six of them who are really sharp, disciplined, and were clearly prepared for first grade. Sometimes they look around as if to say, "Get me outta here."

It hurts me to see little children so angry, defiant and combative; needing love and attention, but not knowing how to get it except to act out. 

If I didn't think I'd be fired for sure, I'd call in a priest or a preacher; Iyanla--some kind of holy man or woman--get some anointing oil, and grease up the joint. 

Every morning, as I head toward the class, I ask the Lord to please help them--and please help me to help them. I know He hears me. I want to make a positive difference in their lives. 

My last day was supposed to be yesterday. 

I see the progress. 

I believe they all can learn. 

I now have until June 21 to keep trying. 

I'm more determined than ever. 

I intend to use whatever is at my disposal in that classroom to make sure they learn something substantial.
I also think that if it's not for the children's use and consumption, it shouldn't be in the room, so it's nice to see there hasn't been a pattern of preserving hoarded resources. 

No using pieces of crayons, and nubs of pencils with wasted erasers. They deserve better. 

No admiring books from afar. 

They're going to handle them, and read them. They're going to own some, too.

From what I've finally gathered (but can't rely on because I didn't witness it) their teacher merely took a child's face in her hands. She touched his chin, and turned it so that he could look at her, and listen to her instructions. 

It is no doubt something that millions of parents and teachers have done millions of times while saying, "Look at me. Pay attention. Focus. I'm over here. I want to make sure you understand". 

She didn't slap him, leaving her hand print in his face, black his eye, or drop kick him over the monkey bars. But the way she has been treated, she may as well have. 

Apparently, the teacher's simple gesture has unscientifically, strategically, and perhaps, unnecessarily morphed into something sinister, and has invaded the dreadful, expansive, unfair, career-destroying land of Corporal Punishment. 

Now, once again, a teacher, saddled with 27 students in the era of the "Smaller Class Size" doctrine, is on the hot seat, fighting to save a chosen and beloved job. 

The highly qualified teacher, armed with several degrees and teaching awards, chose to leave Prince Georges County, in order to teach in DC's Ward 8 where she felt she could be of greater assistance. Who does that? "Did she bump her head?", some may ask. 

Perhaps that's why this caring individual, while trying to get through to, who I learned was, one of the most notoriously disruptive students in the entire school, temporarily forgot, or ignored the supreme commandment of all supreme commandments in today's educational sphere-- "THOU SHALT NOT TOUCH THE CHILDREN".

All I could think about, as I walked home yesterday, was hearing and seeing a teacher in the hallway admonishing, "Don't touch me! Don't touch me! I said, Don't touch meeee!", as a child waved, smiled and attempted to hug her goodbye. 

The look on the child's face was so pained as the teacher backed away, hands raised, as if the student was covered in slime, scorpions, and mud... and on fire...and pointing a gun. 
What have we become?

I overheard teachers talking, as I headed to the office one day, and the phrase "stuck on white" struck me. There is a prevailing attitude that young, newly college graduated, white teachers are considered the saviors of little black children's education. 

The classroom management skills of some of these saviors, however, leave a lot to be desired--and no one is challenging them. 

The opinion is that some of the white teachers cannot control the children, scream incessantly, and out of frustration, teach to the test, and allow the students to do whatever they want--or turn them over to technology. 

Their classrooms also tend to be a bit...well...untidy because the teachers don't feel that cleaning up behind the children is a part of their job description. 

Black teachers are resentful, because veteran teachers are considered useless, and out of touch. 

Black teachers also believe that the white teachers, whose supposed true motive for teaching is to have student loans repaid, don't really care about the whole child, and never truly intended to pursue Early Childhood Education as a career. 

The prevailing belief is that as soon as the last penny of their loans are repaid, and their 2-5 year stint in the hood is over, those white teachers are rolling out, taking their ideas, philosophies, equipment, data, and resources with them to places where their presence will be appreciated. 

Just as soon as they are debt free, they are happily leaving those ignorant, uncontrollable black children and their equally ignorant and uncontrollable black parents behind. 

That's the gist of the narrative. 

But, what if that's not the case? 

What if perceptions are standing in the way of a teacher--any teacher--doing an effective job? 

Is there some evil plot to keep schools in a low-performing category forever? 

When a teacher, ANY teacher, crashes and burns under the weight of cultural differences, poor classroom management skills, and parents with bad attitudes, and is given no help from administrators or fellow teachers, it's no wonder they choose to walk away. 

When everyone is standing by laughing, whispering, criticizing, shaking their heads, failing to intervene when they could, or saying "I told you so", everyone fails to realize that there are classes of children suffering from the impact, and choking on the smoke.

Nothing bothers me more than for someone to see a problem; know there's a problem, and act as if it doesn't exist--or only speak up when the problem has overtaken someone who was trying to solve it. 

Why stand by and watch something fall apart, just to prove a point? 

Seriously, what about the children? 

When someone is set up to fail, they suddenly realize it, and drastically change their tactics in order to be successful, those who were banking on failure get awfully busy. 

If I hear "Children First" from one more person who doesn't think children need discipline, caring, and order, I'm going to scream.

Parents need to wake up immediately. 

If the child's teacher is Black, white, or green with orange polka dots, the bottom line is the child's education, and an alliance needs to be formed to ensure that child's mastery of the grade level subject matter. 

Parents and teachers don't have to be bosom buddies, but they'd better be on the same team--and they sure as hell better inform their children, daily, what their role is in the educational process. 

It is NOT to go to school, act like a fool all day long, drive the teacher batty, have breakfast and lunch and a snack, and keep themselves and others from learning.

I'm always dumbfounded how a child can be allowed to continuously cause problems at a school, and be allowed to remain; 

how a bully can terrorize another child, and be sent right back to the scene of the crime. 

I'm always greatly dumbfounded by parents who know full well they haven't done a good parenting job, but expect a teacher to put up with their child's foolishness.

It's a shame for a class to lose a great teacher at the end of the year because of ONE consistently disruptive student, who it seems, EVERYONE from the school nurse to the crossing guard, to the custodians know of, and complain about.

 The exasperated teacher, worn out from spending days begging, "Please sit down", "Please line up", "Please stop that", "Please do your work", "Please pay attention", "Please keep your hands to yourselves", 'Please don't destroy the supplies", "Please keep your voices down", "Please get from under the table", "Please take that out of your mouth", ISN'T TEACHING VERY MUCH-- other than a lesson to him or herself: "I need a vacation, a stiff drink, or another profession".

It is a pity for a school to lose the expertise of a master teacher because of a student whose highly unacceptable antics are sure to guarantee that the learning process be interrupted daily, or is non-existent. 

Usually, such a student is emboldened by cowardly administrators and litigious, irresponsible parents--who, based on how the kid behaves at HOME, already KNOW their child is out of control, but send him to school with ZERO instructions about how to behave properly. 

What is this stupid war on teachers? 

I am in no way saying that teachers are perfect, but many parents have the essence of the educational process twisted, to the detriment of their own children! The only thing some parents tell their children before they leave for school is, "Nobody better not say anything to you!" 

They don't help them learn to read, write, count, or spell their own names, but their attention is suspiciously, squarely and negatively focused on the person who could help their child succeed, if they'd only allow it and be supportive. 

The teacher, whose hands are tightly bound when it comes to maintaining order and promoting discipline, may decide to give up a career in education--but that teacher, armed with a good education, still has options. If he or she decides to take their commitment, resources, and expertise elsewhere--he or she still gets paid. 

The child, on the other hand, is still disruptive, and as dumb as a box of rocks. 

Way to go parents. I guess you showed that teacher, huh? Whatcha gonna do now as you proudly brag how you told that teacher off? 

Now that the teacher is gone, are you gonna homeschool your little darling? Probably not. 

Parents must know that, when away from home, their children become quite different animals.
It is a sin for a class to lose the benefit of a caring individual who simply wants to make a positive difference in the lives of children--especially children who, scholastically, are woefully behind. 

If a school has to lose such an individual, let it be because of promotion, relocation, change in career, sickness, even death, but NOT because some irresponsible, clueless parent forgot to parent, and sent an undisciplined spawn to school and expected some teacher to work miracles.

There's NOTHING in a textbook that can prepare a new teacher for students whose behavior is uncontrollable, combative, disrespectful, rude, ignorant and downright demonic. I doubt if ANY teacher gets out of bed in the morning and says, "Let me go and see how quickly I can get a headache today" or "Let me see who I can hurt today", or 'Let me see whether I can teach this lesson, or spend the whole day trying to keep them from beating one another's brains out".

Parents, when YOU have NO control of your child, and don't require them to listen to anyone else, do you really think they'll learn anything other than how to be manipulative? WHY leave your child in the care of someone, and give your child the impression that he or she in charge of the adults around them? 

Little smart-mouthed, nasty attitude-having, grown-acting children are beyond infuriating. It's shameful. It amazes me how parents teach their children what their rights are but somehow forget to fill them in on their responsibilities.  Anyone who can yell, "Bitch, you ain't my mother! You better not touch me!" ought to be able to write those words in a sentence and spell them words correctly.

Parents, when you dare anyone to say ANYTHING to your child to correct him or her, how do you expect them to learn ANYTHING if YOU promote disorder? 

Don't tell me you love your child if you uphold him or her when he or she is wrong. When you send your child to school with the notion that they don't have to respect any adult except you, it's no wonder that their grades are abysmal at the end of the school year. Exactly who is hurt when a child shows off all year long, isn't checked by a parent, and subsequently learns nothing-- except how to behave like a fool? The teacher? The principal? The school?
Absolutely not.