SUBSTITUTE TALES: THE LIBRARY

Does anyone remember the library being…well…sort of a sacred, magical place that demanded a different, quieter disposition? 

I just don't remember EVER eating there, and definitely not standing on top of the tables, turning over chairs, throwing books off of shelves, running, fighting, screaming, drumming on the doors and windows, writing on the furniture...or bouncing a basketball.

I've been assigned to a rather beautiful school library. It's filled with new books and state-of-the-art technology. 

It has brought back so many wonderful memories of Mrs. Reamer, our librarian at Abram Simon Elementary School in the 60's and 70's, and the children's reading room at the old Washington Highlands Library on Atlantic Street. 

Every morning when I walk into the space, I feel great. 

The eastward window lets in the morning sun, and the view, as familiar as it is to me, is stunning. 

I think to myself, "Who wouldn't want to study and learn, or even just be in this space?" It couldn't be more inviting. 

A large, framed photograph of one of my former supervisors, the late Bessie Wells, daily reminds me of her leadership, kindness, wisdom, and dedication to the success of students in Ward 8.

Most of the kids seem to love coming to the library, and I've loved preparing lessons, reading to them, and discussing even some of my favorite childhood storybooks, each day. 

This afternoon, however, I'm ashamed to say that I came extremely close to hanging up my chalk...or should I say, my dry erase marker.
Ironically, I read the following message when I got home. It was in my inbox yesterday when my computer decided to be temperamental:

"You are about to throw out the proverbial baby with the bath water.  But, I tell you that you need to exercise patience and make small adjustments that will be consistent with flowing in the Spirit, says the Lord.  Overdoing correction is the result of being out of control emotionally.  Settle down, and trust Me to give you the wisdom to do the right thing for the right reasons. 

Ephesians 4:26 "Be angry, and do not sin": do not let the sun go down on your wrath."

Thanks, Marsha Burns. Better late than never, I suppose.

This afternoon, I felt so sorry for the kids who have no idea how their horrible attitudes, inappropriate behavior, and outright defiance is working, and will work against them, socially, spiritually, economically, and academically.
I felt...well...I don't know how I felt, and I was still a little stunned some 4 hours or so after I arrived at home (and what was on one of my favorite television shows,"Master Chef", tonight? A bunch of screaming school children.) Hilarious.

I heard someone say, "Your problem is that you care." Wow. Caring used to be a good thing.

I'm glad I had the opportunity to talk with a parent as I was leaving this afternoon. It turns out, the parent, and the friend who was with her, used to be former students at the school where I formerly taught. They have memories of being respectful, and never getting into trouble at school. However, they struggle with keeping their own offspring in line--one of them to the point where it's seriously affecting her health. 

What used to work for their mothers, isn't available to them--or so they think. They feel their hands are tied, and effective methods to correct their children's behavior are few. They talked about boot camp as an option for their children. They even noted the cameras at the school as if they are there to record them in the act of disciplining their children at school, and not to keep their children safe from outside intruders.

All I know is that if I had said "No!", or "I don't have to!", or "I'm getting ready to!" or continued standing, when my teacher, or any adult for that matter, had told me to simply "Have a seat", well, I would have been having a seat alright, but not in a chair. I would have been on the floor...holding on to my lips...under my desk... where I would have fallen... after my teacher had slapped the living daylights out of me...and Lord help me if my parents found out I had been disrespectful. But, of course, those abusive days are no more...and today, some children are so unbelievably rude, impolite, nasty, manipulative, disrespectful and out of control that if you didn't see it with your own eyes, you wouldn't believe it.

One little boy lamented how he hated the school. He called it "dumb" and bragged about the "academy" he used to attend (when he wasn't running around the library, knocking papers and books from the counter onto the floor, playing on the telephone, and standing up in chairs.)

When asked why he was no longer there, he said, "I got put out for fighting".

I guess when some schools say they are institutions of learning, and do not tolerate any disruption of the learning process, they mean it.

Unfortunately, some of the students don't appreciate, or respect the library (or adults) at all. It would seem that the presence of several adults would curb some behavior, but no.

You see, when there are no effective consequences, and the kids KNOW it, it doesn't matter who shows up. Some kids are now convinced that THEY are in charge. Their classwork, reading skills, and test scores, however, paint a dismal picture of their grand delusion.

Somehow, teachers, principals, and school staff members keep getting shifted around—and even fired—in an effort to revitalize schools. 

When will anyone recognize that it's the lack of order and enforced standards of student behavior that will sink a school? 

The elephant in the room that keeps getting minimized or swept under the rug, is the child or children who consistently—daily—keep learning from taking place.
There are enough of the defiant ones to present a huge, desperate problem for the kids who are anxious to listen and learn. 

(Pray for the well-behaved student who has the misfortune of being in a class full of clowns. Poor things look like deer caught in headlights thinking, "Mommy, Daddy, anybody, GET ME OUT OF HERE!!!!)

I'll try again. Tomorrow's a new day. 

Thanks again, Marsha Burns for this message, sent as I slept:

 "Beloved, rejoice in small victories and little breakthroughs, for they are signs of a greater triumph.  Your praise will be like a seed sown in good ground that will grow into a rousing shout of joy, says the Lord.  Your faith will also grow as you recognize and appreciate the small steps of progression instead of waiting for the final outcome to give thanks.  Gratitude is a mighty weapon against discouragement and defeat."
 

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".

SATURDAY THOUGHTS: 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 about which one could murmur, 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 Thursday night that the teacher would be returning 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.