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Aug 18, 2004 My husband has joined the ranks of substitute teachers. He told me that he is seriously thinking of becoming a teacher. This came about because of his home office. He is a computer professional, and the bulk of his work is done at home. Now for those of you who dream about working from home let me clarify something here. Yes, it is good to work from your home and there are many advantages, one of which is watching your neighbors schlep to work every morning while you are sipping your second cup of coffee. You give them a cheery good-bye wave and they secretly curse you under their breath as they return your wave with one of their own. (You shouldn’t look too closely at their wave, however, because one of their fingers may appear to be pointing upward. This is due to little morning stiffness, I’m sure.) They have bosses but you! You are your own boss. You have a home office. You are home. In the house. All day. Home. Alone. That is the disadvantage. It’s just you, your computer, and your phone. Home. Alone. So when the lack of available substitutes was mentioned in a local paper Alan decided to bring his worthy résumé to the board office and offer his services, albeit for pay, to the school system. “What would you want to teach, eventually?” I ask him. “History!” he tells me. He is a passionate amateur historian. An appointment was set up for him to be interviewed by the principal of the high school. When the principal asked him why he wanted to sub, Alan said he wanted to give something back to society through teaching and thought subbing would be a good way to start. He named great educators in history, (I told you he was a historian); he told the principal how two of his own teachers had made a significant impact on his life, one of them in history class of course, and he ended by saying he thought teaching was a noble profession. The principal, who throughout Alan’s speech had sat cleaning his fingernails, looked at my husband, sighed deeply, and asked him if he would mind coaching the bowling team, if he was hired. “We have a real need for a good bowling coach,” he said. Then he stood up and shook Alan’s hand. Alan left a little bewildered. “I thought he would ask more questions. Doesn’t he want to know about my philosophy of teaching?” “Your what?” “My philosophy of teaching. You know what it is. You had to do a paper on it in college, senior year, remember?” Oh, boy, do I remember. That was written back when I thought I was out to save the world, one student at a time. All they needed, I thought back then, was encouragement and a teacher who cared. Five years of teaching took care of that idea. How I managed to stay another ten years is beyond me. Oh, wait! We had a mortgage to pay, that’s why I stayed! But I do remember my philosophy of teaching paper. It was so good that Dr. Cissy Schmidt, the director of teaching, makes me read it in class four times and has it published in the school paper. I was totally embarrassed by this, not to mention being the girl most likely not to have any friends in Cissy’s class. Anyway, a week after his interview, Alan is called at ten o’clock at night by a very nice lady named Geri to see if he can sub tomorrow at the high school for an English teacher. “Yes I can! I’ll be happy to do it.” He is so enthusiastic I want to cry. His first day is a success and he jubilantly tells me all about “his” class in nauseating detail. He is called every day for the next two weeks subbing Math, English, and his beloved History at the high school, and Social Studies at the Middle School. He even subs for a third grade reading class at the Day School a few blocks from home. He has found his life’s work, he tells me solemnly at dinner one night. I smile and remember the excitement of my early teaching career. At ten that night, while we are half asleep, the phone rings and Alan is asked to sub again at the Middle School. This time it is for a gym class. He hangs up the phone and gently taps me on the head to wake me up. He obviously wants to talk. “Honey? Honey, are you sleeping?” I do not answer. If I’m really sleeping, I reason, I wouldn’t be able to answer! “Honey? Did the phone wake you? Did it? I’m sorry. Are you awake now?” “Yes. And if the call wasn’t an emergency, leave me alone.” I open my eye, squint at the red numbers on the clock radio and see that it is eleven-fifteen. Oh, God! Who calls at eleven- fifteen? “Let me sleep. I have a lecture to give tomorrow morning.” “Honey?” He is gently persistent. “What?” I mumble trying to get into a decent sleep position between the cat and Alan. “They want me to sub a gym class tomorrow. What do I do?” “Is it for the high school?” I sleepily ask, not really interested but wanting to go back to sleep. “No, the middle school. Why?” “High school gym class can get pretty scary. If it’s the middle school, don’t worry.” “But, what do I do with them?” “Play dodge ball or something. Kids like that stuff at that age.” I remember seeing kids in the schoolyard playing dodge ball at some point in time. “Dodge ball? You think so?” “Yes, now please let me sleep. And, puh-leeze, tell Geri to call earlier next time,” I say before I zonk out. The next day Alan leaves before I do attired in casual elegance, no tie or dress shirt, but still a little too nicely dressed for a gym class. He is happy and optimistic. A middle school gym class, not exactly academics, but, how hard can it be? I come home in late afternoon to hear meditation music coming through the open windows of our living room. The soft sound of ocean waves combines with the gentle sound of woodwinds. I enter to find my husband sitting in a recliner, head back, eyes closed, a cat on his lap offering cat-comfort. “Alan? Are you okay?” “IT WAS A NIGHTMARE!” “Middle school?” “Why did you tell me to let them play dodge ball? What could ever have possessed you to tell me that?!” “What, it didn’t work? They didn’t like it. What?” “Oh, no they liked it! They liked it so much I filled out 7 accident reports!” “Omigod! What happened?” “I was alone in the gym when the first sixth grade came running in. The aide who was supposed to be there got sick and went home. I told them we were going to play dodge ball and since there were only about twenty kids I figured it would be okay. Then the other three sixth grades came in! There were a total of ninety-six kids! They left me alone with almost a hundred kids! When they heard we were playing dodge ball all hell broke loose. I really think they were trying to kill each other!” “Omigod!” “One little girl told me that I “really rock” because Mr. Gerard, their regular gym teacher, never lets them play dodge ball. I can understand why! They’re killers!” “Oh, honey, I’m sorry!” “And I’m starving. My lunch was spent on lunch duty breaking up fights and taking two kids to the nurse. Then, in the afternoon, I had the three eighth grades. I don’t even want to think about that fiasco, let alone talk about it! What a day I had!” “I am so-o-o-o sorry! Let me make a quick dinner, okay? You just try and relax.” As I toss a salad in the kitchen I tell him I’m sorry that his dreams of a teaching career have to end on such a disastrous note. “What do you mean “end?” He has followed me to the kitchen. “You know, today. I’m guessing you won’t go back.” “You’re right,”he says helping himself to some tomatoes. I sigh. I’m always right. “So, see honey, teaching is not all you’d dreamed it would be, right?” “Well, I won’t go back to sub gym class in the middle school, that’s for sure. But I’m not giving up on a teaching career. I think I’ll give Geri a call and tell gym class is out for me. But maybe she has something else, something academic, for tomorrow. Anything but gym class.” “Hey, are you okay or are you still in a daze?” “I’m fine,” he says kissing my neck. “I just needed to vent was all.” He is always amazing me. He vented and now he’s fine. You go, boy! ------------ About the author Kristen Houghton: Working on a book of short stories, I write a column, "The Writer's Block" on observations of everyday life and a column for educators called iTeach! Email: Krisnalan@aol.com Tell a friend about this site! ------------ |
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