The Proverbial One-Legged Man (Part 1)

The last couple of weeks have been insanely busy. I'm coming to realize that if I don't start telling this story now, in parts, that I'm never going to get it told. And this series of events is remarkable enough that I want some kind of permanent record. So here's the first installment, with future episodes as time and opportunity permit. -M

Tuesday, September 12th
I did my first bit of substitute teaching on the 7th and 8th of this month. It was a good experience, and I looked forward to doing more. In fact, I'd already been approached by a middle school teacher about covering her math classes while she had surgery. Good job experience, I thought, so I took her up on it. That assignment was supposed to start on September 28th and run until about the end of October. And I got a call from one of the teachers about substituting at the technical institute for a couple of days. I was set.

On the 12th, I got an interesting call from the Granite district Guest Teacher office. It was Pam, the same lady who'd conducted the training I attended last month. She said she needed a long-term substitute for a math teacher at one of the west side high schools. He'd been recalled by the military and would be out, in all likelihood, until the end of the school year in June. Because of the long-term nature of the assignment, they were going to give me the highest pay rate the district offers for doing it, which is about half again as much as my 'real' job pays me. The biggest challenge, she said, was that I'd have to come up with lesson plans and tests and so forth. It would be, for all practical purposes, my own class.

I was overwhelmed. After the disappointments of trying to find a teaching job this spring and summer, the possibility of having a class of my own was at hand. True, it was for math and not science, and true, it wasn't a guaranteed thing, but still, it was a classroom of my own. All kinds of thoughts about what I might do with it and how I would handle things came to mind. Pam was still explaining details through all of this, so I reined my thoughts back in and took a few notes. She said I could think about it for a day or two and call her back when I'd made my decision.

I called Nancy first. We talked about the possibilities, the challenges, and the potential. She was so happy and so proud of me. She told me she had faith in me. She's always been so supportive, and this occasion was no different. Then I called my mother, or tried to. I got Dad instead, so I told him the news and asked him to have Mom call me. Then I called Pam back and told her I'd take the position. She was thrilled—a little too thrilled, in retrospect.

At work that night, I talked to Jason, my boss, about this development. I told him that if this thing worked out, I'd probably go on indefinite leave of absence at the end of the month. So we made plans to spend the rest of September essentially training my replacements. It started that night, when I told Allen and Jeff that for all practical purposes they'd be running the shift, and I'd be observing and offering occasional helpful suggestions. They did okay, only a couple of small issues arose, and they were easily fixed. They'll be okay without me, I thought.

Wednesday, September 13th
Given that I'd never been to this particular high school before, and in fact didn't even know where it was, I decided to run over to the school before work on Wednesday and take a look around. I got there and introduced myself to the secretary. She told me a little about the teacher and the classes I'd be covering for. She told me where to find the classroom and gave me a key. So I made my way out there.

My classroom is a relocatable modular unit, or 'relo' for short—a large, glorified Tuff-Shed, for all practical purposes. And it's a little isolated. The offices are located in the southeast corner of the school. The long axis of the school is north-south. At the north end of the school is the cafeteria, beyond which is the student parking area. In the middle of that parking lot is a community swimming pool. My relo is on the north (far) side of the pool. There are four of these units clumped together there, and two of them are technically a few feet farther away from the rest of the school than mine is. But yeah, my class is in the middle of nowhere. Still, I had classes in rooms like this in high school (Spanish class and Mr. Altergott's useless senior history class come to mind). No big deal.

I was also directed to meet two of the teachers. One was the woman who teaches Algebra I and Geometry classes in the relo next to mine. I met her and we chatted for a few moments. She's Russian, but her English is superb, and she knows her stuff where teaching math is concerned. I also got to meet the head of the math department. We talked for a while, and he showed me around the math office, which is located in yet another building away from the main building. He gave me the grand tour and talked to me about all kinds of things involving the school, the department, and the classes I'd be taking over. He went on at some length, and before I knew it, I needed to leave for my other job. So I excused myself and made my way over to work, just in time to begin my penultimate training class.

Thursday, September 14th
They say that experience is the best teacher, but also the most difficult because it teaches the lessons only after you've taken the tests. This was a pretty good summary of what happened on Thursday.

I arrived feeling pretty confident about the day. I had three 90-minute Algebra I classes, all of which were scheduled to take a test that day. So my plan, as suggested by the teacher's notes, was to take half an hour to review the material and then give them an hour to take the test. Pretty simple for the first day.

The first class went pretty much according to plan. The only thing I found unusual was the fact that only about half the class was actually there when I finished taking roll. (I would come to find, over the next week or so, that this was pretty much the norm for this particular class.) We reviewed, and I gave them the test. A few of them finished early, but most took the whole time. In general, it went okay.

Second period was where the difficulties began. This class was a lot bigger, with about 30 students. Getting their attention was a struggle from the start. One girl on the front row—let's call her 'K'—started complaining almost immediately about the noise level. I tried several times to get the class' attention, but I was fighting a losing battle. I tried some of those techniques I'd learned in that training class, but to little avail. And then K just walked out, not to return that day.

So the time came to pass out the test, and my astonishment continued. While many of the students started in on their tests, a large number of them kept on talking, messing around, and generally acting like nothing unusual was happening. So I began to encourage them individually and in small groups to get to work on their tests. That helped a little, but I still had a group of malcontents in the front corner of the room who couldn't seem to keep quiet. So I went and sat with them. Every time I left the table to check on something else, one of them shoved my rolling office chair away from the table. Cute. So each time, I rolled the chair back and took up my position. This took place three or four times before I got sick of it. So the next time I rolled my chair right up beside the ringleader of this little band of hooligans and put my feet up for emphasis. He took offense, got up and flung his chair away, and stomped over to the far corner of the room. He sat there for the rest of the period, refusing to do anything else on his test. At least he was quiet after that.

I had lunch after that, and I made my way down to the office. As I was talking to the secretary one of the vice principals came over and introduced himself. He asked if he could speak with me for a few moments. So we went into his office, and the disappearance of K was explained—she'd gone straight to him to complain. So I spent my lunch hour being lectured on the subject of classroom control. At one point, I thought about interrupting and saying, "Yes, I understand what the problem is. As you might have deduced, I was there. Have you got any solutions you can offer me?" Condescending and unhelpful, all rolled into one package. How efficient. My mother told me there'd be administrators like this.

I made my way back to the relo for my third class. This class started off looking a little better, with a couple of the students being very friendly and welcoming me to class. So we did the review and started the test, and the results weren't much better than in second period. Several of the students, including the friendly ones, put their names on their tests, then went back to what they'd been doing. Again I encouraged them to focus on their tests, but as with the second period class, many of the students either didn't know anything, or didn't care about failing the test, or both. And one group, sitting at the same table at the hooligans previously mentioned in period two, couldn't seem to grasp the idea that they weren't supposed to be helping each other on the test. Are you serious?! I told them two or three different times to do their own work. I swear, the next time I administer a test I'm going to carry around a yellow highligher and mark anyone's test who's doing their own work.

Class ended, and I was left with a planning period for the last 90 minutes of the day. I reflected on what I'd experienced that day, and I felt extremely discouraged. I knew that the students hadn't had a lot of stability in their classes, that they'd had a series of substitute teachers for the previous couple of weeks, none of whom really knew anything about the subject. Still, I felt like the whole day had been a waste of time, for me and for them. Sure, there were a few students who seemed interested in learning, but for the most part, they didn't want to be there. Not surprising, I suppose; they start teaching Algebra I in 7th grade these days, from what I understand. The fact that these high school sophomores, juniors, and seniors are still trying to pass it indicates something about either their math skills or their effort level—or probably both.

The devil of it all is that I can help them. I know about math. Heaven knows I've taken enough of it. I know that I could show them how to be successful—if they wanted to be. But for the most part, they don't. And I can't seem to figure out how to approach that part of it. How do you help someone who doesn't want to be helped, who doesn't even care whether they pass the class or not?

That's all I have written at the moment. More later.