Screendoor Sub

Adorable first grade class with some great names (Ivee and Zion were the best). Like any class, they had their terrific moments.

Monday
Thanksgiving came and went but left me some pretty heavy chest congestion. This coughing fit absolutely jumps me in the middle of a sentence. My face is red, tears building up, and I cannot stop coughing. And the kids? Do they rush to bring a glass of water to their poor teacher? No, they cough back at me and laugh.

Tuesday
Killed a solid half-hour with BINGO (eh, educational 'nuff). Hit a snag whenever I called out a N number. A combination of sinus blockage and my already lazy speaking habits had me pronouncing "N" like "in". I got away with slips in arithmetic and incorrect elaborations with the history of Thanksgiving , but once I screwed up on their phonic turf I was toast.
"Not 'in!' N!" They shouted. "N! N! N! N! N!"
"I can't tell you the next number until you're quiet," I replied, palming an un-read N-7 and hoping to re-draw a B, I, G, or O.

This was my first time working at a school that I had gone to as a kid. Pretty surreal. Sharing lunch in the teacher's lounge with my old history teacher. Working next door to the guy who organized these wicked pick-up hockey games after school. Taking a leak next to my 7th grade science teacher (Why no third urinal? They could at least install some kind of a buffer urinal between two working urinals).
The school had a surprisingly low amount of turnover over the years. There were plenty of great reunions, but the best had to be with my old English teachers. When I told them about my majoring in English and all, well the look on their faces was worth the promise of a life trapped in a lower earning bracket.
Oh yeah, the teaching was great and all.

Inquisitive minds, abundances of patience, and respect for authority make for an easy--but not terribly interesting--day. So, here's a haiku I made up about this one kid playing on the jungle gym during recess:



Kid with shoes untied
walking over monkey bars.
Will he break his neck?

That's right, subbed for a 7th/8th grade HomeEcc class today. No cooking, or mixing, or budget planning though. Today they learned newspaper reading, as the lesson plan called for a newspaper scavenger hunt. Some red flags:

Flag 1: Every nook and cranny is teaming with old newspapers in this class.
Flag 2: One group tries to turn in a completed hunt after only a few minutes of work. Date erased and re-written in top left corner.
Flag 3: Class groans not again when I introduce scavenger hunt.

(Speaking of red, today was also a "Code Red" drill. That's like an earthquake drill, except for school shootings. As soon as the announcement blared over the loud speaker, the kids cheered wildly and gleefully began constructing a barricade in front of the door. Maybe for Growed-Ups things like "Code Reds" are a bleak reminder of our morbid times, but for the kids its an excuse to turn a table over.)

So, today was a classis example of the proverbial scavenger hunt that broke the class' attention span. So loud. So crazy. So many newspapers ripped up and thrown around.

The peak of Mt. Insanity was reached (and this is 100% fact) when a student--making eye contact with me the entire time--tore off a strip of newspaper, put it into his mouth and started chewing a spitwad. I shook my head in confused shock. The freak smiled, and thank God, he plucked it out of his mouth and threw it away. This is the future. Newspaper-chewers.

(Part 2 of 2)

It seemed as if Day 2 in the 8th grade science class would unfold uneventfully. Sure, there was an earthquake drill during the 6th period honors class (living up to the name, most of them continued their classwork under the desk). But, overall it was another quiet day, at least except for one unforgettable...

4th period. You may remember 4th period better as the paper-ball-throwing period from yesterday. Well, today I was pelted again, only instead of wadded up Little League fliers they pelted me with passion!

I discovered the following note on my desk, coyly addressed to "Mr. G." It has been reproduced exactly as it appeared on the purpley-pink stationary:

Dear Mr. Gyer,
I know this sound odd, but I really like you. I like the way your hair curls & your voice is so depp & exotic. It's quite the thrill. I know I'm only 13, but you take my breath away. From your beautiful eyes, to your depply matured voice, you make my heart choke & gasp for air. Your arms & hands look so warm, welcome, & strong. It's almost like you cast a spell on me when you first spoke to our class. Do you like Classis? I do. Especially "The Phantom of the Opera", because it reminds me of a love only a man like you could offer.
Love, .....
(Please don't show this 2 the office, because I don't want to get into trouble.)

My heart hardened after the paper ball incident, and yet, after finishing the last dulcet word of this note, somehow--how could this be possible?--it melted. Oh, giggling, overbite girl in the front row, while your words will never be forgotten (Yes, how I love the Classis!) they, unfortunately, can not be acted upon... yet. Wait for me darling. Wait and count the seconds until we may act! Oh, and try not to get fat or nothing like that.

Part 1 of 2

After nearly nine years 8th graders finally cave into the tall people. Did they boo? Did they leave their seats to do whatever they wanted. Sure they talked, but even the caged bird sings or something, right?

Each period ran like this. "Hey kids, look your teacher wrote some instructions on the board for you. Oh yeah, I need to mispronounce all your crazy names for roll. Whoa, now, I'm going to read my book and look up every other minute or so, making a face like I think you're up to something."

The only hiccup in today's digestive process of the kids' free will came when they got these Little League fliers. Who plays Little League nowadays anyway? What with their TV games and the internets and electronic poker and the crumpling up of Little league fliers into projectiles. Yeah, the punks threw some paper balls around, big deal.

Headlocks: 0
Jump Kicks: 0
Origami Ninja Stars: 0
A Few Crumpled Up Paper Balls: big deal.

But this one girl's jaw hung open in disgust.

"Are you just going to sit there?" she sounded exactly like someone sounds when they're being a total bitch.

So I had to put my book down and walk around the room until I saw some punk throw one of those paper balls (big deal, right?). Then I gave the punk the Sub Stare and asked him for his name. I pretended to write a scathing note about the punk in full view of the class. Finally, I got back to reading.

Maybe it was Friday or the assembly about the cookie dough fundraiser (Sell 20 tubs, get a limo ride to... In 'n' Out!) for whatever reason the 1st graders were out of control. Their ring leader (wearing a black shirt with "Daddy's Little Girl" in scorching hot-pink across the front) actually had the entire class booing me when I introduced a math lesson. I set face on "stone" and once the booing died I asked, "Do you boo your regular teacher?"
"YES!" they screamed back.

Other highlights:
Class takes pencil sharpening addiction to new levels; shaving reservoir filled by recess. Kid with the racing stripe shaved into his haircut leads the effort, repeatedly breaking his pencil in order to re-sharpen it.

Daddy's Little Girl writhes in agony when I ask her to write one more sentence about her favorite toy (some cat doll). The following pouting, languishing (On the floor as well as in her chair) and tearful pleas of I can't do it or Please don't make me yields this masterwork:
I like the cat.

With the last twenty minutes of class I'm faced with two choices. Correct the math or play Heads Up, 7-up. Math promises more booing, all around pouting. Heads up, 7-up means I get to sit down.
Heads down, thumbs up.

Part 1 of 2

First day of a two day assignment. 1st grade class. Kids fine, 'cept for their pencil sharpening addiction. Sort of makes sense because the pencil sharpener may have been the most advanced piece of technology in the class. Their computers ran AOL 5.0 and had built in zip drives. Zip drives, who remembers those? Made for the few people who weren't quite ready to say goodbye to things that looked like floppy disks. But I digress, these kids loved their automatic pencil sharpener.
Today was also a bit of a milesotne for me, my first time playing "Heads up 7up." Had one jerk not only try and stand when her thumb had not been pressed, but also not press any thumbs when it was her turn. The outrage!

Back to work today with the sweetest class of second graders imaginable, well until PE, but that can wait.
If sometime between Kindergarten and 1st grade kids become tattlers, then sometime between 1st grade and 2nd grade kids turn into compulsive storytellers. Every question elicits some minute long anecdote about grandparents and pets and how last summer the brat went camping and lost a tooth on a rollercoaster before she got a goldfish for Christmas.
Thank God one kid had the monosyllabic response down (The following happened, word for word):
ME: Can anyone tell me what "conservation" is?
PUNK: Paper!
ME: Not exactly...
PUNK: Trees!
But they were good kids, until the aforementioned PE. The class played basketball, 4 on 4 at a time. And if you've ever tried to get kids that age to play any organized sport you might as well call it rugby. I couldn't believe the pushing, the shoving, the complete lack of dribbling and utter contempt for the triangle offense.