“Send someone over here,” I plead, “This class is terrible!”

Finally, a hush falls over the room. Then, a baffled voice drips in, “Okay, just wait a minute.”

Wait a minute? I had waited two hours for a “benchmark” class to quiet down. Instead, they kept talking, laughing, and driving my patience to the brink. Usually, it only takes about two minutes of my you-do-not-want-to-see-me-angry face to get the full attention of my classes—even if that attention is short-lived. These 7th graders, however, never quiet figured out they were cast as the students in today’s tragedy.

So Much for the “Smart” Kids

First, I tried to shame the children. “You are the ‘benchmark’ class so I expect a lot from you.”

“Don’t call us smart,” the children interrupted, “Smart’ is a bad word around here.”

“Okay, so you are not smart?”

“No, we are just intelligent.”

I stood corrected. It would seem that intelligent people—in the eyes of these children—need not be accountable for their actions.

You Scratch My Back

Second, I attempted negotiation. I did not have the upper hand going into these talks; after all, it is the last period of the day and the children were exhausted from three weeks of state testing. More importantly, it is a Friday and Friday is never a productive day for substitutes. Although I had the cards stacked against me, I put my best deal on the table.

“If you get through an hour’s worth of work, then I’ll let you socialize for the last hour of class.”

“Can we eat too?”

“Sure.”

“Can we get up and move around?”

“No problem.”

“Can we . . .” I was not in the mood for 18 more questions, so I interjected, “I do not care what you do, as long as you complete the work.”

The children accepted the “I do not care what you do” part of the deal and disregarded my condition about completing the work. My words created something worse than a monster, it created a loophole: one big enough for an aircraft carrier.

Game Over

Finally, I gave into desperation. Just as I was about to put my head down and sit out the rest of the period, the office rang in over the intercom.

“Can you send Jane Doe to the office for an early dismissal?”

“Sure, but can you send someone over here because this class is terrible!”

I have never resorted to asking the office for help. Asking for help sends a message that the teacher has lost control of the entire class and cannot regain it on their own. For a substitute—whose role has more to do with crowd control than it does teaching—calling the office is a sign that you have failed in your job.

When help arrived, the children fell silent. They where thoroughly chastised before being released back into my control. Once they were back in my control, I administered a quiz on the Crusades and listened for any sign of chatter. There was none. The will of the children had been broken; they were now ready to be students.

Not to be outdone, I told the class to begin cleaning up. As they shuffled their papers, I walked around the room and asked for names. Armed with only a scratch paper and a pencil, I targeted eight students who seemed to have the most to lose. Each was baffled, then dejected, and ultimately complaint with my request.

“What are you going to do with those names?” One ventured to ask.

“You’ll see on Monday when your teacher returns.” The guilt prevented them from fighting back. They knew that I had tried to be nice to them and now they would just get wrath from their teacher. It seemed they were intelligent enough to know that they had passed up a good deal at my expense. For a moment, it felt good to watch them squirm.

“Actually,” I conceded, “I will not give these names to your teacher. I was just testing you to see if fear would have worked earlier. I guess I know now.”

In retrospect, I should have taken names and even sent some children to the office. It probably would have only taken one example to scare the class straight. Shame and negotiation does not work with 7th graders. Shame works for younger children and negotiation should be left in the boardroom. For adolescents, especially benchmark students, fear of sanction is a great motivator. No games, just green slips. Instead, I dabbled in a fairy tale where I could talk to these children like equals and expect them to return the favor. To my horror, that wish came true; I had just forgotten that children treat their peers like dirt.