“Don’t let the kids get so close to you, it is a huge liability.”

A huge liability–for playing with the kids? After three weeks of non-stop middle and high school assignments, I took a job teaching a first grade class. First grade was just like I remembered it: runny noises, endless questions, and cute kids would just want to have a good time. No one is trying to prove their “coolness” and no one is trying to get out of doing work; first graders still care about being good students.

Today, I was assigned yard duty. With a whistle in hand, I march up and down the play ground looking for bruised knees and raging fights. Instead, I found three girls that wanted to play a game of tag with me. Being down to earth–and bored out of my mind patrolling the playground alone–I started to chase them around. We were laughing and having a great time until a veteran broke up our game.

“Leave him alone and go play somewhere else.” She yelled in a stern teacher’s voice I hope I never develop.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” she explained, “But the teacher’s union has warned us against playing with the kids during recess. Many of our teachers have been involved in litigation and I do not want to see you slapped with a lawsuit.”

“A lawsuit for what?”

“Well, you might lightly push or grab a kid as part of the game and they could turn the story around and claim you abused them or hit them intentionally.” She paused, looked into my eyes to assess if I was getting her draft, and continued, “So, I do not want to see you get in trouble when you have your whole teaching career in front of you. I have been in the game for 30 years and I am about to retire, it is young teachers like you that I am worried about.”

First, I am only a substitute and I will be gone soon–in fact by the end of the day. In a sense, I will be retiring before her.

Second, what kind of world is it when I cannot even play a game of tag with my own students without worrying if I am going to be sued by day’s end. It is just so upsetting because I loved playing with the kids, partly because I am a big kid at heart.

I agreed with the veteran and told the kids to go play somewhere else. As I pondered her words, a solution came to me. It is only a potential liability to touch the kids during our games, there is no liability for the games themselves. With this thought in mind, I took the class out for P.E. later that day and played 20 minutes of Simon Says. I had the kids doing so many moves it was like playing twister. Even though I was not “in the mix,” I was exhaustedly by the end of the day. My solution?

A long old teacher’s nap.

Duran Duran wakes me up as I drive.

So why don’t you use it
Try not to bruse it
Buy time don’t lose it

“It” is my brain: my brain on four hours of sleep. I might have lost it somewhere in between dreams last night. Normally, I am quite energized in the morning (not really), but today I am lagging–far behind.

Task 1: Wait

Since I am not qualified to pass out exams, read instructions, and sit at a desk as students decide how good they want to make their school look with a well-placed mark from a classic No. 2, I am instead told to sit tight as a supplementary assignment is hatched. My eighth grade assignment, it would seem, is on hold until testing is done.

“We can use you somewhere else. Just wait for a sec.”

Task 2: Get My Money Back

I am losing at the waiting game so I decide to call the same teacher’s union I refused to join for help. I was recently told that my full day assignment would only be paid at a half day rate because I had not met the three and a half hour minimum.

First, it blows my mind as a taxpayer that three and a half hours counts as a full day in public schools. Second, it blows my mind as a substitute that teachers are not paid more for what they do–I get to leave at the end of the day, the teacher has to come back in the morning. Third, I believe I did meet that requirement because I “worked” during my two hour prep period–bringing my total hours to five.

Task 3: Painting Hands Green

Eventually, I am demoted to kindergarten (considering the alternative, some might call it a promotion). Although it is story time when I walk in, the class stops and welcomes me.

“Hi everyone,” I say to the friendly faces.

My job is to take the students’ hand prints as part of a Mother’s Day project. Although, judging by the yellow paint and green paper, I would have thought it was a jump start on St. Patrick’s Day 2009. The kids are eager to have me paint yellow on their hands–almost as eager as they are to be my “helpers.”

“Why are you singing?” one girl asks.

“Because we are painting, silly! You can’t paint without singing; it’s like chewing gum without blowing bubbles.”

Task 4: Treat ‘em Like Adults

“Are you French?”

Personal question.

“Do you speak Spanish?”

Personal question. Next.

“Who is your favorite soccer team?”

Personal question. Anything else?

“What is your name?”

I have found that middle school students ask personal questions in order to stall. They stall because they do not want me to assign the work their teacher has left for them. Questions also have the effect of distributing power–from me to them. The more they know about me, the less of a threat I am to them. It is not that I am mean or unwilling to be friendly, I am just not into power-sharing. My survival depends on it.

“Those are all personal questions. If you want the answers, you can stay after class (yeah right!) and we can chat. Otherwise, you need to just do your work.” At this point, some antsy students are sensing I am on autopilot.

“By the way: No cussing, no getting up, no group work, no pencil sharpening without asking me first, and no ipods or cell phones.” My rules strike some as mean and unwarranted.

“Mr. J is mean,” one snorts.

“Class, class, your attention please. Do you think I am mean because of my rules and refusal to answer personal questions that have nothing to do with getting your algebra work done?”

One collective, “yes,” rings out.

“Okay, but why is it that when I come into a class and allow the students to work in groups at will, I end up regretting it. Don’t you think it is a double-standard? Shouldn’t you have to earn my respect?”

There is dead silence until someone responds by saying, “You need to speak English to us.” The class laughs on cue.

“What is a double-standard?” aonther asks.

“Forget it.” I am unsure why I am in disbelief. Is it because these 13 year-olds do not know the definition of a “double standard” or because I have no simpler way of explaining myself.

“You are right. It was mean to treat you all like kids by giving you so many rules. You all almost adults and adults do not ask for permission before sharpening pencils or getting up. I have a deal for you,” the students perk up, “I can either treat you like adults without the rules or like kids with them.”

“Like adults!”

“Wait! If I treat you like adults, I expect you to act responsibly. If you mess up, even once, I will send you straight to the office. Adults do not get second chances in the real world (so false). But, if I treat you like kids with lots of rules, I will also give you lots of chances.”

Those familiar with the artwork in the office immediately chime in with, “Treat us like kids!”

Task 5: Make that Money

The day is done and I am done with it. I have no energy for anything but a teacher’s nap and boba, that is until I got a call from the president of the teacher’s union. As it turns out, I was right: a prep period does count toward instructional hours. I should have been paid a full day’s rate.

“Mr. J, how long have you been substitute teaching?”

“About a month, ma’am.”

“Oh okay, that explains why your name is not in our union’s system yet.”

Yeah, I guess it does.

I blew into Mia High School and (politely) demanded someone to review my time sheet. I was a man on a mission. After explaining the situation twice–and who I was three times–the secretary realized I was not going away without my earned income. She hesitated to make a move without approval from someone higher on the pay grade. It is time for some personal questions of my own.

“Well, I actually just started working here.”

“Yeah, I have only been here a month.”

“Sure, I like it.”

With our life-long friendship established, she got over her fear of correction and made the change on my time sheet. She even said I deserved the extra money. I agreed, walked out, and realized it was time to celebrate.

It is time to turn off autopilot and start enjoying this sunny day!

“I hit the ball far.”

“My daddy is a firefighter.”

“Are you married?”

Nothing could have prepared me for my first day of substitute teaching. I was facing a firing squad. Armed with irrelevant facts and personal questions, children born after my first fraternity kegger took aim. In exchange for some extra spending money, I had walked into the line of fire.

Barely inside the door, children swarmed around me. Growing up in a large family, I had always been comfortable with kids. However, I had never met these kids before and they had already trampled on my personal space. At least with my nieces and nephews, I had about a year to prepare for their first steps.

“Okay everyone, have a seat so we can get started,” I said with a big smile.

No luck, so I try again. “Please sit down.  No, sit down.”

At this point some are under the teacher’s aide table, others are asking to read stories. I take a deep breathe, raise my voice slightly, and try one last time to–

“Everyone! Look up me now! Please give Mr. J your full attention!”

Help came quick and fast. Ms. X, a teacher working next door in an attached classroom, heard the ruckus and came to my rescue. She told them to sit in their desks as she pulled me aside.

“Have you taught before?”

“This is my first day ma’am”

“Well, these are good kids.  You have to watch out for some of the boys, but overall, you should be fine. You can come to me if you need anything.” She reassured me.

She stepped out as the intercom came to life, “Good Morning Elementary School, time for the Flag Salute: I pledge allegiance to the flag . . .”

Like Ms. X, the faceless voice over the intercom was able to command more respect than me. The children stood at attention and repeated the words that had been etched into my memory some 21 years before. Whether it was out of nostalgia or patriotism, I repeated those familiar words and a soothing sense of familiarity washed over me.

“Okay, let’s get started. My name is Mr. J. I am going to take role first.”

Pronouncing some of these names was such a challenge. This class featured some Asian and Hispanic names that required some oral back-flips–I ended up just breaking my back over it. It turns out that none of these young children were offended when I mispronounced their names. Perhaps after years of mispronunciations they might grow annoyed or embarrassed, but for now they just giggle and correct me gently.

“Great, now I need a helper. Who wants to . . . ?”

Hands go flying skyward. All I can hear is a steady drone of “me-me-me,” with an occasional, “I want to do it.” I close my eyes and pick one girl. She is overjoyed; leaving the rest dejected.  I promise to pick another helper for a subsequent task. For now, I am impressed with the level of enthusiasm. I have her come up and help me hold flash cards labeled with the months of the year.  She does a great job but refused to step down when I am ready to move on. Perhaps she taught she was may new sidekick–maybe she was plotting a hostile takeover.

“Not so fast,” I say to her, “Please sit down. And may I have you come up to help.”

I had pointed at a little boy who had not stopped causing a disturbance since the “under God” part of the salute. Have the trouble makers come up to serve as helpers turned out to be a brilliant idea because that forced them to stay on task. It also allowed me to keep a watchful eye on their every movement. I was not mad at the boy, I just had to make sure he did not inadvertently get me mad by his non-stop antics.

As the day progressed, I much had gained some level of trust and respect from the class. They actually would listen when I taught and would smile as I squatted to eye level in order to explain a concept more clearly.

By the end of the day, I was asked when I would be coming back. I knew it was a one day assignment, so just said, “Soon, I hope.” I had given the students my fully attention.  In return, they had given me a cute little headache to take with me.  I was home 15 minutes later and ready to nap. No food, no TV, just my warm bed.  My bed had no questions about marriage or facts of firefighting dads, it only welcomed me with warm arms. I closed my eyes and proceeded to take the longest teacher’s nap of my life: a full 3 hours.

I woke up at about 5:30. I had no homework to correct, no parents to call, and no threat of having to work tomorrow if I did not want to. Subbing is not that bad of a gig.

I could get used to this.