Jan 2018
In my fourteenth year of teaching, as I handed back tests to my LA 9 Honors, I heard a couple of kids talking about the winter Olympic trials and a skier they liked. I looked at another kid and said "Did you see Shaun White's qualifying run? Perfect score after a broken face. You know how there's Fantasy Football? I have Fantasy Parenting. Shaun White is on my team."
This is an essay exploring the very real possibility that what I had was, in reality, a fantasy career.
These posts are a path to a larger piece in the making. Enjoy.
UH and Substitute Teaching
High School Language Arts
In the early 90's, so early it was almost the late 80's, because it actually was the late 80's, I decided to substitute teach while going to school on Planet Houston. I was hired in "L.P." a city south of Houston and known for being a bit "rough" at the time. The city was largely blue collar workers, etc. Those neighborhoods are always considered rough, but let me tell you, that after 14 years of teaching in a suburban high school, blue collar kids are not "rough". They're just big, and sometimes multi colored and not always what others perceive as "scholarly",but they don't shoot each other. Just saying.
My school schedule left me two days a week without classes, and I had tech class in the afternoons. Why not? What could go wrong?
I was 23 years old. I was 5'7" and weighed 120 pounds (the trend of citing my weight is a nasty habit I picked up in the Anorexic 80's and have shamefully not yet shed) and owned a single suit, purchased when I needed to start applying for jobs after we moved from Denver. When we arrived in Houston, I had no clothes due to the Thieving Bastards of Arlington, Tx, but that's another post.
We lived in Seabrook, but Seabrook didn't have a school district that I could sub in. Or maybe their standards were too high, who knows. I can't be expected to remember everything. I do remember that Houston Independent School District had requirements I did not meet. Also teachers were being stabbed and bullied in HISD at that time, so I got hired in L.P., down the road, a district willing to hire a young college student to substitute teach. I had zero classroom experience as a teacher, but of course I had fifteen years of classroom experience as a student in addition to years of babysitting and I was willing to do it for sixty bucks a day. How hard could this be?
My very first day subbing at the high school, I was befriended by an imposing woman named Letisha Jones*. Even in my stupid suit I was under dressed next to Letisha. She was awesome, her hair was a magnificent black shiny mountain, her jewelry was all gold but tasteful and glorious against her dark skin, her suit was a real tailored suit, not off the rack. Her nails! Her fingernails were impeccable and she was already an imposing woman before she slipped on her name brand heels. I was Schleppy the Clown in my old character shoes, the only 'heels' I owned. She showed me my classroom, introduced me to admin as I walked through the halls looking up at the students. These kids were mostly giants and Letisha was at least six feet tall in her heels. They must put something in the water in L.P. She shepherded me to my room, where the large blonde wood desk sat with the blackboard right behind it. I flashed to the movie Teachers and imagined I would be as cool as Nick Nolte. Letisha told me I would enjoy my day, they were mostly upper level Language Arts kids, and her room was right next door. She also indicated the phone on the wall, and told me to pick it up in an emergency and an administrator would be right down. I would need to know about this phone later at the junior high, but that's another post.
The day went smoothly through lunch. I was surprised at how nice all these kids were to a sub. I remembered giving the subs in high school a hard time: switching seats, pretending to be someone else, talking incessantly. My band friends would switch instruments on sub days. Choir kids tried sitting in the wrong sections, but that wasn't nearly as funny as the band kids. They always were more clever.
I walked into the hall during lunch, searching for the teachers' lounge. Somehow the giants seemed less threatening when they were seated in the classroom, out here in the hall I felt exposed without Letisha's arm around my shoulder. I started having a panic attack. I darted through the holes in the human sea and ran into the teachers' lounge, unwittingly slamming the door behind me. Then I leaned against it and looked up to find everyone staring at me. There was a clump of teachers in tableau, some seated, some standing, and a thin veil of smoke. A Voice from the Teacher Clump said "Dear, this is the teachers' lounge. Are you lost?"
Confused, I squinted through the smoke at the Coke machine and took a few steps toward it. As I did, an imposing arm placed itself around my shoulders. Letisha's booming voice emerged "This is Ms. Martin, she's our new Lang Arts sub. Also theatre, right Ms. Martin?" The clump of teachers' expressions changed and a few "Hi's" and "Welcome's" were mumbled as they returned to crying and smoking, which everyone knows is what you do in the teachers' lounge. Letisha bought me a Diet Dr. Pepper (I weighed 120 pounds for a reason)and despite her friendly smile, I bolted as fast as I could back to my classroom. The teachers' lounge was dark and smokey and...they thought I was a student! That's what happened! How funny! I don't even look like an adult. This is a reality that plagued me throughout teaching, even as I aged, I never felt like an adult. At 52, as a high school teacher I still feel like I'm just a kid.
The class after lunch was going along, and I gave them their writing assignments. A young man in the up stage right corner of the room, dressed in a long black duster, black Christian Slater hair falling in his face, lankily wore his desk as a costume piece and just stared at me. I asked if he needed anything, and he whispered. I didn't catch the word, and I noted the rest of the class silently watched the show. I asked him to repeat himself, and he said, loud and clear "Sex".
I didn't miss a beat. "I can't help you with that, sorry."
The class burst into laughter.
Christian Slater Wannabe did not. He upped the ante by glaring right through me. I met his gaze--you can't scare me, I'm in theatre---and held it until he dropped his eyes.
The rest of the period, he lounged in his up right spot and whispered "sex" under his breath. By about ten minutes into class, we all became bored and ignored him. This did not effect his determination, he continued to whisper "sex" at specifically timed intervals until the bell rang. I admired his commitment to the script as well as the timing. Nice job, kid, but I'm still ignoring you.
At the end of the day, Letisha came by to ask me how it went. I told her about Christian Slater and she shook her head. "Oh, Jake," she said and chuckled as she whispered "sex".
"I didn't know what I was supposed to do."
"Well, other subs--when he bothers to show up---have picked up that phone and had him taken to the office. You may be the only one to just ignore him."
"Is he in one of your classes?"
"Not this year, I had him last year. I ignored him. All admin does is make him sit in the office, he isn't going to learn anything there except to hate school. At least if he's in class he may accidentally learn something."
After I subbed in L.P. , finished college, had children, started a theatre company, closed a theatre company,and became a teacher--approximately 100 years later--I found myself adhering to Letisha's advice when it came to these types of kids. To this day, unless they are somehow dangerous or truly unruly, I just ignore it and keep going.
Maybe they'll learn something by accident.
*Letisha Jones was not her name, but that is close.
Junior High
The one and ONLY time I ever subbed at the junior high school, this is what happened: I put on my one suit, a lovely navy blue pencil skirt/fitted jacket combo from Dillards. I drove to the school. I checked into the office. The friendly secretary welcomed me warmly, I received a campus map, a schedule, a room number and lesson plans. I walked to the classroom, settled in behind the desk and waited for the kids.
The student desks were neatly lined up, five rows across and six deep. Every desk was taken, the kids sat in their assigned seats, answered "here" when called upon and in general were just fine.
It's fine, they're fine, stop looking at me.
I was learning quickly that the teachers during this time left me a lot of in class reading and writing. Which likely had more to do with the fact that I was subbing language arts than anything else. So the kids had their heads down, working on their assignments.
During third period , a fairy portly young man in the second from stage right row, second seat, seemed a bit fidgety to me. I didn't hear any voices, nobody was talking, but he kept looking over his left shoulder at a kid in the fourth row, fifth seat back. As if they were communicating telepathically. Or maybe he heard voices. As long as they were quiet, what did I care?
I sat on the edge of the desk watching the class and memorizing a monologue for my own class, when the Portly Young Man launched out of his seat with a mighty cry. I thought maybe he had been stung by a bee, which is how much logic is applied in this situation. There was no explanation otherwise.
In addition to springing to his feet, he twisted his body around to the left and vaulted from his second row seat to the fourth row, fifth seat back, grabbing that kid by the throat.
The entire class jumped to their feet and immediately took sides, splitting the room and shouting encouragement, depending on their allegiance. The portly boy seemed heavily favored.
In the few seconds I had to piece together that he was not stung by a bee, I realized he was attacking his oppressor. This kid had been bullied for years,and had chosen today to fight back.
It's fine, I'm fine.
Knowing there was a helpful phone right behind me that I could pick up and raise an administrator, I instead made the decision to intervene.
There had been very little "sub training" past filling out paperwork. The only thing they really said was "Do not touch the students." They had said that a lot when I was hired.
Adhering tightly to this sage advice while deciding if I was going to let these kids pummel each other , I hopped into the fray. All 120 pounds of menacing theatre student/sub, pencil skirt and all.
I did, after all, hold a green belt in Tae Kwon Do. I know, I know, no autographs please, I'm telling a story.
I grabbed the larger kid first, getting him in a headlock. I was being kind when I called him "portly", as he outweighed me by at least forty pounds, maybe fifty. The other kid was smaller, so I grabbed him by the ear. I'm not kidding. It was hilarious. Well, hilarity is relative to time. It's hilarious now.
I pulled them over the desks to the front of the room. I looked back at the class who were all frozen with dumbfounded looks on their faces. I nodded my head at a girl and said "Please pick up that phone and tell them to get down here."
As she called, the bullied was still trying to get to his bullier. I may have been little, but I was strong, and he couldn't get his head out of my lock.
When the girl hung up the phone, she told me what I already knew. "He's been bullying Bobby* since kindergarten."
Two male administrators in ties appeared at my door. Both stood frozen, much as the students had. I imagine it was quite a scene: tiny blonde in a pencil skirt and jacket with a disgruntled junior high boy under one arm and the other dangling at the end of my vice like ear cuff. I smiled, "These two have an issue," I rotated my shoulder so they could see Head Lock's face. "Would you please deal with it?" They nodded silently and each man took a boy with him. Neither administrator touched either boy.
I turned to my class and smiled. "It was nice to meet you. I'm fired."
As one gush of breath and pent up emotion, they all laughed and then told me stories of what they had witnessed over the years between these two boys. I listened, I let them decompress, and after about ten minutes they were ready to resume their classwork.
I returned to my perch on the desk, wondering if they would send an administrator to escort me off the premises. I had, after all, broken the only rule I was given when I agreed to this job. Do Not Touch The Students.
The two administrators never returned, but the boys did. The smaller one had an ice pack on his face---Bobby had gotten him good---but Bobby just looked tired. They both schlepped back to their desks, took out their work, and resumed.
We held that tableau until the bell rang.
The next class started, no administrators emerged.
Probably there is nobody else to teach this class, I reasoned. They'll fire me at the end of the day.
After my last class, I walked to the office to turn in my paperwork. The secretary smiled at me in the exact same way that she had in the morning. "How was your day?"
"Ummmm....you didn't hear?"
Her smile did not falter. "No....?
"Today is the day Bobby decided he's not taking it any more. He attacked his bully. During my class."
"Oh my goodness, that is terrible. Are you OK?"
I couldn't help staring at her as if she had guacamole on her face. "Yes....I'm fine. I didn't even rip my skirt."
"Well, I hope this isolated incident does not effect your impression of our school. We'd love to have you back."
I looked over her shoulder at the administrative offices. All the doors were closed.
Unsure if I was being stopped in the parking lot on the way to my car, I waved at her as I left as if I were in a fog. Surely someone was going to fire me. I'm not supposed to touch the kids.
At my car, I actually paused and looked around for police officers, or a truck with nice young men in clean white coats.
Instead I saw Bobby, head down, getting on his bus. And his bully getting into a car with his dad.
When I got home, nobody was waiting for me. There were no messages on my machine.
I kept expecting a call from the district, telling me I was fired. When I did get a call, it was a week later, when the Junior High called to ask me to sub again. I declined.
They called on a day I had school. I couldn't have done it.
Even if I had wanted to.
*Bobby is not his real name
