Beech Tree News Network

I remember the moment when I came to the realization that I could never be a substitute school teacher.  The reason for my even considering the job as something I might do in the first place came from the prodding of my husband, Garey, who thought it would be a good career path for me.  I realized I could never handle the job when I came back to the middle school one morning to drop off some homework one of my daughters had left on the kitchen table.
    As I waited outside the office, a small boy—probably a sixth-grader—came clomping down the hall in enormous cowboy boots, obviously belonging to an older family member.  His clothing was stained and a bit too small for him, and it looked as if there had been no one to make sure his hair was combed or his face washed before he left for school that morning.  It was heart-breaking.  After I returned to my car, I cried for that little boy and the bleak future that awaited him.  Poverty produces shame in a person that is hard to overcome.  It stays with you like naturally curly hair and blue eyes.
    Thank God, for all the teachers, both tenured and substitute, who watch scenarios like that little boy’s on a daily basis, yet they continue to stay and make a difference.  His life, as well as others like his, is made better by the compassion and instruction of those teachers.  If he ever had a chance, it would have been a chance given by a teacher, but I knew I could never be that teacher, because on some level, I was still that little boy and always would be.
    The other reason I could never be a substitute teacher became crystal clear to me as I watched my nephews grow up.  They were always doing or saying things that annoyed or angered other adults around them, but the same things made me laugh.  One of my favorite incidents involved my nephew, Jason, and his friends on a field trip.  Jason and his friend, Roy, wore tee shirts that read I’M WITH HIM on an outing the class took to Six Flags.  They took along a piece of copy paper and a marker with which they produced a stick figure drawing. They took the drawing up to several adults in the park and identified the figure as their lost friend, Josh.
    “Our friend, Josh, got separated from our group,” they would tell some unsuspecting adult.  “We were wondering if you might have seen him,” they continued, “He looks like this.”  At this point in the scenario, they would present the picture of the stick figure.   Most adults would walk away in annoyance, but if an adult smiled, they would continue their song and dance.  “Josh is wearing a tee shirt that says I’M WITH THEM, and he’s going to feel really stupid walking around with no THEM to be with.  Also, you won’t be able to see him if he stands like this.”  At this juncture in the conversation, the boys would turn the flat piece of paper sideways.  I thought it was hilarious!
    The powers-that-be might cut me some slack if I laughed at kids on a field trip, but they might not be so forgiving if I laughed at their antics in the class room.  When Jason was in high school, their school required all juniors to take a class on substance abuse and its consequences.  There was a test at the end.  One of the questions involved a scenario in which you are with your friend who is driving you home from a party.  He is driving erratically.  He swerves a few times then stops at a green light.  Do you say anything to him?   Jason answered, “Yes, I’d tell him to go before the light turns red.”  Most teachers would probably send a note home, saying something like, “Mr. Finley doesn’t seem to be taking this class seriously.”  I would have drawn a smiley face by the answer.
    I realize it doesn’t say much for me that I can be so easily entertained by the humor of high school kids, but it remains true to this day.  Garey is just going to have to select another career path for me.  There’s always backhoe operator—that doesn’t make me laugh.