Subbing Can Be a Daily Adventure

By Cindy Reitzi,
Madison substitute teacher
March 2001

Some days substitute teaching is like the adage, "You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make it drink." Since this is essentially how many people remember the way they treated subs, they wonder how I can do this job. I usually quip, "it's not just a job, it's an adventure," and mention that there's a great deal of variety, every day is different, and that I'm not usually bored.

There is also my own unique interpretation of a fun challenge: pitting teaching skills, personal wit, intuition, and creative problem-solving against "circumstances." Circumstances are: I usually have no direct personal or pedagogical relationship with students (unless I have subbed extensively at that school) and I have no grading clout. So, I get to rely on my charm, good looks, and backup from the classroom teacher later on.

There's both limitation and freedom to what you can accomplish in this temporary state on a given day or hour. I approach my job as though learning will take place on that day. Students don't necessarily agree and we gather at the "indeterminate zone of practice," a pedagogical watering hole, where we wrangle with whether the "horses" will drink or not.

When the horses do not drink, fun challenges like power struggles and quiet noncompliance ensue. That's when I reach in the saddlebag for the tricks of my trade: radar (to gauge the mood of the room), a sense of humor, and flexible problem-solving skills.

Holding my metaphorical finger to the wind, I can usually get a read on the mood of the class within about two to five minutes by watching how students walk into a classroom. The future troublesome students usually enter a room as though they are some version of a lead in an MGM musical and feel that they "gotta sing" or "gotta dance." This identifies the restless ones with pinpoint accuracy.

With other restless students, dry humor works best. Usually this conveys that you think that they're intelligent young people, but that they need to follow directions. In one English class, I gave the assignment and a group of boys continued to talk sports.

"Gentlemen, get to work," I prodded.

"We were just 'discussing' the assignment," one ventured lamely.

"I'm sorry, you were sounding far too enthusiastic for me to believe that. Nice try," I rejoined in a jovial manner. They laughed. I laughed. They got to work.

Sometimes when my resources sputter, I have to get "creative." A creative response usually entails violating expectations: do the opposite of what you're supposed to do or reframe the situation. Technically, I'm supposed to "make" the horses drink from the watering hole of knowledge, but sometimes they're not thirsty.

On another assignment in an English class, the students were supposed to write an essay on the book, "A Separate Peace." I expected a quiet class of writers ... if they chose to do the assignment, that is. Most of the students hunkered down to their essays while I circulated around the room once or twice asking if they needed help with ideas or writing. Most declined help.

Two girls in the front row were the "restless" ones. They were talking and not settling down to the task.

"Do you need help on your essays?" I volunteered.

"No, thank you," one demurred.

"We have to talk about our essays to think about them," the other responded sweetly.

"You can think on paper," I volleyed back. They ignored me and kept talking.

"Get to work, girls," I warned, several times. I got stonewalled. Finally, they moved to the back of the room so they could chat more freely.

Clearly, these horses weren't even approaching the waters' edge. At this point, instead of throwing down the gauntlet in a power struggle, I decided to be philosophical and get "creative." I wrote a note to the teacher, outlining our "conflict," explaining my reasoning, and then recording all the topics of conversation between the girls.

In sifting through the intricacies of "A Separate Peace," their discussion topics included: hair, stretch pants, TV shows, who's currently dating whom, whom Josh is dating and his interest in the blonde girl, whom the guys next to them are going out with, mono and how you get it, the downstairs lesbian neighbors, kitchen utensils, preppies, what cars they'd buy if they had a million dollars (Porsches, Mercedes), boys and fashion, critiquing the clothes of the boys across from them, the fact that boys don't go shopping together, what Tim wears, the scar on a girl's finger, how plastic surgery works, and a 5th-grade story about a fat man.

I hinted to the teacher that I wasn't sure what all this had to do with "A Separate Peace" and maybe she would want to ask them.

The teacher did, in fact, read the note to the students. The next time I went back to that school, I walked past one of the girls in the hall. She looked at me with alarm, like I was insane and that she was afraid of me.

"Ah, she read them my note," I thought and smiled.

. . .

At the end of a given day, I send the students back to their classroom teachers. Hopefully, they've drunk a little water during my stay. Then I ride off into the sunset ...