By Erica J. Ringelspaugh

On Monday, I stayed in the halls after lunch to watch students bang their lockers shut, chatter with their friends, and eventually mosey toward class. I made to-do lists in my head for the next period, my prep, and when the halls were empty again, I, too, moseyed down the English wing toward my classroom.

Halfway there, I passed the room of my colleague Lana. Lana’s voice on the phone woke me up that morning; she was sick and asked me to print out her e-mailed lesson plans. She also asked me to keep on eye on her English classes. I peeked in the door.

Chaos reigned. Students sat backwards on desks. They yelled across the room to their friends. A group played Hacky Sack in the back corner. At the front of the classroom, the substitute teacher stood, worn defeat etched on her face. From Lana’s stories, I knew this split block was rough. Worse yet, the students usually returned from lunch restored for even more rowdiness than before. I watched the students and the substitute teacher for a moment, and then instinct kicked in. I strode in and took over.

I left exhausted, remembering the spring semester between student teaching and a full-time position when I had substitute taught. I finally finished my walk down the hall to my classroom, and started the timer for my own freshman students to silently journal. I positioned my journal to model the activity and found myself writing:

Oh my goodness. What a not-good sub experience. I don’t know how Lana’s going to feel when she gets back. Was I really stupid to walk in and take over like that? I knew that they were never going to get anything done otherwise, and everyone was going to leave upset. I need my kids to get done what I need them to get done when I am not here. In my experiences in the past, sometimes they do and sometimes they don’t. And sometimes they freak out and act like what I saw last hour, and sometimes they don’t. I hope that they never act that way.

I never wanted an experience like that to happen in my room, to my kids, or to the substitute teacher brave enough to step inside.

When the timer buzzed for us all to finish up our thoughts, I looked at the schedule on the board, and quickly made the decision to push the curriculum aside for a day in order to address the issue circling in my mind.

“Keep your notebooks out, guys, and write for a minute on substitute teachers. What are your experiences with them? How much do you get done when a sub is here? What’s good and what’s bad?”

The kids willingly shared the good, the bad, and the ugly, admitting in eager voices that some guest teachers taught effectively, some did not, and that, as students, they often made the situation worse with their own behavior, including switching places on the seating chart, pretending not to understand the instructions, and lying to the substitute about the classroom rules. They did not usually accomplish the goals the regular teacher had left for them.

“Okay, guys,” I said, “here’s the deal. My priority, as always, is that you master the skills and learn the content that I want you to learn. So, even when I’m not here, I’m not going to leave you busywork to do. I’m going to leave stuff that will further those skills and build on what we’ve learned. And when I come back, I’m going to expect you to have done your best so that we can continue to work on those skills. In addition, how do you think I expect you to behave when I’m gone?”

“Really good,” Kyla said.

“Yeah, really, really good,” raising my eyebrows in emphasis. “Now, I’m going to need a volunteer.” I looked out at a sea of waving hands. “Gary, come up here.” Gary sidled out of his desk to stand beside me. “Meet Mr. Johnson,” I introduced Gary. “Mr. Johnson is the most ineffective substitute teacher you’ve ever had. How are you going to make sure you get your work done while he’s in charge of the class?” I outlined a simple lesson plan for Mr. Johnson, and went to sit at the back of the classroom.

While the students role-played, I made more mental lists. I leaned to the student on my right, “Christina, pretend you’re really hyper today,” I murmured under my breath. I leaned to the student on the left, “Sam, pretend you don’t understand the instructions.” Christina started chattering and Sam’s arm shot into the air. I raised my voice to address the class as a whole. “How are you going to ensure everyone’s working effectively?” Other students shushed Christina and offered to explain the directions to Sam.

When ‘Mr. Johnson’ completed the lesson plan, I returned to the front of the room, uncapped a marker, and asked, “What strategies did you use to make sure everyone got their work done and you all behaved well?” My students listed them off in rapid succession: Asked for help when needed and helped each other understand, told our partners to behave and kicked out the misbehaving kids, set the timer for journal and reverted to regular classroom procedures, read the directions Ms. Ringelspaugh left, and, ultimately, worked as a team.

After the students had exhausted themselves of ideas, I asked for another volunteer. ‘Ms. Russell’ came to power as the next confused substitute in our classroom. This time, I challenged the kids even more. “What if Ms. Russell doesn’t know how to work the timer? What if she can’t find the video? What if she says something mean to you? What if she doesn’t understand the directions and therefore can’t explain them to you? What if she’s really nice, but tells you unrelated stories all hour and you don’t have a chance to do the work you’re supposed to do?” The freshmen successfully modified their behavior to respond to every scenario I pitched, viewing this activity as some elaborate but really fun game. When Ms. Russell’s rule ended, we added to the strategies list, and I pointed out to them that they know more about our classroom than the guest teacher does: The guest teacher doesn’t know what an Exit Buddy is, or that the filing cabinet’s name is Debbie, or that I insist they turn all assignments into the inbox. They are the experts when the sub is here.

On Tuesday, I left my prep hour early, and hid out to correct papers in my the room of my colleague Manny. After the bell rang, I coached him. “I’ve suddenly come down with a horrible case of the mumps,” I said, “and the principal has asked you to fill in.”

Manny nodded and took off down the hall.

From what the kids tell me, Manny bumbled into the room with a pillow under his arm, mumbled exactly, “I don’t know what you guys are supposed to do,” and then laid his head down on my desk, leaving the students to read the directions on the board and conduct class themselves. When I slipped into the room 10 minutes later, the students had quietly journaled, found the worksheet, passed it out, found the movie and put it in, had all turned their desks to face the TV and were now calmly watching.

“I knew it,” they chorused when I appeared. “I knew it was a trick. You should have waited a week or something if you wanted to fool us. We’re smarter than that.”

Yes, they are. But my point wasn’t to fool them. I wanted to test their skills. They passed with flying colors. Now, when I’m actually absent, I know what kind of students they’ll be, I know that neither the students nor the guest teacher will leave upset, and I know that learning will happen.

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Posted January 12, 2007