The perils of subbing or how I navigated the halls of learning as a temp worker

The call came at 6:30. "It's art class today. Are you available?"

Not quite awake, I mumbled, sure, or something like that.

As I slowly came out of what had been some fitful slumbers, I did some quick calculations as soon as my mind caught up. Art -- let's see, I had that back in seventh grade, what, 40 plus years ago?

I seem to recall I progressed to stick figures fairly quick but didn't get much past a half moon for a smile on a circular head with a shock of straight lines for hair.

I stumbled into the kitchen, fixed a bowl of cold cereal and washed it down with water, all the while trying to recall the basics that I had read in the school district handbook regarding the rules and guidelines for substitute teachers.

OK, now that I've eaten, read through the handbook again, tried to familiarize myself with the bell times (I might have to do a count down after all), it's time to physically get ready.

The wardrobe was important -- something professional but not too casual. I needed to look like a teacher, walk like a teacher, and talk like a teacher. Again, the no fear component.

Getting ready, I remembered, no worries, no fear, from "Kindergarten Cop."

Wait a minute, that was advice for dealing with small children (which I was to face just a week later).

This was high school.

But I was covered.

If there was trouble with a student who wouldn't mind, all I had to do was call down to the assistant principal's office. She would take care of it.

She had been extremely supportive and understanding from that first day on the job, letting me know she had my back and that I didn't have to put up with any behavior issues.

I took some consolation from that as I made the short drive to the school.

The plan was to get there early, go over the notes left by the regular teacher, review the seating chart and look for any familiar names.

Since I have three children in the high school, I figured there was safety in familiarity.

That was both right and wrong. Some students who knew me as "Amy's dad" or "Kyle's dad" or "Trey's dad," were respectful, if nothing else, in order to retain the friendship of my kids.

However, others figured, "I know him so I can get away with ...."

Thankfully, this didn't escalate past the "Chatty Kathy" syndrome, named for a children's doll that was marketed back in the day.

The first period came and went surprisingly quickly. The teacher had left specific things to do, papers to hand out and fill in, and projects to continue work on, with a deadline firmly in place.

Thank goodness for the well-prepared teacher.

The next two periods also passed without event.

I did get asked for help with drawing a portrait so I gave it my best, stick figure head illustration and advice.

I'm sure that was helpful.

At the least the student didn't burst out laughing hysterically. He only shook his head.

But then there was the split period and lunchtime.

I had already been warned that sometimes, the students get a little more exuberant just prior to heading to the cafeteria.

Forewarned was forearmed so in my best, "Let's stay on task and not bother the other students," this time went by too.

I had my own "teacher break," but it was a scant 25 minutes or so it seemed. Still, it was time to ask a couple of questions of other teachers, take a trip to the bathroom, and reconnoiter the halls to ensure students were in their classrooms and not tardy during the change in periods.

Actually, this part was something that came with the territory.

I found this to work well, if I kept a straight face with my sternest look, only giving a nod and a greeting to those students who made eye contact in the hallway.

Tests took up the next two periods and because this took the better part of each hour, all I had to do was continue to look around the room and ensure everyone was paying attention to their paper alone (which was the case) and if they finished early, to read or do something that didn't involve a cell phone.

My first day I issued a reminder to each class that, even though I was subbing, I did know the school policy and they weren't going to disregard that and take advantage of me.

This worked well in each of the periods but the last, where one young lady just wasn't going to give in without a stern amount of warning, looks and finally a visit to her desk. She grudgingly put it away, but not before a "I don't understand why I have to."

I did not rise to the challenge, given that she did, after all, comply.

Hey, the other assistant principal told me, if that's the worst thing that happened to you on your first day, you've passed.

Thankfully, I headed to the first assistant principal's office at the other end of the hall and turned in my binder (having left my notes from the day's classes on the desk for the regular teacher).

Admittedly, each time I filled in as a substitute, it became easier and I grew more confident and comfortable, at least up to a point.

The knots in my stomach would resurface when I didn't fill in during several weeks in a row around spring break.

But again, that mostly disappeared when I returned with some regularity to the travails of substitute teacher.

I was ready for the next call, at least I thought so.

That came the next day.

"You're filling in for French today."

Well it's not stick figures I thought.

At least I had French back in college as well as high school. So this was a subject that was a little fresher. I felt confident to graduate from stick figures to conversations. After all, I can still count to 10 in French as well as ask, "Do you speak French," in the appropriate language -- or was that in Spanish?