Day One:
I got the call at 5:10 on a Monday morning. My first substitute teaching assignment: drive halfway around Monterey bay. Turn east toward the artichoke fields. Report to the school at the edge of the eucalyptus grove.
Mr. Johnson has broken his leg in a ski accident on the weekend. No plans. They need someone to cover his class for children with learning disabilities. I have no idea what to expect, so I wear sensible shoes and arrive early.
The walls in the classroom were an uncomfortable green. Fog came in through cracks in the window, making dew on the linoleum. The scent of Pine Sol and broken crayons made me think of games to play outdoors.
The school secretary met me at the curb. Eighteen children disembarked from a short yellow bus.
She called out the names, then leaned in with the labels: three ‘Hyperactive,’ four ‘Trainable Mentally Retarded,’ three ‘Dyslexic,’ one ‘Hydrocephalic,’ two ‘Severely Emotionally Disturbed,’ one ‘Autistic,’ and four ‘English Language Learners.’
Eighteen children disembarked from a short yellow bus.
They lumbered toward the classroom through a temporary chute of orange traffic cones and yellow rope. After a fruitless round of charades in the stuffy room, I grabbed a basketball and pointed to the door.
“Let’s go outside and learn a new game. But first, Follow the Leader!”
We were a colorful parade, each of us marching to a custom drummer according to culture, language origin and ability, and attention span. When we got to the free-throw line, I turned around to see the last of them vanish into the forest. The pounding of kettledrums in my head blocked the impulse to scream and chase the children. Blood rushed to my legs. I heard giggling in the bushes.
So you already know some games? I started shooting baskets and supplied my own commentary.
When we got to the free-throw line, I turned around to see the last of them vanish into the forest.
“She dribbles, she shoots, she misses. She runs in for a lay-up. She tries a hook shot. She’s getting tired. She needs some help out here!”
The three boys with reading problems were the first to join me. I bounce-passed to one, then made him dribble around me to get to the hoop.
“He hits the rim! Who’s got the rebound?”
The autistic girl attached herself to the pole like a barnacle, one leg curled around behind her, one eye closed, swaying from side to side, arms like feathers, subtly treading water.
The bright-eyed children of the artichoke pickers waited politely behind the painted line until I invited them in.
“Bienvenidos! Que cantidad de jente en la calle!” I panted on the gallup.
The only Spanish I could think of translated loosely as, “Welcome! What a crowd of people in the street!” I kept counting children, tres, quatro, cinco….ocho….todo el mundo….
“Let’s hear it from the cheerleaders!”
“Please hold that pole up for us!”
Gradually, they all came back and we played our hearts out. Eventually, we flocked to the cafeteria.
“I was the best!”
“My shoe was untied. It wasn’t fair.”
“I hold the pole.”
“Move faster! I’m hungry, you retard!”
A tall girl whispered to me, “some of these people don’t have no brains.”
Calling names is quick and dirty, like a sneeze, I thought. But labeling is like a chronic disease. It locks us into categories that stick forever.
I found the Staff lunchroom and joined three teachers who appeared to be deaf, dumb, and blind.
They don’t like me. I don’t belong, I’m not a real teacher.
Then I cracked and whine-blurted, “It’s my first day and I lost them! I took them outside and they scattered! They disappeared! Thank God they all came back! What was I supposed to do?”
“Oh, Mr. Johnson uses his jump rope to take them out,” clucked the first hag.
“Excuse me?”
“He makes them hold on to a rope,” her colleague added, then ducked behind a newspaper.
The third crone blotted her lipstick and ended the conversation: “That’s the only way he lets them leave the room.” She rolled her eyes. “Didn’t he tell you?”
At home that night I broke down in the shower and called Mr. Johnson every name in the book.
Then I vowed to get there even earlier the next morning, so I could find that rope.
What a day! I admire your flexibility and resourcefulness - I'd have crawled home the first hour!
A delightful story . Thank you for recommending mine 😃