Track and Field Day

Today, I picked up my supply plans for the day and written in pink highlighter across the top of the page were the words, “Track and Field Day!” Now, at certain schools and in certain weather conditions this would spell out a disaster day, but at this particular school and in this particular weather (20 degrees and sunny!) I was over the moon.

Track and Field Day tends to receive mixed reviews depending upon which of the following categories you fall into:

1. The Athletes: You are thrilled. You are walking home with multiple ribbons today, a ticket to the city finals, and a bucket full of pride. The only thing you are concerned about is whether your race is at a time of day when everyone will be able to watch you win.
2. The “Mehs”: (this was me as a student) This is a good day! You've set your sights low so you won't be disappointed, but you will likely do respectably enough in at least one event to boost your self-esteem. If it is a flukey day, you may even end up heading to the finals wondering how in the world you pulled it off.
3. The Non-Athletes: You are probably feeling one of two ways about this day:
   i) Vacation time! No one expects anything from you, so you are free to relax the day away.
   ii) This is the WORST. DAY. EVER.

These categories are what had me in tears at today's track and field meet. Literally. Let me explain...

Imagine the 800-meter race. 2 laps around the track seems so little now! But when you are 10 years old, and you are (adorably!) chubby, and the sun is hot, and you are a lap behind the rest of your heat, 800-meters is a never-ending death march.

Now imagine you are coming up to your last 100-meter dash. You are sweaty, panting, and the other guys have long since finished. But what's that you hear as you turn the final corner??? A roar from the crowd!! They are lining the track and cheering you on, and you feel like you might be able to pick up the pace just a little. And when you pick up the pace just a little, the chanting begins, “Bro-dy! Bro-dy! Bro-dy!” Suddenly, there are little kids and big kids running along the track, keeping pace with you while they clap their hands and shout your name. The Athletes, The “Mehs”, and The Non-Athletes have all banded together to carry you the final stretch of the way on the power of their optimism, and you feel like you have conquered the world when you finally cross that finish line.

And, on the side of the track, Mrs. A is discreetly balling her eyes out behind her sunglasses. 

SpongeBob to the Rescue

Ohhhhhhhh baby! Did I ever have a teaching day for the books last week. My closest friends and family members have already heard a few of the antics of my Grade 1/2 class on that fateful day, but let me share the full extent of the shenanigans with all interested parties.

Let me start by saying that I was not prepared for what I walked into. I knew the reputation of the school but I thought, “Hey, it's Grade 1/2, that's my niche, I'll be fine!” Not to toot my own horn, but I am a born primary teacher. My primary voice is calm, cool, and collected, and occupies a range of pitch so high I am certain that only dogs and 6-year-olds can hear and respond to it. I'm natural built low to the ground, so crouching for multiple face-to-face chats throughout the day is a piece of cake, and I have an instinctual draw to pink and pretty sundresses that quickly win the hearts of most students between the ages of 4 and 8.

This is the very confidence that blinded me to the following warning signs (which are now OH SO CLEAR):

1. The classroom was in utter disarray. Scattered papers, garbage-strewn floors, and a strong kindergarten-vibe assaulted my senses upon arrival. (*kindergarten-vibe : too many colours, disastrous sink area, no teacher's desk, general chaos, etc).
2. There were no names listed of students requiring my particular attention. Now, I can see how at first this would seem like a positive sign. No behavioural or academic special needs means an easier day, right? The simple answer is yes, but at a school like this, the chances of there being no students in need of extra support is miniscule. Therefore, it can only mean one thing: There are too many students to list.
3. The plans left seemed like far too little work to fill the amount of time allotted. Some possible explanations for this:
   i) The class takes an exceedingly long time to accomplish tasks in comparison to other students their age. (YUP!)
   ii) The teacher doubts her class' ability to work under the authority of a supply teacher. (correctly assumed)
   iii) The teacher had no time to create a more thorough lesson. (maybe?)

17 kids. 17 kids was all it took.

Getting students to congregate at the carpet was like herding cats. Actually, I have cats, and I really think it was more difficult than that. After (literally) 15 minutes of getting the students into a lopsided circle, we began our day by going around the circle and sharing our names and our favourite animals. Not shocking: many students told me their wrong names. Shocking: the other students did NOT correct them!! This was not good. I was now flying solo for the rest of the day, with not a single teacher's pet to help navigate the dangerous skies ahead.

How to remedy the situation? “I know!” thought the optimistic Mrs. A, “I will offer a reward to the class for good behaviour.” I proceeded to draw my “happy face” and “sad face” lists on the board, a method I commonly use in supplying. The idea is simple: good behaviour gets you on the happy face list with a positive note written in your agenda and to your teacher at the end of the day, while bad behaviour gets your name on the sad face list with an explanation note to your teacher as to why you got your name on the board. You cannot get your name removed from the happy face list (a good deed is a good deed!), but you can get your name removed from the sad face list by changing your behaviour. If there are no names on the sad face list at the end of the day, the whole class gets rewarded with free time.

This is a tried and true method. My favourite part is that I don't usually have to say anything else about it for the rest of the day. If a student is distracting their classmates, I simply stop what I'm doing and silently write their name under the sad face. In 9/10 classes, the negative behaviour stops immediately as every head turns in the offender's direction with eyes pleading to get the class back their reward. However, this was not one of those classes.

Not only did I hear the dreaded “I don't care” multiple times throughout the day, but students would take it upon themselves to add and erase names from the board at will when my back was turned. This may seem like an obvious move to an adult, but 6 and 7 year olds are not usually so bold, and tend to have a general respect for authority figures and a desire to please. These students also differed from the majority of kids their age by exhibiting a streak of cruelty and hard-heartedness towards their classmates. One of the few students in the class who obediently followed instructions was a Grade 1 boy with a distinct stutter. At one point, I found him encircled in the hallway by a group of his peers mimicking his stutter, crying so hysterically that it took me over 5 minutes to get him to breathe properly. When I reprimanded the bullies and tried to explain how hurtful their actions were, their responses were, “We don't care. We hate him.”

Later in the day, I caught three girls stealing treats from their teacher's desk. When confronted, they blatantly lied and shoved their hands in their pockets to conceal their loot (kids really do think we are stupid). As much as I hated to do it, I knew I was going to need to take them down to the office. Silliness is excusable, but stealing and lying require action. I thought I may have to deal with some tears after telling the girls I would be taking them to the office, but was startled by the eye-rolls and sarcastic, “So what?” I received instead. They skipped the entire way to the office singing, “We're going down to the office, and we don't care!!”

After depositing my prisoners with the warden, I returned to the lunchroom to find a student tossing food around the classroom. I politely asked him to stop and sit down, to which he responded with a whipped tomato at the face of the student next to him. Once again, I pointed towards the office and received the encouraging words, “I don't f*#*ing care! I hate this class and I hate you!” Now doesn't that just warm your heart?

As I suspected, the math activity scheduled for the entire hour and a half math block took a grand total of 20 minutes to complete. Thus, I bumped everything ahead of schedule one period and decided to end the day watching the educational film, SpongeBob SquarePants. I swear, I owe my present sanity to SpongeBob and Patrick the starfish. Those kids became zombies before the big screen, and I breathed for the first time that day. However, the peace was not lasting. A half hour into the film, I heard a loud cry from the first row as a little girl discovered that a classmate had embedded silly putty in her hair. I spent the remainder of the movie removing the putty, and french-braiding the girl's hair to disguise the putty-bits that refused to leave their new nest.

The saving grace of the day was a thank-you note from that little girl for taking the “pubby” out of her hair. It was enough to make me smile, but not nearly as big as I smiled when I removed my name from that school's OT calling list later that night. Supply teaching for the win!

The Staff Room

The Staff Room. The very words hold a magical ring. As a child, I can remember approaching The Staff Room door with the same tingling sense of excitement that one would have approaching the wardrobe to Narnia. Something about seeing teachers eating and talking with other adults made it seem like I had entered another dimension. (*Side note: If you have ever encountered a teacher outside of school, you will have experienced a similar feeling).

Not surprisingly, much of the magic of The Staff Room wears off upon reaching teacher-hood. The walls are made of the same 1980s pastel-painted bricks as the rest of the building. The fridge produces a dull hum that can quickly lull you into a semi-comatose state. The staff? Normal human beings. (WHAT!?)

However, there are a few things that go on behind the scenes that may surprise you:

1. There are almost always treats. There are a lot of staff at an elementary school, and that means a lot of birthdays. And what do birthdays mean? CAKE. COOKIES. FUDGE. And sometimes, if you are really lucky, they are even home-made.
2. In an attempt to make up for all the birthday sugar intake, on an ordinary day teachers are the healthiest group of eaters I have ever met. I mean, I usually feel pretty good pulling out my chicken quinoa leftovers, but only until I see the teacher next to me pull out a salad with no dressing. No dressing!? Are you crazy?!
3. Most staff rooms have at least one inspirational quote on the walls that are cringe-worthily cheesy. However, one staff room I have been in had a “Wall of Awesome” where teachers could post any awesome thing that happens in their life. (I.E. When your students get back from vacation and tell you they missed you. AWESOME). Now that is downright adorable.
4. Teachers refer to their students as “my kids” with no differentiation from talking about their biological children. They also talk about them with the same loving eye-rolls, frustrated sighs, and proud boasts which they would use to talk about their “real” kids.
5. There are cliques. Seriously. There are the newbies fresh to the scene, the lifers waiting on retirement, the go-getters who can't stop talking about lesson plans for more than 5 minutes. Sometimes it's like entering a high school cafeteria, particularly when the staff room is divided into 5 different tables to choose from. As a supply teacher, this is my cue to turn around, walk back to class, and eat lunch with the 7-year olds. One day is not enough time to break into an exclusive clique.

It was a sad day when the magic of The Staff Room was shattered for me, but I know from the look of amazement on the face of any student lucky enough to need to knock on the door for an ice pack or plastic spoon that the magic lives on.