I had the idea that subbing was going to be easier for me now, with all of that experience under my belt. Over the years, I've perfected the Eyes in The Back of My Head, the Backwards Hall Walking, and the Glare of Extreme Disapproval. I can tell in an instant if a small person is attempting to lie to me. I liked to think that I could inspire wonder and curiosity and motivate learners to challenge themselves. So it was a rude shock to learn that even though all of that stuff is pretty great, in the world of substitute teaching, it means ZIPPO.
Suddenly, I was a total beginner at everything. I didn't know my way around the buildings. Didn't even know how to find the building or where to park. Most people I came across did not know me. I didn't know a single kid's name. Couldn't find a band-aid or a paper clip. The list of things I didn't know was endless.
Not only that, but the kids themselves did not know me and did not particularly care that I considered myself very knowledgeable in the classroom! I found I could no longer command attention merely by standing silently at the front of the room and waiting for quiet. I could glare as much as I wanted at an unwanted behavior, and the student in question would take no notice whatsoever of my facial expression.
It was a pretty uncomfortable feeling for me at first. So I did what teachers do: obsess about it every waking minute and even some of the non-waking minutes to try to figure it out.
I realized that I had not been this far out of my comfort zone in my work life for a very long time. If I was going to survive as a "sub" I was going to have to leave my know-it-all ego at the door and learn to be comfortable with being a kind of clueless doofus for awhile, learning from kids (teachers) half or just over a third of my age about new teaching strategies and technological innovations.
The effect was immediate and startling. I began to feel inexplicably more alive, alert, and even younger in a way. I made mistakes and screwed up (just like a young person! I told myself), but I tried to learn from every single one of them. There were chances to see awesome teachers at work (a chance I seldom had when I was in the classroom) and analyze what made them so great. I had days that would make you cringe just hearing about them, but I also had moments that thrilled me and filled me with joy. I learned not to feel foolish when I had no clue what to do, or when things went haywire for no apparent reason. And, most important, I learned that if I want these kids to care about what I think, I have about 30 seconds to let them know I care about them!
These days, three years and many crazy and wonderful incidents later, I can truly say that I love what I do. There are still times when I don't have a clue, but I now know that nobody pays attention to that--because none of us have all of the answers.
Well, except maybe the administrators.
