School Subs
by Susan Kay Anderson
Substitute teachers are like highly
skilled assassins: stealthy, creative, and experienced-with a ruthless
instinct for self-preservation. They already know what they need to
survive and thrive in the institutions of learning they've flocked to.
If you, gallant sub, have made it through the required training course;
can navigate through the TSEAS automated telephone system without a
mental breakdown upon hearing the commanding recorded voice announcing,
"This is the Department of Education teacher employee automated
system calling for __________;" and you know how to leave a detailed
(but not too detailed) sub report at the end of the day; then you are
on your way to a successful, busy and highly lucrative (smirk) year
ahead.
You, stealthy sub, are one of the under-appreciated over-achievers.
As the school year begins, keep this in mind:
You are loved, but not too well-loved. Don't let me get started on the
broken promises, changes of plans, and often blank lesson plans that
the regular teachers have (not) left you.
The regular teacher wants you to look good, but not too good. There
is that slim chance that the administration will want you in the position
of least resistance (under contract). If every sub performed as well
as you do, and put up with as much as you, then schools would be full
of subs instead of contracted teachers. (Hope the DOE does not catch
on to this-they would be squirreling away untold money that didn't get
spent hiring regular employees. In the long run, what would happen?)
In the meantime, know that you are not exactly hated by regular teachers,
but not exactly beloved either.
The administration loves you-they really, really, do. Don't get discouraged;
in the dog-eat-dog world of public education, being a hot dog is not
so bad. You possess a unique set of skills. You are by turns alluring,
gracious, forgiving, and masochistic as you facilitate the growth of
young minds. Then you're outta there by 3 o'clock!
So you settle in that evening with your novel, your new Hawai'i Island
Journal or the latest Netflix delivery, only to consider again your
choice of vocations, (dare we say your mission?): to untether what lies
inside those young minds, setting them free, free, up up and away to
the land of learning which is really your classroom for the day, the
hour, the moment of now that you just need to get through.
You'll make it, courageous sub-you'll get that adrenalin crash known
to teachers as 6:30 p.m.
Until the phone rings, interrupting a particular reverie that looks
suspiciously like being brain dead on the couch. It is your best friend
calling.
"Welcome to the Department of Education teacher employee automated
system." And then, you just can't say no (to drugs). n
Susan Anderson was a substitute teacher for six years in Hawai'i before
joining the full-time faculty at a local public school.
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