From Deseret News archives:
Teaching fringes on chaos
A child's focus hard to keep if educating isn't the top priority
As soon as I shouted those words to a Spanish-speaking volunteer working with me in a "dual language" fifth-grade classroom, I realized my worst fears had been confirmed.
No, my Spanish wasn't as rusty as I thought. I'd conversed easily with non-English-speaking students while subbing that day and used Spanish as an icebreaker with second-graders at another school.
But I wasn't the confident, no-nonsense substitute I thought I would be. And I wasn't the next best thing — the over-friendly substitute who elicits cheers from students happily awakened from their monotonous educational comas.
Instead, I just struggled through each substitute assignment, trying to control the volume level, which seemed to increase as each day wore on.
"Shhh!"
"Mouths need to be closed!"
"Silencio, por favor!"
I sounded like a broken record. I felt like a dictator.
At each job, I thankfully received detailed lesson plans. And a small training course mandatory for aspiring subs in the Alpine School District gave me some basics on being a teacher — "praise in public, reprove in private" was one extremely helpful guideline that I had to repeat under my breath when a few students pushed my buttons in front of others.
But what about discipline? I saw some vague references in each classroom to strikes and check marks, but I didn't know how to enforce any of it. And I needed some leverage to get talkative students to settle down and work quietly.
At one, I threatened to keep them after school — something the second-graders didn't know was possible. A look of fear struck their eyes until one — from whom I'd already confiscated four pairs of scissors — said, "You can't, our moms aren't going to wait for us."
I didn't know if he was right, but I decided to threaten their upcoming recess instead. Little did I know the rain would keep them inside with me. Who knew second-graders can eat lunch in only two minutes?
For a unusually rambunctious group of sixth-graders, who seemed to think headlocks were appropriate school behavior and repeatedly asked me, "Is your husband hot?" or, "Is he rich?" I threatened to place their names on "the list." I had no idea where this list even was, but they seemed to respond and made their own assumptions that their Halloween party would be in jeopardy if their name landed on it.
Within an hour of teaching each day my voice started to fade and blisters began to line my feet. My back ached from leaning over student desks to help them with coordinate planes and nouns and crafts.
But I did develop a degree of confidence. And by the end of each day I knew each student by name and sincerely wanted to see them succeed.
