I thought it would be fulfilling, a job I could handle, a way I could make a difference. It could have been all those things, but instead it was an eye-opening and frightening experience that sent me fleeing the classroom.
As a graduate student I thought that a good way to make money and get involved in my community would be to become a substitute teacher. Shortly after I filled out the necessary paperwork, I was contacted about taking a substitute teaching job at a reputable Boston Public High School.
It was scary standing before a classroom of Spanish students with only a background in French and trying to convince them that their regular teacher was indeed expecting their completed work upon her return. In fact, no lesson was left behind and I had made up the whole thing. Hey, what was I to do? Eventually, the excitement of having a substitute teacher wore off, the class settled down, got to work and the rest of that day and that week went by in a seemingly smooth fashion. I felt I could handle substitute teaching. That was, until my next assignment at a middle school.
Striding into the classroom with a new self-confidence, I took my place at the front of the room of a rowdy group of 13 year-olds. I was poised to introduce myself when an administrator came into the classroom.
"Ms. Ebeid, just so you know if anything gets out of hand you can hit this red security button on the wall and someone will come to help you."
Me: "gulp"
Administrator: "Don’t worry it will be fine. We hardly ever use the emergency button."
That’s it. That was all the clarification I received. Was the button for my protection? The students’ protection? What kind of something should I be watching out for?
I turned back to the class, a room full of teens with bemused expressions on their faces. One student offered "I would save that button for the fifth period class if I were you!". Laughter broke out among everyone in the room. This, I felt, was going to be a long day.
As the day went on, every class leading up to the dreaded fifth period was quick to warn me. "Have you heard about them?", "They’re gonna get you." "You better watch out, they’ll beat you up." "Have you ever been a fight before?"
I spent the day trying to teach and calm myself down. After all, what kind of threat could a room of 13 to 14 year-olds pose?
The bell rings and it’s time for fifth period. Students start sauntering into the class, arriving late, casting long squinting stink-eyes my way. It was clear that they had used the whole day to prepare for substitute teacher behavior.
The lesson I was to teach was supposed to be about Belgium, but not only did no one seem interested, no one would even look at me. A couple of young girls got up and drifted to a corner of the room to take turns braiding each others’ hair. Three boys pulled enormous black magic markers out of their bags and started to scribble graffiti on the class walls. Two students just got up and left.
I was unprepared. I had absolutely no training to handle this situation. My protests to their behavior only drew angry responses like "Who do you think you are?", "We don’t have to do what you say", "We could all beat you up right now if we wanted to."
Suddenly, 13 year-olds were much more frightening than I had ever imagined.
Giving in, I finally asked "Is there anyone who is interested in learning about Belgium?" Three timid students raised their hands. Their classmates heckled and taunted them.
Taking the three students aside I began teaching the lesson in the corner of a room, amidst a cacophony of adolescent chatter. I had lost, they had won. But my only choice, I decided was to find a way to teach the students who actually wanted to learn.
Eventually, the same administrator who presented me with the "emergency" button stormed into the classroom and demanded all the students put their heads down. That was the way they remained for the rest of the period, including the three students who wanted to learn about Belgium.
So there we were: a failed substitute middle school teacher, a police-like administrator, a class full of students and the European Union headquarters missing in action.
Thank you for this story.
Please don’t be discouraged. I feel bad for those 3 students who were interested in learning. I hope someone will take an interest in them before they get frustrated and lose motivation. Likewise, I hope somewhere in this experience you can find inspiration before more good people quit and are lost.
The troublemakers — they’ll never get anywhere in life, and will suffer deservedly.