Not a good day!

Nobody did anything wrong to me. I didn’t do anything wrong to anyone else. Most bad days of subbing have to do with someone having done something wrong.

Disrespect, fighting, threats, lack of lesson plans, not allowing me to teach----those are the usual things that students, teachers, and administrators could possibly do to me that might lead me to call a day a bad one. None of those things happened yesterday.

I didn't screw up my lessons, I didn't say something disrespectful to a student, I didn't lose a student on a field trip, and I didn't allow a student to get hurt---those are a few of the things that I might do that would lead me to call a day a bad one. None of those things happened yesterday.

Yesterday was a clearly a bad day. I got home, I curled up in a ball and I slept for 12 hours. I did not work as a sub today. I'm writing this post a day late. So what happened? I accepted a job at a school fairly close to my house in a good neighborhood. I checked out the school's web page and it said in addition to its regular education program the school taught children with orthopedic challenges. I am thinking to myself that there would be some students with movement issues. I didn't think it would be an issue because the substitute request I accepted was for a regular teacher, not a special education teacher. Those are 2 different types of substitute requests.

Well I arrive at the school Monday morning, and once again there is a substitute scheduling snafu. It’s not a major one, I was supposed to be in one teacher's classroom for the morning and I would be assigned as needed in the afternoon. I figured as assigned would be helping out a regular teacher. Helping out another teacher is usually a fairly easy assignment, so I was ok with it. Well the snafu was that the morning and afternoon assignments were switched...not a big deal. So it meant I would be "assigned" for the morning instead.

Well they assigned me to work with another substitute who was teaching in a classroom with five "orthopedically" challenged children. He had never worked in a special needs classroom before; I had never worked in a special needs classroom before. Two substitutes in one classroom is not a good mix, because who exactly is “in charge” of that classroom. And the teacher's assistant who normally helps out the class was in a meeting for the first part of the morning. I start glancing at the teacher's emergency lesson plans (these are the plans that are used when a teacher hasn't prepared plans in advance---they end up being extra lame, and extra vague), since the other substitute doesn’t really know what is going on. I quickly realize that these aren’t the type of lesson plans that I normally use.

Morning Plans for Room 15
8:45-9:00 Students arrive. Check their bags for class folder.
9:00-9:15 Play video for student (no specified title), take attendance/lunch count
9:00 Childcare attendant will feed Maria
9:15-11:00 Take students to OT/PT
9:30 Childcare attendant will change diapers for Alex and Maria
10:00 Childcare attendant will feed and change Fred

I wasn't going to be in the room past 11:00, so I just concentrated on that first part of the schedule. It was more than enough information to take in at once anyway. Debby arrived first. She was pushed into the room in a wheel chair, her eyes were glazed over almost catatonic. I said hi to Debby and there was nothing resembling a response from her, not even a blink or a shifting of the eyes. The school’s nurse came into the room at about the same time. “You are going to have to keep a close eye on Debby, she had a seizure yesterday. It was the first time she has had one, so if she happens to have another one today you need to time how long it lasts and call the office.” Time how long it lasts? Time how long it lasts---that’s what they want me to do? Not exactly one of those items covered in substitute training or my regular teacher training for that matter.

Mr. Green the other substitute teacher immediately decides to test out the schools intercom system, “Testing, 1, 2, 3. Does this work?” The first time I had ever seen someone test the intercom system. Next, Alex and Darla both arrive in wheel chairs. Neither talking. I said hello to both Darla didn’t respond, but Alex gave me the closest thing to a response, he grabbed my hand, pulled it close to his face, and slobbered on it. Not really the greeting I was expecting, but the only sign of life I have noticed so far. I watch Darla and her foot is twitching rapidly. What is happening?

Next Fred arrived, also in a wheel chair. From the moment Fred arrived he laughing hysterically. Almost shrieking, but it is definitely laughter. The childcare attendant told us that Fred would probably spend the whole day laughing. The childcare attendant tells us that this is a good time to turn on the video. The video begins, and crap it is actually a Barney video. As if these kids don’t have enough problems they are being subjected to Barney videos. My guess is each of the kids in the class is about 8-11 years old. Fred’s laughter is actually good at this point, because I want to cry. Substitute teachers joke a lot about being glorified baby sitters, but today I certainly don’t think I will be doing any teaching.

It is 9:15 and another woman comes into the room. “Hi, I’m one of the physical therapists. Bring your class into the hall at about 9:30 and we will help you take them down.” An extra 15 minutes of Barney videos--Yeah for us!

Mr. Green and I line the students up in the hall. Fred is still laughing and shrieking in the hallway. Debby is sleeping. The childcare attendant is changing Maria.

Three different therapists meet us outside the classroom, and we all start pushing the kids to the therapy room. We didn’t really know what was next for us. Were we dropping the kids off, were we staying in the therapy room.

All of us stay in the therapy room with the kids. This is the first time for the school year that the kids are using the therapy room, so it is an absolute mess. Stuff is everywhere. In order to get to the section of the room, I have to move things off of the floor so I can push Debby’s wheelchair to where they want us to go.

The one occupational therapist, Mr. Jones, is doing a somewhat good job of telling us what we are actually doing. He tells us that we are trying to get the children out of their usual seated positions, and put their bodies into various other positions to basically stretch them out.

Alex is the only one of the students who seems to be aware that I am even present. I notice he is looking at a ball in the corner of the room. I walk over, pick up the ball and show it to Alex. Alex grabs it out of my hand and throws it toward one of Maria. Of course Maria doesn’t respond at all. I pick the ball up and walk it over to Alex again. I hold the ball a little tighter; Alex tugs at it until I finally release it. Immediately he throws the ball back over at Maria. Alex is amused by this, but is this really what we are supposed to be doing. I realize if I give the ball back to Alex he is just going to throw it at Maria again, so instead I put the ball away.

The three therapists are talking among themselves, what should we do with them today. Fred is making the most noise with his laughter, so they decide to take care of him first. They lift him up out of his wheel chair, and lay him down on a tumbling mat. They then proceed to place him on a thin foam mattress, roll him up inside of the mattress and tie the mattress so that he is stuck inside like a pig in a blanket. I understand the reason is to try and stretch out his legs, since he is folded up in a wheel chair all day---but to any outsider walking into the school they would be wondering what the hell are you doing to these kids. Fred doesn’t mind at all, he just keeps laughing. I roll him and his mattress on the mat, not quite sure I should really be doing to this restrained kid.

Ms. Caroline one of the other therapists decides that since Alex was enjoying the ball so much they would give him something to play with. They place him in a chair and dangle a ball above his head from a string. Alex will now spend the next hour swinging and throwing a ball to himself.

Debby is placed in a swing. Maria is laid out on the floor with a musical toy that is supposed to be touch activated, but she decides to use her mouth instead. Darla is placed in this box that allows her to stand straight up; it almost looks like a box that a magician uses when he saws the woman in half.

After about an hour they take Fred out of his rolled up mattress and place him in a inflatable pool filled with small hollow balls. They move Alex into the same pool. Alex immediately starts throwing the balls out of the pool. Fred doesn’t do anything in the pool of balls except sink deeper and deeper. I’m thinking to myself, this is actually school? In no way this is education. I understand it is important, but it is so sad and depressing. These aren’t children that will ever be able to even take care of themselves, much less do something for others. When I tell my wife about this after I get home, she tries to tell me it is ok, because they don’t even have awareness of their troubles. But just the lack of self-awareness is enough to depress me.

I can’t wait for it to be 11 am so that I can move to my next class. At about 10:45 we start moving everyone back into their respective wheelchairs so we can take them back to the room. The therapists, Mr. Green, and I wheel the children back to the room.

I breathe a sigh of relief and wish Mr. Green luck with the rest of his day. I walk toward Ms. Karl’s room knowing that the rest of my day can only be better.

I walk into the room, and Ms. Karl greets me and has me introduce myself to the third grade class. They are working on a writing assignment, so she tells me just to wait in the back of the classroom and read through the afternoon plans. It is a small class only 15 students. Everyone is working so quietly and diligently. Not a single kid appears to be off task.

The lesson plans are straight forward, and there really isn’t a lot left for the day. From 12 to 1 the kids are at lunch and recess. From 2:15 to 2:30 they have recess again. And from 2:30 to 3:15 another teacher is team teaching in the classroom. So I only have about an hour and 15 minutes left in the classroom.

Ms. Karl is going to leave shortly before the kids go for recess so she asks me to take over the class. At this point she starts telling me about certain students in the class. “Amy is visually handicapped, so you have to read everything that you put on the board for her. Tammy has a disease where she has to be very careful about people touching her or bumping into things. She goes to a special class for gym and recess.”

This “regular” class seems to have quite a few problems also. I notice that another girl that Ms. Karl didn’t mention, Sara, is missing her right leg and has two crutches leaning against her desk. These are 8 and 9 year olds, they shouldn’t have problems like this. I start thinking about the kids I worked with in the morning, at least they didn’t realize that they had problems---but these three kids were certainly well aware of their limitations.

As I walk the class toward the playground for recess the student I think about the most is Tammy. How unfair is it that you can’t even go to recess or gym with your class. She is covered from head to toe in bandages, covering up what I am sure are some not-so-pleasant looking bruises. I can see some of the bruises on her hands and neck, and I am sure what is under the bandages is only worse.

The other kids in the school seem to take all of this in stride. I didn’t hear any name-calling the entire day. None of the petty bickering that you normally hear in an elementary school. Everything is so not normal.

The rest of the day goes by fairly quickly. When I am teaching my mind is only half on the lesson—I’m just thinking about these three kids in my class. I’ve forgotten the ones in the morning. For some reason these three kids who mentally have no problems at all, but have severe physical problems that no one should have to deal with, are the ones I can’t seem to shake from my mind.

The day ends and lots of the teachers ask me how my day went. Teaching-wise it went well. I can’t complain. Kids didn’t misbehave. No one disrespected me. The teacher left me clear plans. But my mind is an absolute mess. I can’t say that out loud to another teacher. As teachers we are supposed to be able to deal with this sort of stuff, but I can’t seem to handle it.

I walk down the street to the bus stop and I am pissed. I’m not sure who I should even be pissed at. I guess I am pissed because nobody warned me what I should expect. I am pissed because I am doing a job that I don’t have training for, I’m not even sure what training one could be given for a day like this.

Oh yeah, and I’m pissed off because this neighborhood has no sidewalks. Who builds a school in a neighborhood with no sidewalks? Let alone a school for children in wheelchairs in a neighborhood with no sidewalks? Are people idiots or what? And now once again my blood is boiling and I just want to go curl up in a ball and go to sleep.