Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: SUNDAY, April 23, 1995 TAG: 9504240016
SECTION: CURRENT PAGE: NRV23 EDITION: NEW RIVER VALLEY
SOURCE: MELISSA DeVAUGHN STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: LENGTH: Long
"Look, I got an egg," he said matter-of-factly, holding out his tiny hand. There it was. A medium-sized brown egg, warm from being held all morning.
"Isn't that neat!" I exclaimed, as Doober handed me the egg. "Why don't you let me keep it up here at my desk so it won't break? You can show it to your classmates when they come in."
"No, I want to keep it," replied Doober. And he walked away. Simple as that.
Children's' voices drifted down the hall and within moments the rest of the first-graders began to file in.
Before reaching their desks or taking off their jackets, the children were upon me, asking a flurry of questions.
"Who are you?"
"When's lunch?"
"Can I go to the bathroom?"
The quiet atmosphere of the empty morning classroom was gone.
"Crack!"
I looked up from the chaos and there was Doober at his desk, standing over his egg, now broken in half and lying on the floor. The room became silent.
"It dropped," he said sadly.
I rushed over to clean up the yolky ooze seeping into the carpet.
"That's OK," I said. "It was an accident."
And in my mind, I was thinking, "Welcome to the first grade, Melissa."
\ To understand what it's really like to be a teacher - or at least a temporary one - I recently spent two days substitute teaching in Montgomery County Schools, one day with first-graders at Riner Elementary School and another with fourth-graders at Kipps Elementary School.
I had heard the horror stories before. One friend told me substitute teaching was the "single, most worse day of her life," just days before I went to Riner Elementary School.
My mother, a fourth-grade teacher in Botetourt County, said, "Just don't let them know how nice you are until the end of the day. You've got to show them authority."
And my editor told me of her friend, the substitute teacher in Washington, D.C., who caused a big commotion when he forgot to split the snacktime bagels in half. Some children got a whole treat while others were left bagel-less.
He got fired for that and other indiscretions, like accidentally causing a small child to miss her school bus.
I steeled myself against these warnings and went ahead with the assignment. It couldn't be that bad, could it?
\ The Riner children follow a quicksilver - and regimented - pace for first-graders. Luckily, Cheryl Akers had left me a minute-by-minute plan to follow, so the day was simply a matter of following directions.
Or so I thought.
The children started with "daily language," by copying a sentence from the chalkboard and correcting any mistakes. I quickly recognized my biggest challenge: how to keep all of the pupils happy and busy.
Some finished in minutes while others were still toiling away half an hour later. A third group ignored the work altogether, which bothered me. How hard I was supposed to push them? What was normal behavior?
Physical education followed, and then music. During the teacher's hourlong planning period while the children were at gym and music, I graded their morning work, stamping each page with "Good Job!" and "Excellent Work!" stamps.
After music, I whisked the children outside for a 15-minute play break. They went wild, swinging on the swings, climbing the jungle gym, pushing each other on the tire swing and chasing each other.
Next, it was inside for storytime. The book on baby farm animals was a perfect time to talk about Doober's crushed egg.
"Now I want you to write in your journals about your favorite baby farm animal," I told the class. "And draw a pretty picture to go along with it."
As I spoke, Masa Masuda tugged at my dress.
"Miss Diva," he said (that's as far as he could get with my last name), "What's the name for a baby alligator?"
I explained to Masa that he must write about a FARM animal, and he looked at me blankly.
"Alligators live on farms," he insisted, and somewhere in my head, I thought, Yes, they probably DO live on farms, somewhere in the world, and I let him write about alligators.
Lunchtime, the long-awaited food fest.
As the children lined up, I heard a wail from the back of the room. Caitlin Wolf, a small first-grader with short hair and missing teeth, cried out "My money's gone!" and immediately began crying.
Before I could reach her desk and help her look for the missing money, she found it and the tears disappeared. Quick as that, it was business as usual for Caitlin. In the cafeteria, "cafeteria ladies" with plastic covers over their tightly permed hair scooped Tater Tots, fish squares, corn and mixed fruit onto a lime green tray.
\ While separated by only three years in age, fourth-graders are worlds apart from first-graders.
As Barbara Wheeler's class at Kipps Elementary School walked into the classroom, they looked at me suspiciously and whispered among themselves. One brave boy in baggy purple and black shorts walked up and said, "Yes! Finally, not the same old substitute we always have!"
Uh-oh, I thought. I'm in for it.
"Guess my name," the boy demanded, walking over to my desk.
"Ronald Johnson," I said smugly.
"Wow!" said Ronald in amazement. "How'd she know that? ..." he said, walking away.
(Having looked at the attendance sheet before class, and seeing "Ronald" written on his notebook, I was able to deduce this fact quickly. Of course, don't tell Ronald that).
I had no idea how to gauge the children's behavior. Was one boy's yelling across the room to his classmate to "shut up!" acceptable? Was the children's preoccupation with Pogs, those annoying coin-shaped thingies, normal?
Then there were the girls who wanted to be my "helper."
"If they get too loud, you're supposed to turn off the lights and hold up your hand," instructed Shevaun Brandon. "That's what Mrs. Wheeler does."
"Mrs. Wheeler doesn't write the homework on the board," interrupted Taylor Walls. "The assignment person writes it on that sheet there."
I crammed quickly before class to prepare myself for an impromptu lesson in the food pyramid, forgetting how difficult it is to remember how many servings of vegetables you're supposed to eat each day. Grammar was easy, as was division, and Mrs. Wheeler's explicit written instructions helped me bumble through the seven-hour day.
My confidence swelled as we turned to the next assignment - newspaper writing. I passed out newspapers to each child and began to explain newspaper terminology.
Then came my crucial error. I turned around to write some newspaper terms on the chalkboard. As I turned back and said, "Now raise your hand if you need some help and I'll - " I stopped in mid-sentence.
About half the class - most of them boys - were perusing the Hills Department Store sales ad. The clothing section. To be more specific, the illustrated women's under-clothing section.
Try as I might not to laugh, I couldn't help it. I sucked in my breath, walked to each desk, and took the ads away amongst muffled sniggers and giggles.
I looked at the clock. Three more hours to go.
\ Regardless of the horror stories I had heard, and despite the challenges these children sent my way, substitute teaching was a joy.
Doober and his classmates at Riner Elementary School were really good kids, who aside from a little noise and an all-day argument over who gets to use the "good magic markers," listened and completed their work as directed.
While the Kipps fourth-graders were more challenging, they were endearing at the same time. Their energy was exhausting, but their spirit was exhilarating.
During math, when I saw that "light bulb" turn on in one girl's head as she worked a division problem, I was thrilled.
And at the end of the day, when first-grader Walt William Koontz hugged me and told me not to leave, the entire day had been worth it.
by CNB