A Day in the Life

Here’s this week’s addition to the “Sunday Story” series. No politics here, just a story about sub teaching in the local high school.

My First Day

It was MY first day of school on Friday.  I always struggle as a substitute teacher, when to “break the ice” and get started once again.  No one wants to “sub” the first week of school:  the kids don’t know what they’re doing, and neither do you.  That’s all about just “hanging on”.  After thirty-five and a half years of teaching and “Dean of Students-ing”, I really don’t need that.

But now it’s been three weeks.  If I’m going back into a school, the longer I wait the harder it gets.  There’s a Social Studies teacher looking for a sub, on a Friday.  If I don’t take that job, I guess I’m just not subbing anymore.  

So here I am.  The hardest part of subbing is like any first day of work – your life schedule is completely upside down.  Instead of the dogs waking me, it’s the alarm waking us all.  Lou and CeCe were so sleepy, they weren’t even interested in food.  And it was still dark.  CeCe, the puppy, doesn’t really like the dark much.

But we managed to get going, get breakfast (dogs and me), and down three cups of coffee (just me).  I felt awake and alert.  But that still didn’t prepare me for the “shock”.  Jenn and  are retired. I might not talk to anyone until Jenn gets up (I’m the early riser, Jenn’s the night owl). So walking into a school of 1300 kids, and conversing with old friends and staff members at 7:10 am, is a jolt.  

As a sub, you’re at the “service” of the front office.  My Social Studies teacher had a first period conference.  That meant he didn’t have a class.  But subs don’t get conference periods, and so I was assigned to cover for the choir teacher.

Empty Rooms

Watkins Memorial High School is a big, almost-brand-new building that opened last year.  My social studies teacher’s room is on the second floor of one wing at the extreme end of the hallway.  The choir room, on the other hand, is on the first floor at the extreme end of another wing.  To get there – well – “you can’t get there from here”, at least not directly.  

So I arrived at the Choir Room, a full minute after the bell (buzz, tone, sound?) rang.  And no one was there.

I’ve lost classes before, but it was back in the 1970’s.  In those days we had a lot more teachers than classrooms, and I had no seniority at all.  So I was a “floater”, moving from room to room throughout the day.  Seven of us were crammed in a big storage closet for our teacher office.  We called it the “Looney Bin”, and while we had some fun, not much work got done in there.

Stolen Class

Back then, I was racing from my class at the new end of that old building (now scheduled for demolition) to my next class in the “old” wing.  And I was late, maybe three minutes late.  My freshmen decided that was a good time to “disappear”.  I came in the door to an empty classroom, and I panicked.  How could I explain to Mr. Nix, the intimidating principal from Alabama, that I lost my class?  He would give me that stare, and drawl “…well, Mr. Dahlman, part of your job duties is to NOT LOSE YOUR CLASS!!  Other teachers don’t lose their classes.  What if everyone lost their class.  GO AND FIND YOUR STUDENTS!!”

I decided to skip the preliminaries, and just find the kids.  The question is, where do thirty-six kids go?  They can’t leave – their freshmen.  And they can’t keep their mouths shut either, so I should be able to track them by noise.  

I went out in the hallway, and stalked the neighboring classrooms.  Two doors down was one of my “Looney Bin” compatriots.  Her class was oddly quiet.  Odd, because her students were always rambunctious, the walls throbbing with activity.  But when I approached – “shhh”, followed by silence.  I stuck my head in the door – and the room exploded with freshmen laughter.  No good being mad, my comrade had “stolen” my freshmen.  Not a lot of work got done that day.

Lost Class

So here I am, forty-four years later, a low ranking substitute.  And I’ve lost a class again. Where would the choir go  — assuming they weren’t hiding in five different rehearsal rooms – or stolen.

And then I realized.  As I was rushing down the stairs and through the halls, the Alma Mater was being sung on the PA system.  I thought it was the 2010 version we used for years at games and assemblies.  But when I saw a herd headed down the hall towards me, I realized:   they performed on the PA live – the choir was here.  I was the one lost, not them!

Subbing choir at Watkins Memorial High School is a pleasure.  The kids know what they need to do, and they sing.  Listening to forty-five minutes of rehearsal was good for the soul of this retired (old) social studies teacher.

The bell (sound, tone, buzzer?) rang again, and it’s another adventure back to my social studies class.  Lucky for me, one of the choir kids is headed that way, and shows me a shorter route.  He can’t take me there though, his girlfriend needs a minute at the top of the stairs.  He still makes it to class before I do.

Current Events

The next class are juniors in government.  That’s where I started, forty-four years ago, though back then government was a senior class we called “POD” (principles of democracy, or, as my classes called it, “Problems of Dahlman”).  And they’re doing current events.  The teacher has it all set for them, find articles on the Chromebooks, write an essay about the issue.  There’s no teaching involved for this substitute.  At least, there’s not supposed to be.

But there is a question.  And all it takes for me, is one.  The question is, what’s happening that involves government.  If you’ve read “Our America” at all, you know I’ve got a lot to say about a whole lot of issues and events in America.  But a classroom in this era isn’t the time or place for deep political discussions.   And they don’t know anything about me.  No time to establish the rapport and trust it takes to have a “real” classroom discussion.  So I answered the question briefly, and sent them to their Chromebooks to work on the assignment.

After that, it was an uneventful day.  Sure there were the kids who wouldn’t pay attention, but not many.  I did exercise the only real form of discipline I have as a sub (short of declaring a full-blown emergency and calling the my friend and successor, the current Dean of Students).  I wrote down two names for the regular teacher.  I’m good with misbehavior, after all, I am “just” a sub.  But I struggle with disrespect.

Hey Rickenbacker

But all-in-all a good day at Watkins Memorial.  I got a minute to see old friends, remembered how quiet this new building is, and got a surprise when a kid yelled “DAHLMAN” down the hall.  After all, it’s been eight years since I taught, and five years since I’ve coached.  The very few kids who know me might remember the “Zoom” classes I held as a long-term sub during Covid.  But even that was over two years ago, and I was just a badly lit figure droning on about history as dogs interrupted on the small screen.

Oh, and then there’s the “Rickenbacker” kids.  They remember me from subbing history class last year.  I  explained why Eddie Rickenbacker was particularly important to Columbus, Ohio (born here, and buried here).  And when they saw his picture, they somehow linked him to me.  They don’t know my name. I’m just the sub who they thought looked like Eddie Rickenbacker – thus “Hey Rickenbacker” in the hallway, and even in Kroger’s from time to time.  

It takes a second, but I usually answer.

The Sunday Story Series

Author: Marty Dahlman

I'm Marty Dahlman. After forty years of teaching and coaching track and cross country, I've finally retired!!! I've also spent a lot of time in politics, working campaigns from local school elections to Presidential campaigns.

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  1. Pingback: Stupid Human Tricks : Our America - Essays on Politics and American Life

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