elitist teenage dreaming.

One of my jobs is working as a substitute in an area school district, which happens to be the same one in which I student taught. I like this because I know the building, administrators, and other teachers really well. I don’t like this because the more I feel removed from the teaching profession, and the less I want to be a teacher, the more I feel like a failure that everyone in the building is looking at in horror. You see, teachers are interesting creatures. We deal with a lot of bullshit, whether from parents, the community, or the students. It comes with the deal, and most teachers will say it’s worth the trade-off because there are a lot of wonderful things about being a teacher. There were days when I would leave school laughing because it seemed absurd that my job was that fun – seriously, how many people can say that?

But teachers are also elitist in a very peculiar way. Once you’ve been inducted into the profession, if you choose to leave you are basically ostracized (or at least feel that way based on the reactions you get from everyone). I still haven’t told some of my teacher friends that I am considering going to law school over signing a teaching contract in the fall. This is because when I do, I usually get a look of utter betrayal, as though my choice not to teach directly influences my validity as a human being. You think I’m kidding. I understand that teaching is an important profession and that it is one of the noblest jobs on Earth. For that very reason, you don’t want people who aren’t utterly passionate about it in the classroom – trust me. But what about other jobs that are just as important? They do exist. Like… maybe an attorney who represents juveniles who actually likes juveniles and isn’t afraid of teenagers? But let’s move on before I get much more agitated.

Subbing is easily the best worst job possible. It’s the best job because half the time you get to sit there and do whatever you want, be it reading, writing, or doodling. It’s the worst job for the exact same reasons: sometimes you sit there and do absolutely nothing. Oh, and it eliminates every positive attached to teaching – the relationships with students, the ability to see growth, and the basic concept of knowing what the hell is going on when you walk in a classroom. With that in mind, when I substitute I usually do one of three things. I either 1) have some type of work to do, like editing my personal statements or reading for a class I’m taking; 2) doodle, update my calendar, or daydream until I realize I’m being stared at by students; or 3) do actual teaching, which only happens if I’m subbing for the lady I student taught with last year. Occasionally I have my computer with me, so I can sit at the front of the room and type random thoughts and look like I’m doing something teacher-ly. Sometimes these thoughts become a blog and…. Well, hello there!

Yes, as I write this I am sitting in the art room at a middle school in the Des Moines area. It doesn’t matter in the least, but the kiddos are working on drawing a narrative of their lives (so much to say about all 13 years of it!). I’ve been asked questions like: What represents me? (Don’t know, kid, I’ve never met you.) How do you draw an airplane? (Do I look like I have any idea how to draw a square, let alone an airplane?) What if soccer is the ONLY thing that defines me? (Um…..) There’s also the fun component that this teacher turns on the radio when the students sketch, and it’s predictably set to 107.5 (the Top 20 station in Des Moines). This is fine, until awkward commercials for skanky bars or “intimate toy” party companies fill the silent space of the classroom. I’m constantly amused by how much goes over the heads of middle school students. It makes sense, of course, but our world is so inappropriate sometimes it’s nice to see some facet of innocence. Maybe that’s why people are so scared of adolescents. They hear the latest Rihanna song, understand the lyrics, and logically assume that adolescents do, too, which would scare me as well. Let me debunk that now: while students may get the general idea of “Rude Boy,” I promise you they aren’t listening close enough to the words to realize exactly what part of the body she is singing about. Thank the stars for that.

Subbing also has the side effect of making me re-live my education on a near daily basis. This isn’t as terrifying or horrific as it may sound. I certainly didn’t like high school, but it wasn’t the worst thing I’ve had to experience. Rather, on days like today I am reminded of the art classes I took in high school, which leads me to remember the Notebook my friend Anna and I wrote, drew, and stuck crap in, and then traded every Wednesday (we didn’t attend the same high school). My pages were always full of words, line-to-line, paragraph after paragraph. Her pages were always full of sketches and magazine clippings she ripped out of magazines I’d never heard of. Not much as changed, and I still try to make things I give her a little artistic, much like I did the Notebook. So, it logically concludes that I would work on the Notebook in my art class; hence the trip down memory lane and bout of nostalgia. Are you with me now?

It’s also easy to see the different types of students that always have and always will be present in every class. You have the girl who is years ahead of her peers in the way she wears her hair and clothing, and subsequently presents herself. She is always the popular girl who the males gutsy enough to talk to her revolve around. You have your immature boys, right alongside the boys who hit their growth spurt years ago and as a result seem to have this self-assured confidence. Then you have students who look like they are living in their heads, and you can bet they are living in a post-high school world where they don’t have to deal with the people they are actually around. The nerds, the band kids, the artsy ones, the angsty ones, the ones who like talking to the teacher… I’ll stop because I’m sure we’ve all seen The Breakfast Club and know the stereotypes and labels. I often wonder how my teachers perceived me in high school.

I rarely talked to anyone (all my good friends went to other schools), I took every English class possible but managed to fail AP English (crappy teacher, honestly), I wore any school other than Urbandale’s apparel, and I didn’t fit into any one group. I hung out with druggies, brains, band kids, and the freaks and geeks when I had to hang out with people at all. I was a dreamer. I guess it isn’t a surprise to me that even as a substitute, I still do that. I still doodle in my agenda, stare off into space daydreaming about anywhere but where I am, write letters to my friends, and imagine what life will be like when I’m actually content.

Ok, and occasionally I teach, too. That, at least, is a vague semblance of redemption from the teachers everywhere who would rather I spout blasphemy against the union than leave the profession. Until then, I have to go turn off the radio because I cannot listen to “Teenage Dream” one more time, even if the students don’t have any idea what Katy Perry is referencing.