Like most new teachers, I came into the classroom with great expectations -- dreams of igniting a passion for reading and writing in my students, similar to the spark I first felt in Mr. Cheadle's Bainbridge High School English class. While I knew the job wouldn't be easy, what I didn't know was how close I would come to giving it up.
I had some good days as a substitute teacher. I also had days when walking into a classroom felt like entering a diabolical parallel universe.

On those days, the floor of my classroom would mysteriously sprout condoms. Tampons could not be trusted to stay in purses. Water balloons found their way to class more often than some students. I became a target for disparaging epithets and stealthy projectiles -- paper, erasers, even a packet of barbecue sauce.

Typically, my workday began at 5:45 a.m. with an automated telephone message from SubFinder, the district's substitute on-call service, informing me of a job opening. If there were no language arts (my certified endorsement area) jobs available, I subbed for math, science or special-education classes. Arriving at a school around 7:15, I received directions to my classroom, a room key, my class schedule and teaching instructions for that day's lessons.

Sub instructions, prepared in advance by the regular teacher, are necessarily simple and straightforward. Often my duties entailed showing a movie or administering a test to 25-30 unfamiliar faces. While taking attendance at the beginning of each class, I made a point to engage each student on a personal level by asking about his or her future plans. "What do you want to be when you grow up?" prompted a wide range of responses, from enthusiastic to apathetic. Pediatrician and veterinarian, pro athlete and U.S. soldier are a few popular career goals of today's teens.
My stint as an on-call teacher concluded in late January when I accepted a long-term sub assignment at Madrona K-8. I agreed to teach language arts to a select group of sixth-graders whose original teacher had left after four months on the job. Finally, I would have my own class and teach my own lessons!

The first two weeks, however, almost killed me. I had assumed, mistakenly, that if I treated my students with respect, they would reciprocate. Instead they tested my tolerance for disrespect in order to see just how much they could get away with and what consequences would result. My in-class assignments were often criticized, while my offers to provide personal attention were flatly rejected. Some days, the amount of time and effort students spent avoiding class work was astonishing and infuriating.

I tend to speak in a calm, relaxed tone. Yet, I've yelled longer and louder in the past nine months than I have in 20 years. So naturally I've come to envy teachers with dominating voices -- the chalk-on-slate soprano, the desk-rattling baritone -- capable of instantly extinguishing all forms of student misbehavior.

During my first month at Madrona, the brick wall separating me and my students held fast. Productive learning days were few and far between. I was frustrated and emotionally drained. I lost sleep second-guessing the things I thought I could have said or done better. I thought seriously about quitting.

Two things kept me optimistic. After school, with the classroom empty and silent, I could forget about today's lesson that had bombed and prepare for tomorrow's. I spent afternoons and evenings planning new activities and exercises, projecting their success or failure based on what had or hadn't worked, and considering the individual personalities of my students. Would they be excited or bored to distraction? Flexible, well-thought-out lesson plans, including backup plans, kept me hopeful. Most important, I received support from my fellow teachers who knew what I was going through and went out of their way to offer advice and encouragement.
Teaching is a humbling occupation. The more I taught, the more I had to learn about being an effective educator, and the more I learned, the more that brick wall showed signs of cracking. Gradually I began to receive subtle signs of approval and respect. Students who had hidden their work from me, began to open up and let me read and write with them. Most have begun to take pride in their work.

To expose my young scholars to a larger audience and greater recognition, we decided to print and distribute selections of their writing to Madrona students and staff. The ZAP, our class newsletter, has been a popular success.
Subbing has been likened to "teacher boot camp." I've been told, "If you can survive working as a sub, you can survive anything."

In spite of its obvious drawbacks, substitute teaching is an experience I recommend to all new teachers. It's the toughest job I've ever had, and the most rewarding.

Jason West, 37, began working as a substitute teacher for Seattle Public Schools last fall after graduating with a degree in education from Western Washington University. He subbed at a number of middle schools and high schools before settling in to a longer-term assignment at Madrona K-8.

Seattle Post-Intelligencer, June 1, 2004
http://seattlepi.nwsource.com/local/175823_eessay01.html