Kids say the darndest things

"I need a cell phone because I'm in fifth grade and all fifth graders need a cell phone." -Talar, 5th grade


"Do you like to party a lot?" -Michael, 11th grade


Conversation with Tom, 7th grade:
"Are you married?"
-No
"Do you have a boyfriend?"
-No
"Why not? Don't you want to get married?"


"Do you have Facebook? Will you be my friend on Facebook? My name is Dylan Slicer." -Dylan, 10th grade


"ALEX HAS A CRUSH ON THE TEACHER!" -shouted across a classroom by a 7th grade girl in reference to a little boy that hung out at my desk all day playing "20 Questions" about my life

WTF?!

Today, a student in my class walked up to me during the passing period and said, "Miss Kelsey, I crushed up an Altoid and snorted it during my last class." FML.

Guilty eyes

School age children are so hard to predict... yet so easy to catch red-handed.

In all the schools I've subbed, the kids have the exact same tendencies.

The truth goes like this:

Kids who are working hard and are doing what they're supposed to be doing remain intensely focused and are not easily distracted. Their heads stay down, and they pay no attention to what others are up to.

Kids who are making trouble - be it throwing paper airplanes or simply chatting too much during a movie - have the tendency to check on the teacher to ensure they aren't being watched. They glance casually in my direction while making a grand attempt to look nonchalant and smooth. This is what I like to call the "guilty eyes."

I am a very lax sub. I don't really care what people do, so long as they maintain the peace. This is why I find it so fundamentally hysterical that students will get themselves caught by simply making eye contact with me. Often times when our eyes meet, I'll say, "What are you looking at?" or "What are you up to over there, guilty eyes?"

Every day I am shocked, astounded and, frankly, totally impressed by the creativity and wit of the kids I interact with. They are hilarious, but I have to restrain my laughter. They are smart and sneaky, but I can't show the slightest bit of envy. While I never know what prank these kids are cooking up next, it's always those same "guilty eyes" that get get their names written down for tomorrow's discipline.

Cheaters never prosper, just ask Kelvin Sampson

I feel like the Golden Rule of substitute teaching is that the kids are always trying to pull crap on you. It's like a game for them. I remember all too well. Heck, played it when I was young!

Today's high school French class was pretty easy at the rural school, but one class had three boys who needed to finish their exams from Friday. Since the rest of the class was working in groups and the room was noisy, I sent them to the hallway to finish up.

By the time I took attendance and was able to step out to check on their progress, I walked into the three of them huddling and sharing answers. One even had his book out!

Enraged, I grabbed the book from the one and ordered the others to spread out across the hall. "This is bullshit!" I barked in a fit. They thought it was hilarious.

I threatened to roll my chair in to the hall and watch them like we have to do with the Kindergarteners (thank you, Gus, for the lesson). For the rest of the period, I stationed one kid from the class in the doorway to "report on the state of the test-takers." By holding a random, innocent classmate accountable for the cheating prowess of his peers, I was able to coerce him into ensuring the integrity of the others. I simply promised to include the innocent's name with the offenders as an equal contributor if I found out that cheating was occuring.

Meanwhile, I just hung out at my desk and read e-mails.

Our Father

Sister Mary Joseph greeted me at the door of my classroom this morning to make sure I knew the "special rules" for theology classes. I didn't know what I was subbing for until I arrived this morning, so I was especially shocked to see a sister waiting on me. Each class, according to the plump black nun, starts off with an "Our Father" prayer.

I have never interacted with a nun before. I have never even seen one in real life- only in the movies. Though my Catholic friends say they're the nicest people on the face of the planet, I happen to find them intensely intimidating. When Sister Mary Joseph spoke to me, I quivered in fright and replied obediently, "Yes, m'am."

My first order of business was to administer an exam to an 11th grade "Beginning Apologetics & Morality" course. The test covered the following essay questions with regard to the Virgin Mary:

1. How can one deduce that Mary was immaculately conceived from Genesis 3:15?
2. How, then, can one deduce that she assumed into heaven body and soul?
3. Please explain why repetitive prayer is not only acceptable, but beneficial.
4. How can we call Mary our Mother?
5. Please explain one Marian dogma using one scripture and one Church Father.
Bonus: What does "protoevangelium" mean?

The other class I had was 9th grade "Nature of the Church & Sacraments." These kids were quite a bit more rowdy and didn't take easily to my rendition of the chapter 12 study guide: the Eucharist. Of course, I had no idea what I was doing or what I was talking about, but I think I managed fairly well. At the end of the day, one student called me, "Miss Substitute from Wisconsin" (he said I had the twang of a northerner) and only one questioned my religious affiliation.

"Are you Catholic?"
"No."
"Okay, just wondering."

Skipping Mass? BUSTED!

I was a little hesitant to sub at the private school on Ash Wednesday given that it's a Catholic "holy day of obligation" and that I would probably be the only person walking around the halls without ashes on my forehead. Nonetheless, a job is a job, and I have to pay rent this week.

While the entire school (students and staff, alike) was at Mass, I hung out in my classroom and caught up on my reading. Later, I ventured down to the teachers' lounge for a bottled water from the vending machine. As I approached the door, I encountered another teacher in the hall and greeted her with a "hello" and a smile. She stopped, looked awkwardly at me and said, "Are you lost?"

Confused, I replied, "Haha, no. I'm just getting a drink."

Her facial expression suggested a perplexity of thoughts.

"Shouldn't you be at Mass?"

I quickly realized I was in midst of being busted for religious truancy.

"Um..." My inner coward was shining bright. "I'm not a student."

"Oh," she said abruptly as she went in the teachers' lounge, allowing the door slam in my face right behind her.

I felt awkward. We're talking throw-back-to-junior-high-when-your-teacher-called-you-out-for-cheating-on-your-spelling-test awkward. I couldn't even go in the teachers' lounge to buy my water anymore. It was all of the sudden "off limits" to me, again, like I was back in grade school.

I turned around and made a B-line for my classroom. Once I was safely inside, I pondered the situation. Why did she think I was a student? Yes, I look young, but high school? Come on.

Then I noticed my day's attire: khaki pants and a navy blue and white striped shirt- nearly identical to the students' required daily uniforms.

What Father Tim says, goes

Friday was a "Mass day" at the private school, so the bell schedule was altered to accommodate for an hour-long Mass in the morning. My first period class assembled in the classroom and made their way to the gymnasium as they were dismissed over the PA system. In the meantime, I debated with my 7th graders as to the importance of my attendance at Mass.

Me: So what do teachers do while you guys are at Mass?
7th graders: They go to Mass, too. Are you Catholic?
Me: Nope.
7th graders: Well, I guess you don't have to go.
Me: Okay, sounds good. Make sure you grab a hymnal on your way out; I'll be here when you guys return!

I proceeded to knock out the lights and manage a comfortable recline on a beanbag chair in the corner of my room. It wasn't 10 minutes later that I shot out of the beanbag to the harmonious sounds of Mass coming through the back wall. As it turns out, my classroom was adjacent to the gym. I was certain God was spiting me for napping through his Mass. I was finally able to catch some Zzz's to the sweet sounds of "Our God is an awesome God" pulsating through the wall. I set my alarm for a few minutes before the kids were to return.

When they did, I was sitting alert at my desk with all the lights on, ready to take on 7th grade mathematics. "What did you do during Mass?" one asked innocently. I told her I took a nap on the purple beanbag. It was mostly for laughs, but also because I'm stupid. It would later come back to haunt me. The kids made their way back into their seats and got to work on a math inequalities worksheet. Toward the end of the period, I informed them that the worksheet would be homework if they did not finish.

"NO! Father Tim said we couldn't have homework this weekend!" barked one girl.
"I don't know who that is or why he has authority over me," I fired back at her. "But your teacher left specific instructions about the worksheet being homework."
"Father Tim is in charge of the school," said one little smart alec in the corner. "The teachers have to do what he says."

At this point, I was totally befuddled. To me the whole proposition made no sense. Why would the overseeing priest intentionally buck the plans of every teacher in the school? He must not have said it, or if he did, he had to be kidding. I just went with my substitute instinct on this one: The kids are always trying to pull crap on you.

"Well, your teacher left this assignment as homework. If Father Tim's word is gold, then you won't have to worry when Monday comes and your homework isn't done. In the meantime, you can't argue that I didn't tell you about the assignment for Monday."

The class became immediately combative. They also became 100% smarter than I thought 7th graders could be.

"We're going to tell (the teacher) and (the principal) that you slept on the beanbag instead of going to Mass," said one little twerp.
"Yeah, there's cameras in here," added another. "They're going to catch you."

I tried to laugh it off. It didn't work.

"I think you can get fired for that," repeated the same kid.

Oh, crap.

"Come on, guys. What do you think teachers do during their prep periods?" I tried to defend myself.
"They do e-mail! And grade papers!" exclaimed two little girls at once.

Now the whole class was after me.

"NO!" I was trying desperately to defend myself. "They take naps! Everyone does it!"

That was bologna. I knew it, and they knew it. I gave in. I had to.

"Okay, fine. No homework for Monday. I'll write down that Father Tim gave direct orders for it."

The class erupted. The bell rang.

With any luck, I'll never see any of those little monsters, again.