Substitute

They swarmed through the second grade classroom door, puffy snow-suited legions of them, dragging back packs, their snow-booted feet scuffing the floor.


"Good morning," I said in my teacher voice, my sub plans clutched in my hand. "I'm Mrs. Palmer." I pointed to the white board where, after five attempts, I had neatly printed my name in red marker.


"Where's Mrs. D?" 


"She's in a meeting today."


"Ooooohh."


"What meeting?"


"Will she be back tomorrow?"


"Yes," I said, "She will be back tomorrow."


Momentarily mollified, they milled about, shoving a bit, piling their clothes into cubbies, pulling out snacks, stacking colored homework folders in a basket by the door.


 I surveyed the classroom: books and print and letters and numbers and pictures and student art and projects filled the learning space. There was a milk carton village and a helper chart; tables everywhere held stacks of books and piles of mad minute math sheets and cursive practice sheets. More bookshelves lined the walls. A display in the front of the classroom contained books about Chinese New Year and groundhogs and science and re-cycling and thunderstorms. Color and space coalesced to form a riot of language and sensory stimuli.


A little girl with glasses and brown hair tugged on my arm.


"Did the groundhog see his shadow?" she whispered.


"We-ll..." I stalled. In my rush to pick up my courage inducing Dunkin' Donuts cappuccino, I had missed that vital bit of information. 


I needn't have worried.


"Yes, he did!"


"No, he didn't!"


"Actually, in Vermont they're called woodchucks," said a little boy whose blonde hair stuck up in electric hat hair tufts.


"It doesn't matter whether he did or not," said a little girl with a lime green barrette, arms akimbo, "because, it's always winter somewhere."


"No, it's not!"


"Yes, it is!"


"All right," I interrupted, "Let's go have circle time."


"Circle time, what's that?"


"You know, when you all sit together in a circle and talk a bit about the day," I stammered, glancing again at the day's typed schedule before remembering that circle time was a ritual in a previous grade.


"It's not called circle time, it's called morning meeting!"


"It's when we read the morning message!"


"Oh," I said. "Then let's all sit down over on the grey rug and get started."


What they heard was: Everyone twirl in dizzying concentric circles while flailing your arms and yelling at the top of your voice.


"First, you do the calendar," Fee explained, placing a comforting hand on my leg.


"I have to go the bathroom!" Jeremy announced.


"Okay," I said.


"Can you tie my shoe?" Tommy demanded, proffering a black sneaker at eye level.


"Sure," I said.


A little girl approached me solemnly and gently pried a yellow plastic star with the number 97 on it from my hand. 


"I'll put this up for you," she offered.


"Okay," I said. 


As she pulled a chair to the window, clambered up and stretched on one toenail to press the yellow plastic star with the number 97 to a number line after the number 96, someone shouted, "She can't climb on a chair!"


"She's getting down now," I said, hastening over and helping her down.


"I have to go to the bathroom!" Jeremy shouted again, pinching the front of his pants while hopping on one foot.


"Didn't you just get back?' I asked.


"I have to go again!"


"Okay," I said.


Eventually, everyone sat or, if they were boys, collapsed dramatically as if shot.


"Now, let's take turns and greet each other," I said. "Fee, will you please start?"


"Good morning, Charlie, how are you?" Fee chanted, turning to Charlie and grasping his hand.


"Good," said Charlie, who turned to Brian.


"No, you're supposed to ask Fee how she is!" Several voices shouted.


"Charlie, please ask your friend Fee how she is," I instructed.


"Friend? She's not my friend," Charlie stated. "She's just in my class."


"Sarah took Sam's pencil," a little boy said, tapping my shoulder, "And you're supposed to send the attendance down now."


"Leah has mints!" Conan said, and she's selling them to Tommy."


"Okay," I said, "I'll take care of it, but you need to keep the focus on yourself."


"Focus?" asked Conan. 


"Like a camera!" Several more voices shouted.


"What I mean is -  oh, look, let's just finish greeting each other," I sighed.


"Good morning, Mrs. Palmer, how are you?" Jeremy shouted close to my right ear.


"Frankly, not so well," I replied.


During the ensuing clamor that began as Literacy Block, I attempted to capture everyone's attention.


I turned the lights off.


I turned the lights back on.


I flicked them twice.


"One, two, three, look at me!" I tried loudly, turning two fingers toward my own eyes.


"It's not 'one, two, three, look at me,'" Shelby giggled. "It's one, two, three, eyes on me."


"Thanks, Shelby," I said. "ONE, TWO, THREE, EYES ON ME!" I more or less bellowed.


"You will now work on your literacy packet," I explained. "First, practice your spelling words; next, please do 2 handwriting sheets - "


"I have to go to the bathroom!" Jeremy shouted.


"You've gone twice," I said. "That's enough."


"But, I have to!" 


"Okay, but this is it," I warned. "Make the most of it."


"Where was I?" I asked.


"Over by the white board," Fee said.


"No, I mean... thanks Fee, never mind. All right, troops, you will be working on 2 handwriting sheets, then you will take turns reading with me."


"Can I go to the media center?" chirped Freddie.


"After you finish your work," I said firmly, feeling a modicum of control within reach.


"But, I don't have any books to read!" Freddie wailed.


"After...you...finish...your...work," I repeated.


"You're allowed to send four people down," Freddie explained.


"I'll go!" 12 voices shouted.


"No, no one leaves until his or her work is finished," I said. I circled the classroom slowly with one arm outstretched as if leveling a death ray.


"Can I read with you first?" Shelby asked.


"Sure," I answered. "It needs to quiet in here, so everyone can concentrate," I said, placing a finger over my lips.


"I can't concentrate," Tommy complained. "If my sneaker is untied."


"I don't want to do any work," Jeremy complained. "Can't I just go to the bathroom?"


"NO!" I said. "And no more talking!"


"Let's play the quiet game!" someone said.


"Yay, yay, the quiet game!"


As Shelby read to me, the quiet game was played eleven times. Jeremy demanded bathroom privileges four more times; two little boys hung by their chins over their chair backs; hundreds of pencils were sharpened; dozens of tiny water bottles were crinkled in small hands; packages of cold Eggo pancakes were consumed.


"You're a doof," Shelby read aloud from her read-aloud selection.


"A douche??" Tommy repeated.


"I don't want to do this work now," Madison complained.


"I'd rather be home in a quiet room drinking a nice cup of coffee, but I'm here," I said. "We all have to show up and do our work."


"I can't even have coffee," sniffed Madison.


"It is a half day today, right?" I asked a passing teacher in the hallway as my students skipped and leaped and jostled their way to music class.


"Subbing today?" she enquired.

*