A Substitute for Christmas
I have been substitute teaching in the Logan City and Cache County school districts for a couple of years now. But it all started a long time ago, in a place far, far away.
Brooklyn, New York. 1959. 6th grade, St. Brigid’s parochial school. After being whacked on the palms of my hands along with about five other classmates for something I’ve long forgotten, Sister Mary Eunice told us in no uncertain terms that we would all grow up to be criminals if we didn’t behave in class. She sent us back to our desks after being paraded in front of the whole class and, in sequence, execution style, whacked us each on both palms with a 16” hardwood ruler ...with metal trim.
Ouch! I have forgotten the crime, but will never forget the punishment, or what she told us that day: “Behave yourselves, study hard, make something of yourselves ...you may grow up to be president ...or even teachers, the highest calling.”
‘...the highest calling?’ That must mean big money. Forget president.
The allure and prestige of the highly paid teacher was just too hard to resist. Little did I know. I wanted it to be like ‘To Sir With Love’ or ‘Mr. Holland’s Opus’, or in my specific case, ‘Welcome Back, Kotter’ ...
2007. Same School. Sister Mary Eunice long gone, but not forgotten. I worked at St. Brigid’s part time as a substitute teacher. I had been in NY on a long term consulting job and living with my father in Brooklyn while I was between SLC, New York, and London. It was the neighborhood where I grew up and the very same school I attended. I saw myself as Gabe Kotter returning to the old neighborhood, giving back to the community, improving lives, doing good, influencing the next generation. Making a difference.
And after reading author and teacher Frank McCourt’s great stories in ‘Angela’s Ashes’, ‘Tis’, and ‘Teacher Man’, I was more impressed and committed than ever to work in the classroom and do my part helping to mold some young lives.
Not quite.
You’d think that substitute teaching experience would have cured me of ever wanting to see the inside of a classroom again. Those kids chewed me up and spit me out. 6th, 7th and 8th graders were the toughest. The principal and the other teachers warned me. Said it wouldn’t be like Utah. I told them I could handle it, after all I grew up here, I was one of these kids!
The other teachers seemed to have pretty good control over their class rooms. They were tough, sometimes they even seemed mean, but I guess they had to be. I, on the other hand, made the mistake of trying to befriend the students. A fine balance, a deadly game.
I did manage to gain their attention, however, but swore I’d never do it again.
I did my best, tried to connect and make a difference, but it was all I could do to keep them in the building let alone in the room and in their seats. Very little “teaching” was accomplished, I made very little money, and felt very little personal gratification as having done nothing to influence a young life. I have never felt so dejected or like such a failure.
Until ...
One summer night, I was out for a walk. My mind was on heading back to Logan. I was thinking how I couldn’t wait to get back home, to Utah, to my family, and what a miserable failure I had been as a teacher, even a substitute teacher. I was walking through the neighborhood that night, mostly row tenement housing, three story family brick buildings, small shared back yards with the row of buildings on the other side of the block (like in ‘A Tree Grows in Brooklyn’) ..clothes lines across the backyards, one, two and three stories up, railroad style apartments. The neighborhood mostly consisted of minority people, Hispanic, African American, Puerto Rican, Asian. Many extended families now living in these homes. Parents, grandparents, kids and grandkids.
It was a hot, humid night. Sweltering. People were sitting on the front “stoops” trying to catch a breeze, drinking soda pop and cold beer. Groups of older and younger people just sitting talking, joking, laughing. I wasn’t afraid. I walked around freely. This was my neighborhood.
Then I heard it. Some kid shouted out from a crowded stoop, “Hey, Mr. Kushma! How ‘ya doin’?!. Then another as I walked on, “Hey, Mr. ‘K’, what’s up, man?!” Come meet my mom.”
That’s all I needed to hear. I succeeded. Connected. They liked me!
And I liked them. Every one of them. Even the “bad” ones. We had bonded and I hadn’t even realized it. Maybe I did make a difference.
When I returned to Logan, I knew I wanted to substitute or volunteer in the schools again. I inquired about it and found that the system here was different. The subs didn’t work directly with the schools. The jobs were outsourced. First time around I didn’t complete the process because it seemed just to laborious. Applications, interviews, testing, background screening, finger prints. I had to pay for my own fingerprints! But the calling was too great. I kept hearing in my mind, “Hey, Mr. Kushma! How ‘ya doin’?!”
Make a difference.
So, on my second attempt I completed the process, passed with flying colors and have been substitute teaching here in Cache Valley for several years now.
When people ask me, I tell them it is the most worthwhile thing I have ever done. Some say, “Yeah, just give it time, the honeymoon will be over soon.”
Well, the “honeymoon” is not over yet, and it most definitely is the most worthwhile thing I have ever done. Yes, there are some bad days, some challenging students and situations. But as a substitute I can pick and choose the days I want to work, pick the school, the grade level, and even the subject. I’ve subbed for kindergarten through grade 12, and for most every subject including, Band, PE, Agriculture, English Literature, ESL, Math and more.
I honestly don’t think I could do this as a full time teacher, however. It would be much too hard. I’m not that strong no matter how lofty my aspirations. You’d have to be there every day for them, you’d have to be 110% on your game every day. The focus, commitment, and dedication would require a tremendous amount of energy ...and love. My hat goes off to any teacher, anywhere. Teaching is probably the most important, selfless occupation there is, and it takes a very important, selfless, special person to do it.
These kids are our most precious natural resource. We need to take good care of them. Give them a good start. Make a difference in their lives so they will make a difference.
I was having a challenging day at a local elementary school here in Cache Valley this Christmas season. I just wanted to get through the day and go home. Felt a flu coming on. You have to be on your best behavior at all times in the schools no matter how you feel. You never know who is watching, what kid, and what they are thinking. As a teacher, even as a substitute teacher, you are a role model, a teacher, and a protector.
I was walking down the hall during class change, all 6’3” of me in a sea of 4-footers. 3rd, 4th and 5th graders. Suddenly, a little Asian girl appeared in the crowded hallway. She looked directly at me and started walking toward me, our eyes locked. She walked right up to me and put her arms around my waist and hugged me. Just stood there and hugged me. I wasn’t sure what to do. She looked up at me and I could see in her eyes that she trusted me. She was safe with me. I almost broke down in tears. I couldn’t even remember if she was in one of my classes, but she had seen me and had made some judgement about me. She was a quiet girl, I could tell. I patted her on the head to acknowledge her gesture of trust and love and we both moved on. I’ll never forget that moment and how it made me feel. Just like the Hispanic kid on the stoop in Brooklyn made me feel when he called out, “Hey, Mr. Kushma! How ‘ya doin’?! Come meet my mom!” ...you are welcome in my life, I trust you.
A huge responsibility. I’ll take it.
John Kushma is a communication consultant and lives in Logan, Utah.
https://www.linkedin.com/in/john-george-kushma-379a5762
http://newsbout.com/a/John+Kushma
