Middle Schoolers and Other Forms of Alien Life

By Jody Worsham

All rights reserved for therapy

I have taught high school for thirty-nine years. Subbing a full day in kindergarten last year was traumatic, enlightening, but traumatic. That was nothing compared to my half day subbing in middle school. If we really wanted to make a dramatic change in our penal system, judges would need only to sentence an offender to substitute teaching in middle school. Even the most hardened criminal would be begging for the death penalty after just a few days.

The teacher for whom I was subbing, and to her credit, actually expected me to teach. Cool, I thought. Most of the time I only get to push play on the DVD and maintain order. However, I had exactly five minutes to master the Smart Board ( 21^st century chalk board) and comprehend the socio-economic and cultural significance of the valued contents of a middle class family in Japan that had been piled on the street in front of their house and the same for a family in Iceland. The teacher warned me that middle schoolers were a different kind of animal. She didn't tell me they were wild animals. She also said to seek the assistance of the principal if I needed to. She didn't say to yell for him as soon as the bell rang.

I managed to turn the Smart Board on before the first thundering herd arrived. The minute they entered the door, I knew I was in trouble. Somehow mob control was omitted from my college educational curriculum. I knew one family was having trouble regulating their child's medication so I understood the desk chair gymnastics that was going on. I did not anticipate the need for serious medication for the rest of the class. Ten students were really interested in learning so I focused on them while trying to keep the other twenty-five contained somewhere close to their assigned seats.

Mercifully the two and half hour class that was only forty-five minutes was over. Time for the next group. I was ready. I'd play the tough teacher. After one minute of class, one little person said "You're mean." Yes, I hadn't lost it. I could do this. I had put on my video-chair looking brace for my plantar fasciitis as the floors were some kind of concrete. "Hey, you under house arrest" came from the back of the room. I knew what she was referring to because I watch "White Collar" and Martha Stewart but I wondered about her frame of reference. No one in this class was interested in Japan, Iceland, or anything within ten miles of the school. Time to call in reinforcements. I knew the principal was in another wing of the building, so I would have to bluff (I also watch "The World Poker Series"). I stepped out and yelled into an empty hall "Yes, tell Mr. Smith that he is needed in room 211."

I returned to a classroom where ten were feigning a search for Iceland somewhere around Tahiti on the giant wall map, fifteen were reading aloud from the textbook about German technology, and eleven were trying to mute Angry Birds on their I-pod. I managed to bluff my way to the end of the period which was five minutes away.

There was a basketball tournament the last period so the teacher had suggested the class might want to attend. YES! Time to send the recess-deprived-high-maintenance-hyper-loud middle schoolers to a place where such behavior is acceptable…the gym. As I was leaning against the rail in the gym, two regular teachers came over.

"Subbing today? I could tell by the glazed look," said one.

"Yes, they said I was mean," I replied.

"Good, maybe they will hire you full time. There's ninety-five in this class."

"Don't worry," I said, "there'll soon be fifty-two. Some sub is going to snap and go on a screaming rampage and thirty-three will transfer to Alaska."

"Really?" she said all too hopefully.

"Luckily, they are protected by law so they all survived today."

"Are you coming back tomorrow?"

"No, I've been to Hell, I'm not going back."

As I herded my group back to class I observed a middle school teacher. "Ray, are you supposed to be running?" "Well, I was late and…" "Yes ma'am or No ma'am. Are you supposed to be running?" "No ma'am." "Thank you. Now continue walking." Ok, short sentences, repeat question, accept only the designated response, thank you, send him on his way. Got it…maybe.

The middle school secretary asked if I would sub tomorrow as I was making my escape. "No, sorry." I almost suggested she call the state prison for a list of those on death row.

Teachers of kindergarten and middle school must answer to a special calling…or have some kind of mental problem. I couldn't do their job. Thankfully, they are there for my children and I am eternally grateful. I shall look on them with greater respect and admiration and will ask Santa to fill their stockings with a sufficient supply of valium, Zoloft, wine, and other strong tranquilizers to get them to May.

Drive-by Wi-Fi

by Jody Worsham
All rights reserved for possible bail money

Recently my fingerprints were rejected by the FBI for "insufficient ridges", or so they said. I am scheduled to be re-fingerprinted next week so that I can continue to substitute teach. I guess they think I will grow ridges by then.

But I am a little worried about this next time. My behavior of late may seem a bit bizarre or strange to anyone other than fellow writers, mothers with toddlers, or persons with Alzheimer's.

I have been having severe trouble with my s-l-o-w dial-up so I have resorted to hanging out in town at places with free Wi-Fi. I spend a lot of time in the children's section of a local bookstore because there is a table with a plug nearby for my lap top. However, I have noticed the salespeople keep circling by and asking if I need any help.

My second free Wi-Fi of choice is our local McDonald's. Their Wi-Fi connections are fast, they have restrooms, and there is food and drink readily available for long term computer sessions. After visiting there several days in a row, I realized that their Wi-Fi suddenly closes down for no apparent reason and "all unsaved data" is lost. After a few more days of observation, I discovered that there is a two hour limit per "log in" on their Wi-Fi. After having to re-log in twice in one day, I concluded that my visits should be shortened there, plus their Mocha Frappes were beginning to show up on places other than the menu.

Still with no dial-up connections, I have been reduced to cruising the neighborhoods looking for free unsecured Wi-Fi. Unfortunately the neighborhoods with the most Wi-Fi connections also have a neighborhood watch. I think my license plate, "IRA Nitwit" has been reported to the local police.

During my canvassing of the neighborhoods, I have begun to encounter some of the same cars each day. I believe they are experiencing some of the same problems judging from their license plates,"No S Sky", "No-net Jef", and "Tre-B-Gone."

This little Wi-Fi-scavenger-road-rally may actually evolve into some kind of sport for computer-savvy generations to come. I remember playing CB radio tag with my friends when there were no cell phones. This could somehow become Wi-Fi tag.

I can see it now, a new Olympic event. Geek meets Greek. Contestants are given a lap top with a two hour battery life, no USB port, but with Wi-Fi capability. They are dropped by helicopter into a neighboring country currently not at war with anybody. Ok, right now that would be Switzerland. The contestant able to send e-mails from the most Wi-Fi spots with extra points given for the most remote Wi-Fi spot in that two hours time is the winner. This might really stimulate the economy in say third word countries as McDonald's, Starbucks, What-A-Burger, Borders, via to have the most remote Wi-Fi spot in that country.

Getting back to my problem, you may ask, "Why not ditch the dial-up and get high speed Internet?" Ah, would that I could! But like my friend in the blue Camera, "No S Sky", I also do not have a clear unobstructed view of the southern sky. Like the lady in the black truck "Tre Be Gone", I have a forest of thirty year old pine trees surrounding my house. Even to use my cell phone I have to stand in the front yard with a coat hanger in my left hand, my cell phone in my right hand, and my back against the tallest pine tree in the yard.

Until technology catches up to nature, I shall continue to roam the streets in search of free Wi-Fi, drink myself into a caffeine coma from establishments touting free Wi-Fi, or my face appears on the FBI Most Unwanted list.

Rejected by the FBI

By Jody Worsham
All rights reserved to pay for free lawyer

If you write and submit your writings, you expect to be rejected…a lot. If you suggest any rational or practical ideas at say an economic summit, you can anticipate no one in an elected office will listen to you. But if you sign on as a substitute teacher in a state so desperate for subs that anyone whose breath can still fog a mirror, even slightly, is called until rigor mortise sets in, you expect to be accepted on the sub list. Not so. I shall explain.

To increase security, or possibly to give some brother-in-law’s failing company a gigantic economic boost onto the bottom rung of the Fortune 500, our legislature is now requiring all teachers and substitute teachers to be fingerprinted at a cost of approximately $52.75 per teacher/sub. The fingerprints can only be taken by ONE company, the brother-in-law company; but once entered into the Brig Brother Data Base, you can substitute anywhere in the state.

I do not have a problem with this, well except for the Big Brother part and the single company monopoly part. When we adopted our last two children four years ago, both my husband and I had to be fingerprinted for a criminal background check. I think we may have even been fingerprinted when we applied to adopt two donkeys form the federal government’s Burro Reclamation Project in the 80’s. Since I also have a passport and driver’s license, my fingerprints are in several systems. Fingerprinting is not the problem.

The problem is the system. I was given a time to be fingerprinted. I had my Fast Pass, required before you can be fingerprinted, not to save time. I think the brother-in-law CEO of the fingerprint company may have just gotten back from Disney World. I had my driver’s license and my social security card. I even brought along my passport just in case. No one asked for my teaching certificate, number of years teaching experience, or my birth certificate. I guess that did not matter. I was anticipating and waiting for the fogged mirror test.

I think I have watched too many episodes of “Law and Order’ or “Matlock” because I also brought along baby wipes to remove the black ink. This was not needed as fingerprinting has gone high tech. I was photographed, each hand was scanned on a computer, each digit was rolled across the screen, and I could see the entire process on the monitor. The required sums were paid and I was dismissed.

A week later I still have not received any calls to substitute and I am sure rigor mortise has not set in. I currently have a heart beat and I can fog up a mirror. I am confused.

Today I received a letter from the brother-in-law fingerprinting company saying my fingerprints had been rejected by the FBI. Now I was not applying for The Silver Fox Anti-terrorist School for Retired Teachers. I did not want to be in the newest class at Quantico. I just want to substitute teach.

Rejected! Thirty-nine years in the classroom as a certified teacher with a master’s degree in three teaching fields and I was rejected. After I calmed down and found my glasses, I read on down to the bottom of the page where I saw REASON in big letters followed by “First rejection.” Were there going to be more? Then below that was “ridges too faint to read.”

Faint ridges? Faint ridges? Faint ridges! I have no fingerprints! Does that make me a vampire? No, vampires have no reflections. What is it when you have no fingerprints? A ghost? A mummy? The mob’s best friend? Then it hit me. Well of course the ridges are too faint to read. They are almost seven decades old. I’ve patted eight children to sleep over a period of forty years, sewed thousands of costumes, built a house and a barn, graded a million papers, and driven a quadrillion miles taking kids to and fro. I’ve even burned those ridges the few times I tried to cook. I pound a computer keyboard several hours a day and my new lap top doesn’t have a mouse. You just tap...with your fingertips. Of course they are worn out! But I can still out-teach a “mirror-fogger.”

I read on further. There was a number I could call to reschedule a second fingerprinting/scanning session. If I reschedule, maybe I’ll get the Elmer’s glue and squirt a sad face on my finger. I’m not saying which finger. I’ll bet those ridges would scan.

The phone is in my pocket. I’m still thinking.

Back to the Future...and It's Scary!

By Jody Worsham, all rights reserved for Valium!

Emitting from the darkest regions of a lost and forlorn soul, the screams reverberated around the room. Such keening and wailing caused window panes to vibrate. The high pitched crying had dogs baying at the sun, small children covering their ears, and senior citizens tossing their hearing aids. And that was just from me.

Nothing in my 60 hours of college education courses, 39 years of teaching experience, or raising eight children had prepared me for this. I was being propelled through the time-continuum portal of substitute teaching in…kindergarten.

My 39 years of teaching experience occurred mostly in the last half of the twentieth century, and mostly PC (pre-computer). Even as a recent substitute, I had encountered the occasional power point presentation or DVD left by the teacher to be played, or the request to take attendance using the computer. Nothing, however, had prepared me for High Tech Kindergarten substituting.

My instructions were printed out. The first thing I had to do was log in on the computer as the children arrived and sat on the carpet. Actually, the first thing I had to do was find the computer. I was looking for something similar to my ‘05 Dell, you know, big tv type monitor, tower, and keyboard with mouse, not a gray-black rectangle the width of a desk blotter.

After finding the blotter sized lap top I then struggled with how to open it. After a trial and error period of 10 minutes I succeeded. There was no icon, button, or big red flashing arrow to indicate that was where I was to log. When in doubt, click everything. The teachers’ aid rebooted it for me. The teacher next door came and clicked onto the Alphabet program then turned on the wall switch to the “Smart Board”. Thus I firmly established myself as an authority figure, one to be reckoned with, firmly in charge of the situation in front of my sixteen kindergarten students. Not! It went downhill from there.

Unlike my high school students I had for an hour and a half, I had these children all day long. And while I could divide my high school students into reading groups, send one group outside to rehearse an acting scene, and tell another group to begin painting; these couldn’t read, couldn’t be left alone a second , and t would sooner color each other than what they should be coloring. This was a whole different world I had entered.

By the time I got through the first page of instructions, I was twenty minutes behind schedule and would have missed the bathroom break if six little boys hadn’t suddenly broken into the Potty Dance. As a mother of eight, I know that dance well. After trying to herd my chickens to the restroom and back, I was now ten minutes past Alphabet time.

Alphabet Time had to do with the Smart Board and the Dumb Sub. Fortunately one of the five-year-olds was in charge of this portion of the lesson. He touched the picture of an arrow on the giant screen and the picture changed. He did the calendar as well. He drug the date from the side to the calendar. He moved the star to the correct month. Then he touched the arrow again and the letters of the alphabet appeared giant sized on the screen. The children were to trace the letters. I looked for some chalk but the five-year-old-techno-genius said “We use these” and gave me a pitiful look along with some kind of giant computer crayon. We were supposed to stop at Ee but we had to stop at Bb. It was lunch time.

I again began my attempts at “sweeping feathers” toward the cafeteria. Each child had his name on a “credit card” located in a slotted board. They had to have their cards to get lunch. I had left my glasses in the room; they couldn’t yet read their names. I held their cards out as far as my arm could reach and squinted amidst cries of “I’m hungry,” “Hurry up!” “We’re going to miss lunch”. “I want my Mommie.” “Our real teacher let us eat”.

After passing out all the cards, I was left with one. Panic set in. I had lost a child! I quickly scanned all the tables but I was having trouble trying to find my missing child among the 50 plus children with catsup smeared all over their faces. It was steak finger day. I asked the Aid for help. She told me that child had brought her lunch. Ok, LCA (Lost Child Alert) averted,


After lunch, we had recess. One hyper little child asked if he was going to have to miss recess because of his bad behavior. I thought to myself “Not on your life. Run, Forrest, run” He did. When we returned to the classroom, it was nap time. I needed it, but when I read down further, it was only for the children.

Nap time was an excersize in futility. I didn’t know how to get music on the Smart Board, or the computer and I hadn’t brought my old antiquated jam box and CD’s. I dared not sing so it was simply “Quiet time, please.” Four went to sleep right away. Seven did their best to keep five awake and did a very good job of it. I saw the 2020 gymnastic hopefuls working out their routines those who will one day appear on Dancing with the Stars were inventing new steps, and American Idol hopefuls were getting in tune. I just kept staring at the clock. At last it was time to go home. I got everybody who was riding a bus to the bus line. Everybody who was riding in a car was shuffled off to the pick-up line.

In theory substituting in a kindergarten class had looked easy. Follow the lesson plans and all would be well. In retrospect it was a microcosm of our world to come. Every kindergartener had a job, but just like their 20 year old plus adult counter-parts, they didn’t always like their jobs nor did they always do them. Shades of unemployment lines to come. One started crying loudly when another child cut in front at lunch. Geneva Convention violations. One moved his mat into another child’s space. Border disputes. Getting bumped by another student in line was a call to arms. Nuclear arms race continued. One child claimed another child had taken over his job. Labor Union negotiations .

I had observed in one day a microcosm of our world. I had been staring at the future…and it was scary!

When I returned home and reached for the wine bottle, no glass was needed, my husband was laughing.

“Ate your lunch, did they?”
“My lunch, my breakfast, and my supper.”
“Going back tomorrow?”
“Not on your life. I’m sending flowers, sympathy cards, a giant box of very dark chocolate plus a year’s membership to “Massage Stress Away Health Club" to every kindergarten teacher I know. They deserve it!”