Substitute Stories

I substituted in eighth grade Civics yesterday and the day before it was eighth grade band. It was fun if you consider being a combination of a cop and a drill sergeant fun.

Teaching band was humorous because A. I don't play any instrument other than the piano and B. There are a ridiculous number of students in band. In the first few periods, we watched "West Side Story." Even then I had to walk up and down policing the youngsters who did everything but hang from the ceiling. "Take your sunglasses off and come sit over here," I ordered one kid. "Stop lying on the floor," I ordered another.

I had a class of trumpet players who were relatively well-behaved except they tried to convince me that one kid had a drum solo on "Smoke on the Water." The kid went over and banged on the drums. Uh huh. "We're just going to do trumpet playing today," I announced. "But he's supposed to have a solo," one girl insisted. "Does the phrase 'I wasn't born yesterday' mean anything to you?" I asked her. After the class, the boy confessed, "I don't play the drums." "I got that," I told him.

Then in sixth or seventh period, which was supposed to be flutes and drums, in walk 75 kids. Ahhhhh. First, we tried actually rehearsing with one kid conducting. Ten minutes and one whopping headache later, I made them stop. Demanded they stop really. The kid conducting didn't know what they were doing and I'm pretty sure they were all playing different tunes. I put on "West Side Story" again right in the middle. By that point, I didn't care."

But the eighth grade band was OK compared to Civics. Hey, I like Civics. I even got to do some teaching. But I had one kid who just wouldn't cooperate. When I sat next to him, he moved and mumbled something about not wanting to sit next to me. When I made him move back, he slowly inched forward. "You're just a sub," he told me. I finally made him go next door.

I spent the afternoon in a deep funk. If I can't handle eighth grade, maybe I should throw in the towel, I thought. I took a long bath with a glass of wine and went to bed at 10 p.m. When I woke up I felt a lot better, especially since I had first grade today and just a half a day.

First grade! I love first grade! They're a handful too, mind you. But they don't have quite as much attitude. Yet.

As I told one of the kids, "I don't get paid enough for this?" "How much do you get paid?" he shot back. "Not enough." But better than nothing. I just started two weeks ago and I'm already burnt out. My college students are going to seem like a dream come true.

Mom's False Alarm at the Hospital

I was away on the Shore with my mother on Sunday when she complained of chest pains. "I'm sure it's nothing," she said.

I tried not to freak out but at age 72, I think you have to do something about chest pains so I urged her to go to the doctor. OK, I insisted she go to the doctor. She took some aspirin and then said she would take the train home. Fortunately, my uncle stepped in and said he would drive her home so we both took her to a hospital near her house in Brooklyn.

Six hours later, they found nothing and released her. It apparently wasn't heart-related, although I hope that she sees a doctor. My mother felt annoyed at the whole incident but I was left still feeling shaken. It made me realize that my mother's at an age where I have to worry about her. She's always been so strong and independent that I've always assumed she'd be fine. But despite the fact that she hates being fussed over, she's not always going to be fine. I have to step in as the bossy caretaker once in awhile and that's her role. That feels strange but hey, I boss everyone else around, why not her?

She's far from being a frail little old lady but age is catching up with her. She still plays with the kids and travels out to see us. She's still involved in a thousand organizations and working three days a week but I have to realize it might not always be that way. I have to start paying more attention to what she needs and mother her a bit even if she hates it. It makes me sad even saying this much but now that I'm half a century years old, it just might be time to be a grown-up.