the gift that keeps on giving

This is not my actual eye, as I lack the energy to photograph it. It is, however, a remarkable likeness.

I've been substitute teaching this week. I have no intention of making a career of it. In high school I had taken  a basic test (CBEST), and filed the little card away. I haven/t technically graduated from college, but because I have fulfilled my graduation requirements and am merely waiting around for the formality of a graduation date, presentation of the documentation of such, along with a TB skin test certification,  entitles me to a 30-day subject teaching credential. This provisional credential authorizes me to substitute for a given teacher for a more thirty school days per school year, In a situation of extreme need, a school district may fill out a waiver for me to teach for longer than the thirty days. (There's not much of a chance of that happening, as someone would have to hogtie me into a classroom in order to keep me there for more than five days , much less thirty days.) Realistically, a waiver would be likely granted in the area of one of my majors, but not necessarily in physical education.My day as a substitute teacher begins with my explaining to the students that, no, I'm not in middle school or high school anymore.  I've begun bringing my high school yearbook from three years ago with me, which I produce at this point. The students remain skeptical. I offer to answer any legitimate academic question they can come up with, either off the top of my head, or if necessary with the use of a computer in fewer than thirty seconds. They're then somewhat convinced of my legitimacy, but not totally so. 

Anyway, it seemed like  relatively painless way to pick up $140.00 a day. It's been relatively painless in that the students are not allowed to kick, hit, strike, or spit upon me. Psychological abuse, on the other hand , is not off limits. I've gotten to hear all week about how my students all have brothers who are thirteen or fourteen who would most likely think I'm really hot and could probably be persuaded to date me. Note that there's no certainty that these phantom boys will date me, but merely a probability according to the little brothers and sisters. And this is just in the first grade classes. God only knows to what form of harassment I would probably be subjected in a middle school class.  The girls would probably be boasting to me that their breast sizes are larger than mine, and they would probably be right.

Today I woke up with a slightly crusty eye but thought little of it. When I went into the staff room at lunchtime,  I was promptly kicked out. The health aide asked if I had health insurance. (They were at least going to pay my bill if I had no insurance, which was nice.) I drove to the university health center to receive the official diagnosis of pink eye, and drove home with tubes and vials of medication. My dad immediately slapped a "Quarantine " sign on our front door. (He thinks he's funny.) When I walked into the front door of my home, my mom took one look at me and said, "Don't you dare touch my piano!" She didn't offer any sympathy.

My day as a substitute teacher begins with my explaining to the students that, no, I'm not in middle school or high school anymore.  I've begun bringing my high school yearbook from three years ago with me, which I produce at this point. The students remain skeptical. I offer to answer any legitimate academic question they can come up with, either off the top of my head, or if necessary with the use of a computer in fewer than thirty seconds. They're then somewhat convinced of my legitimacy, but not totally so. 

The  attempted match-making usually starts around math time -- usually right at the point when I think I'm successfully driving home a difficult concept. Someone will raise his or her hand. I'll call on the child, expecting an answer at least even if not the right one. Instead, I'll here, "My brother is perfect for you!" Then some other child will counter that his or her brother is even more perfect for me than in the previous child's brother. It's gone this way for a week.


I may have done the very last of my substitute teaching. Pink eye is bad enough. God forbid that I should contract head lice.