Losing Control in the Classroom... and Taking it Back

Jeremiah wasn't a bullfrog, but how we might have wished he was at that moment. Though he was running around the room flashing all the other young students, HE wasn't the one out of control. WE were the ones who had lost it.

The fifteen students were screaming, laughing and falling on the floor in mock--maybe not so mock-- horror. The morning in a Special Education class had already shown us that this was not going to be easy and that our major concern would be preventing a general mutiny of six, seven and eight year-olds.

I grabbed the school intercom to request an intervention, trying to simulate calmness and find words to let them know we had a second-grade flasher playing havoc in the Special Ed class.

"We need to have a errr... disruptive... student removed from room 4..." I started.

"Is it Jeremiah? " she asked. . . . "Yes."

Her question gave me some hope... they knew SOMETHING that we obviously didn't. The principal was there in a flash... so to speak. "Sorry", he said, "I didn't know BOTH of you were subs."

I had been a substitute teacher's aide for only a short time, and since aides only had subs for special ed classes, that's where I had been working. It was very interesting work, because I was always in the room with a highly experienced and skilled teacher who knew her students very well.

Some classes were physically handicapped, some were mentally challenged, and others--like this one-- were just ill-behaved little hellions. Yes, I know I shouldn't say that. Deep in my heart-- I really know better.

After the offender was removed, things were a little calmer. I found myself trying to console a poor little girl who was in tears.Trying to calm her fears, I said things were fine now, and Jeremiah was not coming back today. She was crying at the unfairness of it all: She didn't get to see.

Actually, I had been in the class before as a sub aide with the regular teacher, and we had a fairly calm and normal day. This time there was a young sub teacher who had never seen this group. We decided to spend our lunch hour together making a solid foolproof plan for the afternoon.

The regular teacher had left lesson plans, but these were not working for us. Two strange people in the room were just too much for these kids. We decided that plans would be scrapped in favor of surviving the afternoon with no casualties-- including, and especially, us.

We agreed that the best strategy would be to get them all doing the same thing at the same time. There was a piano in the room and by great good luck, the young teacher could play it. I would lead the class in songs to which we improvised motions and exercise movements, with all of them following my example. We could keep their attention.

We wore them out for the rest of the day and no one was bruised or bleeding when the final bell rang. This, we decided, was our definition of success.

When all of them were on their way out, the principal came in and congratulated us. He also mentioned that Jeremiah was moving to Oklahoma at the end of the week to live with his grandparents.

I could barely move. The teacher looked at me, slumped against the piano, and asked,"Do you think we should call Oklahoma and warn them?"