Bagels and Popcorn Reading

[dedalus_1947]

What would you think if I sang out of tune?
Would you stand up and walk out on me?
Lend me your ears and I’ll sing you a song,
And I’ll try not to sing out of key.
Oh, I get by with a little help from my friends.
Mmm, I get high with a little help from my friends.
Mmm, I’m gonna try with a little help from my friends.

Do you need anybody?
I need somebody to love.
Could it be anybody?
I want somebody to love.
(A Little Help from My Friends: Lennon & McCarthy, 1967)

There is something remarkably orderly and business-like in the way Catholic elementary school children line up each morning in the playground. Perhaps public school kids do the same, but I don’t know for sure. You see my many teaching experiences have only been in middle and senior high public schools where students range freely through the schools each morning, like grazing cattle, until a ringing bell prompts them into a stampede to their classrooms. So, I was stunned by the quiet and calm I saw when I first walked out the door of the Faculty Room of OLV School. There were boys and girls of every size, shape and color, forming up in neat, straight lines, awaiting the arrival of their teachers and the bell. Contrasting the uniformity of navy blue pants, shorts, and plaid skirts, the bright hues of their polo shirts gave them a crisp and colorful look. It was a sparkling sea of tranquil blues and grey, mixed with bright splashes of poppy gold and luminous white shirts. In the background, cars were slowly snaking through a cordoned area at the west end of the parking lot/playground, directed by two young, teacher assistants. At a designated spot, doors flew open and pint-sized passengers quickly disembarked, and the car proceeded out through another gate. The children slowly joined their particular grade-level line and waited. Some children talked, some ate a hasty breakfast snack, and some simply gazed off into space. The only discordant note in the harmonic morning scene was the occasional jostling I spotted in the lines. A few children seem determined to be FIRST in line, even if they arrived later than the current occupant. Their actions were not belligerent or hostile, but a careful observer could easily see how the usurper was covertly moving, sliding from side to side, and changing position to maneuver himself/herself into the foremost spot. I had forgotten how important it was for young children TO BE FIRST at things; and how obvious they can be in attempting to gain that position.

“I think your fifth grade class is over there,” Ellen, the 1^st grade teacher said, pointing at two short lines in the middle of the formation. “Let’s check to make sure”.
We walked the short distance to two lines of four girls and five boys. “Good morning children, is this the 5^th grade line?”
“Yeeesss” three girls said in unison.
“Excellent, this is Mr. Delgado, he will be your substitute teacher for today”.
“Good morning, Mr. Delgado,” two of the girls managed to say together, as the boys from the parallel line looked over with great interest.
“Good morning students,” I said, smiling. “How do you get to class? Does your teacher come to get you or do you walk in yourselves?”
“Our teacher comes out to meet us each morning” the first girl in line said. “Then we walk to the entrance door of the classroom. We line up there until she greets us and then we walk in”.
“The first bell rings at 8 o’clock,” Ellen added. “We give them a five minute grace period for tardiness, then teachers escort their classes to their rooms”.
“Great” I said. “I’ll go ahead and open up the room. I want to look at the material and textbooks I’ll be using today. Thanks for your help Ellen”.
“Your welcome, Tony. Good luck today and thanks for the bagels. That was very kind”.
“Your welcome,” I replied.  “Your teachers do a great job. In my former school I noticed how subs sometimes brought doughnuts or pastry for the faculty. The regular teachers appreciated it, although I think the subs were actually lobbying for more clients”.
“Well who knows” Ellen said, tongue-in-cheek, “if you do a good job for us today, we may call you back for more assignments”.
“Great” I said, laughingly, as I walked towards the 5^th grade classroom, “we’ll fill my days with subbing assignments. Just what a retired principal wants to do”.

In an unexplained impulse last month, I suddenly told Kathy I wanted to help her at school if she ever needed emergency assistance. The announcement surprised her as much as it shocked me. I explained that I wasn’t looking for REAL work, nor did I want to substitute teach or volunteer my time on a regular basis. But I came to the realization that as a retired teacher and principal, I was in a position to help if she was in a sudden and unexpected jam. It was a generous idea and I was very proud of myself for having THOUGHT it. I promptly forgot about it until last week, when Kathy brought me back to reality by actually asking me to substitute for Jennifer, her fifth grade teacher. They were both attending a morning testing meeting on Tuesday, and she could not find a substitute teacher to cover Jennifer’s class. I paused just long enough to realize that I couldn’t equivocate on my offer, and quickly replied, “Sure, I’d be happy to sub for you.” Now I was committed to an action that was incredibly intimidating. I’d knowingly put myself in a position as a replacement teacher. I hadn’t subbed in years, and never liked doing it.

Teaching is hard, but subbing is harder; the former takes determination and skill, the latter requires audacity and improvisation. My only successful teaching experiences were as a full time, regular instructor in junior and senior high schools. I hated to substitute for other teachers. Lesson plans were rarely detailed and comprehensive, I could never find necessary equipment and materials in another teacher’s classroom, and students interpreted the absence of their teacher as an excuse for uncooperative and defiant behavior. I completely stopped subbing as an administrator. On the rare occasions when I discovered a teacher-less class as a principal, I would “sit with” the students for a brief time until an official substitute teacher was called or found. But I never actually followed an emergency lesson plan, and I never taught students below the 6^th grade level. So why had I volunteered to sub, when I didn’t like subbing? What had prompted my chivalrous intention in the first place? It wasn’t clear even to me until I inadvertently explained it to James, John, and Ed, three brothers who were long time family friends.

On the Saturday before I subbed for Kathy and Jennifer, the four of us met for drinks before seeing Spamalot, the musical adaptation of the movie, Monty Python and the Holy Grail, at the Ahmanson Theatre. While chatting at a bar and grill before the performance, John asked how I was adapting to retirement. I told him that I was slowly becoming comfortable with the “free time” I now had; time to indulge in activities that were only possible in my youth.  As a high school and college student, my life consisted of six general activities: learning, reading, writing, household chores, athletics, and HELPING. I recalled that helping was seen as a NOBLE ACTION of family love, friendship, and generosity; and since money was always lacking, time and labor were the only resources we had available to offer one another. I remembered helping friends study, work, and learn new skills. In those days I especially enjoyed helping girls. It was the chivalrous thing to do, and could lead to other, more amorous rewards. This innocent, helpful attitude slowly changed with time, age, and marriage. My willingness to help others shrunk in reverse proportion to my age, number of dependents, and income. About the only people I considered helping were family members with great needs, or people for whom I felt a great obligation. But even with family, I passed up many opportunities to help, claiming more personal obligations. Retirement now reminded me of that semi-autonomous state of irresponsibility I experienced in high school and college. As a youth, all I had to do was go to school and complete my chores. I was always free to HELP, and I felt a great sense of satisfaction and happiness in doing so. I sought that feeling again. So, I explained to the brothers, about two months ago I privately decided to be available to HELP PEOPLE, preferably people I KNEW. The idea of helping strangers filled me with dread because I feared becoming responsible FOR THEM. I thought helping friends was easier- especially if one concentrated on the helping, and not the work. Kathy was the first person I told of this intention, and she was the first person to ask. So, I announced, I was subbing for her 5^th grade teacher. I’m not sure if my explanation made sense to the brothers, but it helped me understand my own actions. I saw subbing as an adventure and an opportunity to help. I had the teaching experience, and the subject matter knowledge; I simply needed to call forth the required audacity and be ready to improvise.

I suspected that I was not simply being thrown into an emergency-subbing situation when Kathy asked me if I’d like to see the classroom and meet Jennifer and her students the day before my assignment. I was relieved at the offer and pleased with the results. Seeing the physical layout and organization of Jennifer’s classroom assured me that I was walking into a structured and well-managed situation. Each desk was spaced and clearly labeled with the names of each student. Classroom rules, question and comment hand-signs, student chores, daily lesson agenda, student activities, and homework assignments were all printed or posted around the room. It was a physical environment that radiated feelings of safety, structure, and active learning. The 5^th grade students were clearly amazed when their principal introduced me as her husband (and also a principal) and the substitute teacher for the following day. I could almost hear a collective gulp as that bit of information settled into their consciousness (“Our principal’s husband is our substitute teacher!”). As Kathy interacted with the students, Jennifer gave me a quick orientation of her room, pointing out the learning hints and strategies posted on walls, and indicating the duty roster of student chores and responsibilities. She assured me that her students were familiar with the learning activities and procedures required for the lessons she planned. She also promised to email me her lesson plans that afternoon so I could review the activities and instruction. She was very young, sweet, and thoughtful in her sureness; and I realized that she too might be gulping at the prospect of having her principal’s husband subbing for her (“What will he think of my kids, my lessons, and ME?”).

Actually I knew Jennifer, and had known her for a long time. She was one of two PLACE (Partners in Los Angeles Catholic Education) Corp teachers whom my wife recruited from the Loyola Marymount University Catholic teaching and graduate program. Our daughter Prisa was accepted into the Jesuit funded service program the year after its inception. As educators, Kathy and I were impressed with the aims and the quality of training provided in this program, which matched well-educated and highly motivated Catholic college graduates with archdiocesan elementary and high schools who served ethnically diverse and predominately low-income students. Prisa thrived in the Catholic communal environment that supported the two-year apprenticeship, and she graduated with a master’s degree, teaching credential, and full-time teaching experience. At the end of Prisa’s first year, Kathy suggested the program to two former students of OLV who were just graduating from college and interested in teaching. Kathy had taught Jennifer and Esthela when they were 8^th grade students, and they stayed in touch throughout their high school and college years. The PLACE Corp seemed the perfect vehicle to test their resolve. After a few years, Kathy offered them both teaching positions at their former school (Esthela in 2^nd grade and Jennifer in 5^th). They accepted and thrived in the strong community orientated school and parish that is OLV.

The morning of my assignment was over in a flash, and my 4-hour stint as a sub was finished before I had a chance to feel overwhelmed and regret my actions. My timing was perfect all day: buying the fresh bagels and cream cheese at Western Bagel, gaining entrance into the faculty lounge, and setting up the food before anyone arrived (over time I’ve learned that with a predominately female faculty, set-up and presentation of food is essential). I had just enough time to identify my line-up area, unlock the classroom doors, and review the manuals and textbooks before instructional time began. Honestly, I was only one activity ahead of the students all day, but because of the comprehensive quality of the lesson plans, and the self-management of the students, that was enough. The children were the real story. The most interesting part of the experience occurred at about 10:20 A.M., during the Reading Period. The lesson called for students to read a story aloud, utilizing the “popcorn reading” method and employing “Reading strategies to check comprehension”. This was the last interactive activity of the day, and I suspected I was finally beginning to relax, and so were the kids. Since the morning, they had acted very formally and mechanically with me. They were careful to listen, answered my questions, and followed my direction. However, during the reading assignment, I noticed that the type of questions the children were asking began to change. Up until that moment, they only raised their hands to ask permission or to respond to my questions: “Can I go to the bathroom? Can I get a drink of water? Can I get a pencil from my backpack?” They did not begin to ask speculative questions, or personal questions until we began reading.

The assignment was to read Wilma Unlimited, a story of Wilma Rudolph, the African-American runner who won 3 gold track and field medals in the 1960 Olympic games. Usually this type of lesson is a snap for a sub, because it simply entails letting the students read aloud. But the challenge of a reading exercise is to encourage students to practice a variety of thinking and comprehension skills, while maintaining interest in the story. Recess had given me just enough time to review the Teacher Manual and learn which skills were to be emphasized in the story. I studied the vocabulary list and the target concept - cause and effect. This is a simple term for an adult to recognize, but hard to explain to 10 year old children. Before I could develop a clear strategy, recess ended and it was time to pick up the kids who were lining up in the playground and escort them to class. Popcorn reading is a funny term, because the method has nothing to do with food. It is a “read-aloud” process in which students read a paragraph and then announce “popcorn”, before calling out the name of the next student reader. While it seems a disjointed method to listen to a narrative, it can develop a progressive reading rhythm while allowing natural breaks to think, ask questions, and speculate. I was awkward at first, because I hadn’t read the story ahead of time and wasn’t sure how to best illustrate cause and effect, and check for comprehension at the same time. As students began reading, I tried following along while glancing at the Teacher Manual for prompts and suggestions. One can’t read one thing and listen to another at the same time. I tried, but finally gave up. The primary rule of Improvisation (remember subbing was Audacity and Improvisation?) is: LISTEN, LISTEN, and LISTEN. One can’t interact with another person if they don’t listen to what they are saying.

Moving cause and effect to the back of my mind, I finally listened to the flow of the narrative and began highlighting obvious points of interest and speculation. That is when the tenor of student questions changed.
“So,” I interrupted, as soon as Marcella had called on Brandon to read. “We’ve mentioned that Wilma was tiny and weak at birth, and was always sick as a child. What would these facts cause people to think about Wilma, and what she might become?”
“Yes,” I said, pointing at the short, black haired boy who had suddenly raised his hand.
“Why can’t we remember what we did when we were one or two years old?” Kyle asked, sincerely.
“What?” I asked, unsurely. “Can you repeat the question?”
“Why can’t we remember what we did when we were one or two years old?” Kyle repeated. “I wish I could remember”.
“I’m not sure,” I answered, smiling at the seeming randomness of the question. “I think it’s because a child’s brain is still forming, and brain connections are only beginning to recognize sights, sounds, and ideas. Babies can’t remember what they don’t understand. I wish we could remember what it was like to be one or two years old too, but we have to depend on the memory of our parents and other adults. So, who can tell me what Wilma’s parents might have thought about how she would grow up?”

The students grew more eager to read and participate, and their reading level was surprising high. The story and interactions moved so fast, I didn’t have time to celebrate having answered this apparently nonsensical question (The connection hit me later that day). However, it wasn’t long before I was blind-sided by another unexpected question, after we read how Wilma and her mother had to sit in the back of the bus whenever they traveled to the hospital for treatment of her polio.
“Now this is very important,” I said, when Raven finished reading. “We live in a time when people in America can sit anywhere they wish in a bus, an airplane, or in a public vehicle. In fact, most children prefer sitting in the back of the bus, where they can see everyone and everything. But there was a time in our history when public facilities were divided. People could only use separate restrooms, restaurants, pools, or drinking fountains. Can someone tell us what was the basis of this separation?”
Marcella’s arm shot up so quickly I knew she had the full answer. “Yes, Marcella,” I said.
“What subject did you teach?” she asked.
“I taught history in school,” I said, puzzled by her association of segregation with me.
“Ohh” she exhaled, “that explains why you get so excited talking about this story”.
“Yes” I laughed in answer. “I supposed I do love reading and talking about people in American history. As you’ll see, Wilma Rudolph was really an interesting person who overcame incredible difficulties and hardships to achieve success.”
At that point of the lesson, I would have loved continuing to read, question and explore the accomplishments of Wilma Rudolph in America of the 50’s and 60’s, but it was almost 11 o’clock and time for a Social Studies quiz.

The morning ended for me at 11:30 when I released the students to their physical education class with Mandy, the P.E. instructor. I felt a great sense of relief at having finished this first test of my helping resolution. I was glad it was over, not because the experience was unpleasant – it wasn’t. In fact, it was incredibly satisfying. The kids (especially the 5^th graders) were alert, polite, eager, and engaging (They were also cute). I just needed to finally DO IT – finally sub and realize that I CAN do it, and enjoy it. A half-day assignment was the perfect initiation. The experience was short and sweet. It allowed me to see, hear, and participate in school activities, without the weariness and fatigue of a 6-hour day. I wouldn’t mind doing in again – as long as I knew I was helping someone out.

Comments

[(Anonymous)]

Tony,

Like I always say, "You just might be my idol!" Do you know, I also feel "a great sense of satisfaction and happiness" in helping people?! You are the very first person to have articulated 'exactly' how I feel about it! Lately, because of several disappointments, I have often wondered why I am the way I am! I have even told myself and my Significant Other that I was going to stop! But, I can't! I rationalized my behavior about 'helping' by remembering how I was also helped by people when I was growing up, in college, and even when I moved to New York to pursue my career! I got a lot of help and mentoring. But I now realize it is more than that. It makes me feel exactly as you stated! This is also helping to ease my mind a little bit about it! I do you know, I also see subbing (beyond the pay) as, "an adventure and opportunity to help! (without the disappointment of Adult fear and ignorance) Amazing!

I also found this piece, like many of your pieces when you are being brave in describing your Mind's workings, to be very humorous! It made me laugh out loud a couple of times. You are indeed an intelligent, interesting, and even funny Man! Also, my best to Kathy. Now, about that Book...

TRH