May 15, 2009 - This Is Not A Drill

In the 3 years I have been working with schools, I have participated in countless drills - fire, earthquake, and alternate disasters, natural or otherwise. All the schools have similar plans. If you've done one drill, you think you have done them all. Hmmmm, not the case. Yesterday, during 5th period, the fire alarm went off. We're all jaded though - fire alarms are mere distractions from the lesson plan. We waited for the first round of screaming bells to end. They paused. Then they continued. No announcement saying that we could remain as we were. So, we had to evacuate. At any other school, the saintly students would line up in two lines, and march with an urgent sense of duty toward the PE field, and line up as if the straightness of their lines would save the entire school from whatever mock disaster was planned for that day.

Not at this school. My class grabbed their things, stepped out into the hall, and...disappeared. It was like there was a student abyss. The classes pouring out of every building melded together into a unistudent. I looked up and I was the only adult in sight. Was there an alternate universe for teachers? Did they evacuate to another area? Or did they just take this opportunity for a much needed smoke break. Funny thing was, I had never been to the PE field at this school. I didn't even know where it was. The class I worked in every so often was in the administration building. I never left it. I latched on to a kid that looked familiar and tried to wrangle my students. I only had 18. By the time I got to the designated area, I had 13 students. I had no idea where the remaining 5 were. And I wasn't the only one. The other teachers appeared slowly out of bustling crowds like mirages, only to be lost in the busyness all over again. And then...I smelled smoke. This was real.

Disclaimer: It was only a trashcan fire, small and under control. But in the event that there had been a real fire, we would have all failed miserably! The kids knew where to go, but they moseyed to their appointed places on their own time, with no regard for authority. They smelled the smoke too, but they didn't care. Its because they're jaded.

It wasn't until last night that I realized that I wasn't jaded. Over coffee, I recounted the day with a friend, cracking up at the farce they would called a fire...drill or evacuation or whatever it was. But then I started telling her about the conversation that I overheard in class. To make a long story short, one young lady was telling another that a mutual friend had been shot last week. She said it so casually, as if she was asking her where she bought her jeans (that were not uniform, but then again I had only 4 students all day that wore a uniform). For a moment, I thought that the girl hearing the news was going to be shocked as she asked if she was sure it was him. Other girls jumped in and confirmed the story, adding details, including who he used to date, and where he got shot, and when his funeral was. And the poor girl, for a second was in disbelief as she confessed that he used to be her best friend. She asked if they were going to the funeral. One girl said no. And then the conversation was over. They moved on. They started talking about something else. One of the girls continued working on the assignment. And that was it. I was floored just from hearing the story and I didn't know who this kid was at all. He didn't go there anymore; he was enrolled in the feeder high school. And I wondered if I had seen his story on the news last week. But this was their day. He was not the first person they had known to be shot and killed. And the saddest fact is that we all knew he wouldn't be the last.

I heard two stories that day about kids being murdered in two different classes. The students shared the stories so openly and matter-of-factly. But even after three years of working in these communities, I am not yet jaded. A little worn, but not calloused. So when I told my friend that story over dinner last night, tears came to my eyes. And like a two-year-old, I wanted to stomp my foot and cry "It's not fair!" Its not fair that these children do not get to live until adulthood. And it's not fair that they leave so many people behind. And it's not fair that a young lady finds out while she's sitting in English class that her best friend died. But she has to go on with her life, because this, too, is not a drill.

First Entry

I have been a Substitute Teacher since May of 2006. I can say with absolute certainty that this job is nothing short of an adventure. And now I would like to share my adventures online. I assure you, they are full of gripes and glories. But mostly, I have found the job rewarding.

I work for Los Angeles Unified School District. For privacy reasons, I will not state the names of schools or the real names of students. I mostly work with middle schools in the inner cities where the students are overflowing with creativity. They keep me on my toes, keep me young, and on many days, they keep me tired. But I have never before loved a job the way I love this one - despite the topsy turviness of district policy and the ungodly number of layoffs, despite kids throwing up in class, and fights, and lack of materials. I love my job. And I hope you'll love hearing about it!