Lost Journal

Humor Column
by Tim Mollen
May 25, 2006

To Be or Not to Be…a Substitute Teacher

Journal Entry:  March 5, 2003 (age 33)

Today, I returned to my old high school, Seton Catholic Central, to work as a substitute teacher.  As a recovering class clown of the lowest order, the moment seemed foreordained by the forces of karmic balance.

I felt a thrill as I crossed the threshold of a hallowed room I had never expected to enter - the Faculty Lounge.  “Wow,” I thought, “this is where they…lounge.”  I was greeted by some familiar faces from my days as a student.  Brian Hyland, the best teacher I ever had, slapped me on the back and welcomed me to “the Dark Side.”  Another great teacher and friend, Patti Murphy, just chuckled and shook her head when she saw me.

Other familiar faces looked a bit shell-shocked to see me in their inner sanctum.  In their eyes, I glimpsed shadows of terror as they flashed back to a number of my less admirable exploits.  I felt a bit of the same terror as I took on my assignment for the morning.  I was sent to detention.

I was charged with sitting at a desk and staring at all the kids who had been kicked out of other classrooms.  Feeling less like a disciplinarian and more like a comrade in arms, I greeted each student with an understanding nod and the words, “Whattaya in for?”  Whether their answer was using a spork to catapult Sloppy Joe meat at their peers, or doing something terrible to the papier-mâché head of the school mascot, I was not here to judge.  I was here to stare at them while they sat around thinking about what strange stunt they were going to pull next.

After lunch, I was sent to a senior English class.  I expected that I would merely give them a writing assignment.  But when I asked the class what they were working on, they answered, “Hamlet.”  I smiled.  Having been a theatre major in college, this was familiar territory.  Sure, it had been years since I had read it, but this would be cake.  It would be my first opportunity to really TEACH; to pass on the knowledge I had spent 17 years and piles of my parents’ money to gain.

I asked the class a few general questions about the play, but they seemed uneasy and very quiet.  As a substitute, I knew I had to earn their trust, by displaying both an interest in the subject and mastery of it.  So I launched into a soliloquy in which I dissected the relationships between the main characters from a variety of psychological perspectives.  Wrapping up, I beamed at my young charges, and asked for their thoughts.

“Um, Mr. Mollen,” said a young lady in the second row, “Ophelia is Hamlet’s girlfriend, not his sister.”  After a brief pause, I replied “Ah, very good!  Now why don’t you guys go ahead and read Act V for the rest of the period.”

I should have stayed in detention.

© 2006 Tim Mollen

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