Life Lessons Often Take Front Seat

I was 54 years old when I graduated from college with a Bachelor of Science in Education. “Non-traditional students,” the university had labeled us. Liberal translation: “Closer to heart attack than graduation.”

Sheepskin in hand, I began knocking on doors. Reactions were varied. One principal (macho-jock-gone-to-fat-type) even went so far as to comment when he offered his only English opening to one of my 23-year-old university classmates, “Wa-aal, if we gotta’ work with ‘em (women), they might as well be young and good-looking.”

So I did what any normal, unemployed middle-aged woman with no income would do - I put my name on the “sub” list at a number of schools. Thereby began the real education of Elizabeth.

And guess who was the first to call for help? Macho fatso! “Ms. Schuett, we need a sub for the typing teacher today. Can you make it?” For fifty-five bucks I would have taught an auto mechanics class on oil-change day. I agreed.

The opening bell had barely rung and I was occupied with attendance and lunch count when I heard what sounded like barking from the back of the classroom. “Who’s that?” I asked the class in general.

“Richie,” a pretty little girl in the front row answered. “He always barks when we have a sub.” Richie was hunkered down under an unused desk near the back window, baying like a beagle on the trail of a porkchop. The class snickered. My first comment, inappropriate but timely, was, “Does he lift his leg on the furniture?”

As I scrambled to finish the morning’s paper work, Richie howled on. There was no way I could introduce the day’s lesson above the din, so first I had to deal with the 8th-grader gone canine. “Stop that racket!” I said firmly. The class clammed up and stopped giggling but Richie barked on as I quickly scribbled the assignment on the board and insisted the rest of the class get to work. Then I went back to deal with Richie.

“What kind of a dog are you?” I asked nonchalantly, as if a yowling kid huddled under a desk was nothing unusual. Richie looked astonished. “Aren’t you going to yell at me?” and launched into a series of Chihuahua-type “yips’ with a few Sandy “arfs” thrown in as an afterthought.

“What’s the point? You wouldn’t be able to hear me above the racket you’re making.” I started to stand and using his grubby hand as an imitation puppy paw, Richie swiped at my shoes a couple of times and began to whimper. He asked where I was going and I told him for a leash to lead him down to the principal’s office. He shook his head and backed further into his corner, whining as he went. My exasperation level was about to top out.

A strong urge to grab Rover by the collar and drag him out of his self-imposed kennel gnawed at my little gray cells, but I knew that was out of the question - for two reasons. First, it’s a teacher’s death-knell to touch a student (in anger or affection) and second, Richie was twice my size. No way I was going to get locked into a no-win/no-win standoff. But I had to do something.

That’s when a little thing called “life experience” (an underrated bonus brought to the classroom by “non-traditional” students and teachers) kicked in and for some irritating reason I began to feel sorry for this silly twerp crouched under an ancient oak typewriter table. I sat back down on the floor beside him. He howled and I watched, reminding myself this wasn’t so bad. Actually, what I said to myself was: You were married for 25 years, my dear, which qualifies you to a life-master status in dealing with insane situations. Do something!

I barked back. Richie barked louder. I barked louder. Richie shut up. “Why are you doing that?” he demanded, obviously aggravated.

“Same reason you are,” I answered. He looked puzzled.

“Teachers aren’t supposed to bark,” he insisted firmly.

“Neither are kids. So, what are we going to do about it?”

“I’m emotionally disturbed because my parents are divorced and I do this to get attention.” A quick glance to see if I was buying it.

I stuck out my hand. “Shake, Fido,” I said. “My husband dumped me and my son is away at college. I have no life, no money, and now I have to put up with a kid who barks.”

Richie was puzzled. The rest of the class typed on … “a, s, d, f, semi, l, k, j.” Richie and I declared a truce.

No miracles, but it worked.

xxxx