This is my first summer break post. In today's post, I will wrap up all of our COVID What If? stories -- different timelines where I place the pandemic in a different year in each timeline. The reason for these stories is so that I can place myself in my students' shoes. I was fortunate that I managed to get through my childhood without a pandemic occurring, but my students didn't.
Through the COVID What Ifs? I wish to imagine how things would have been different for me if I had to survive a pandemic. Here in California, the four color tiers are set to expire on June 15th. Some people have criticized our leaders for this -- why can't things go back to normal sooner? At the very least, why can't vaccinated people go without a mask before the 15th?
For me, this doesn't matter that much. I received my second vaccine on May 29th, and so I won't be considered fully vaccinated until completing the two weeks tomorrow. That means that for me, there's only 72 hours between being fully inoculated and being allowed to remove my mask -- and those three extra days are irrelevant to me.
On the other hand, for a team like our local Clippers basketball team, the three extra days are significant, because the first two home games games against the Utah Jazz are being played those three days. This means that there will be more cardboard cutouts in the stands. Not until Game 6 will more fans be allowed in the stands -- assuming, of course, that the series goes that far.
And so we keep this in mind as we return to the COVID What If? stories. We assume for COVID-n, the state reopens on June 15th, n + 2, since the state reopens after COVID-19 on June 15th, 2021.
Updating What If? COVID-86
We begin with the COVID-86 What If? For this What If? story, the schools close in March 1987, during my kindergarten year, and full reopening is in June 1988, at the end of my first grade year.
So far, I've mentioned that under COVID-19, my elementary school never adopted hybrid -- instead, all students attend four days per week, with Wednesdays as the off day. So we assume that our school would do likewise on the COVID-86 timeline.
I only remember a little about the last day of school in first grade. Our teacher wrote an inspirational message on the board, which we were to write down. It went something like this -- "I am done with the first grade. I am smart, and I am ready for second grade."
I also remember another boy daring me to do something that day. He dared me to raise my finger -- not the index finger and not my little finger. You can probably figure out which finger it was. And I did it -- until that day, I never knew that raising that finger was bad. The teacher caught me, and she quickly said something like, "Put that finger down now!" I got the message right away.
On the original (COVID-19) timeline we assume that everything will be back to normal for Fall 2021 -- that is, most schools will return to five full days per week in the classroom. Thus we assume that on the COVID-86 timeline, school will be back to normal in Fall 1988. Thus my second grade year will look more or less like second grade on the original timeline. The only difference is that the pandemic would have made a deep, scary impression on my young, growing mind.
Updating What If? COVID-91
We continue with the COVID-91 What If? For this What If? story, the schools close in March 1992, during my fifth grade year, and full reopening is in June 1993, at the end of my sixth grade year.
My old elementary school never posted its sixth grade graduation/promotion plan. But some of the other schools in the district did -- there was a drive-through ceremony, the way that my long-term school did last week for its eighth graders. So I assume that my elementary school would have done the same for us sixth graders in 1993.
On the other hand, none of the district schools make any reference to sixth grade camp. Chances are that sixth grade camp is cancelled completely -- even with counties heading for the yellow tier, camp is probably considered too risky and too much of a hassle to operate in a pandemic year.
Then again, I didn't attend my sixth grade camp in the original timeline, and so I'm missing nothing when camp is cancelled on the COVID-91 timeline. The only difference would be my thoughts -- if not for COVID-91, I'd be at sixth grade camp right now.
I was also involved in a dare on the last day of sixth grade -- when picking up the graduation certificate, I had to pretend that I was crying. The boy who dared me to do it also "cried" himself that day. Unlike the first grade finger dare (which could still happen on the COVID-86 timeline), this crying dare doesn't happen during the car graduation ceremony on the COVID-91 timeline.
Notice that I keep calling it "sixth grade," not "Preparatory Path." My assumption is that the Path Plan is never invented on the COVID-91 timeline. (On the other hand, the COVID-86 timeline returns to normal by 1991, and so the Path Plan is likely still created on that timeline.)
On the original timeline, the summer between sixth and seventh grades was one of the most interesting summers of my youth. I took two music classes that summer. One of them was a Band class, even though those instruments were never my strength. The instrument I ended up playing in Band that summer was the trombone. The class was offered through the district.
The other class was a more familiar instrument for me -- the guitar. But the guitar class wasn't a district class -- instead, I took it at a local community college. And underlying the fact that I consider myself a guitarist rather than a trombonist, I still remember one of the guitar songs I played that summer (Bob Dylan's "Blowin' in the Wind"), whereas I only remember playing exercises on the trombone.
Is it possible for me to take these classes on the COVID-91 timeline? Well, my district has announced summer school for elementary and middle school students, but the focus appears to be on language arts and math skills for students who are below grade level. Actually, I'm not quite sure whether the summer between Grades 6 and 7 counts as "elementary" or "middle" school here, but it's irrelevant -- music classes for students with A's in language arts and math don't appear to be available. And so we must assume that I wouldn't have learned trombone with the district under COVID-91.
As for the guitar class at the college, I notice that this class will be offered, but there are several differences between this class and the one I took the summer of 1993. First of all, it's not so much a "summer" class as it doesn't start until mid-August and lasts through September. And the music classes are still fully online (in other words, students go to their regular school in-person for five days and then attend this guitar class online). Mapping this back to 1993 technology is tricky. (Recall that I used printed packets for 20th century distance learning in our What Ifs, but would packets of sheet music work to teach guitar?)
But most importantly, the guitar class is listed as age 14 to adult. I was only 12 years old the summer I took that guitar class -- our assumption must be that 12-year-olds are allowed to take guitar in ordinary times, but during a pandemic, the minimum age is raised to 14. Thus how to teach guitar during distance learning via 1993 technology is irrelevant if I'm not old enough to take the class. Therefore we conclude that I wouldn't have had any music class that summer.
Notice that COVID-91 is the only What If? where I try to take classes in the summer of n + 2. I also took summer classes between kindergarten and first grade, which is the n + 1 year of COVID-86, but here I assume that all summer classes are cancelled in n + 1 (like 2020 under COVID-19). Those summer classes included a science class in the district and a piano class at the college. I notice that the college piano class is for Grades 3-8, so I would have been too young for that class too.
(Assuming that Grades 3-8 means entering third grade -- logical, considering that these classes extend into September -- then perhaps I might have taken this class as a rising third grader on COVID-86. This works out well, since my third grade teacher had a piano in her room where I could practice, and she ended up teaching me some piano herself. On the other hand, waiting until I turn 14 to take guitar under COVID-91 doesn't work, as lessons on Saturdays in September would have interfered with my freshman Cross Country season.)
Updating What If? COVID-93
We continue with the COVID-93 What If? For this What If? story, the schools close in March 1994, during my seventh grade year, and full reopening is in June 1995, at the end of my eighth grade year.
On the original timeline, my eighth grade graduation was my truest graduation in some ways. It's the only year when I actually attended the grad trip -- a visit to Disneyland. It was in the district that I attended since kindergarten, so that all my friends from elementary school were there, in addition to new students I met in middle school. (On the other hand, I moved to another district early in my freshman year, and so I graduated high school not knowing my classmates as well as I did in K-8.)
Then again, my eighth grade graduation is the only one where I didn't purchase the yearbook. In sixth grade, I bought a yearbook as it was my final year in elementary school, but since I was then attending a 7-12 high school, I thought there was no reason to purchase another yearbook until senior year. (The decision to move to another district was made either the summer before, or the fall of, freshman year, when it was much too late to buy the eighth grade yearbook.)
I visit my old school's website to see how they are celebrating the graduates during COVID-19, in order to guess what they would have done on the COVID-93 timeline. Just like the elementary schools (and my long-term middle school), there is a drive-through promotion ceremony for eighth graders. This is followed by an online ceremony. So in 1995, we assume that a similar drive-through ceremony would have been given to us.
There's no mention of Disneyland or any similar trip -- once again, just as my long-term school didn't go to Knotts this year, we assume that there would be no Disneyland visit under COVID-93. It appears that there was a special on-campus party for seniors, but not for eighth graders. That's the thing about attending a 7-12 school -- eighth grade celebrations are often ignored. (Likewise, back at my old K-8 charter school, I knew about the eighth grade graduation but heard nothing about what, if anything, the fifth graders completing elementary school would get.)
Recall that back in 1995, there was no finals week for any grade at my school -- they didn't come up with finals week until a few years ago (and then they changed the calendar a few years later so that said finals would be before winter break). According to the website, the eighth graders would take their spring finals a week early, just like the seniors. But back then, I had my eighth grade ceremony on Day 178, then had to take the last test of the year in my French I class on Day 179. Of course, most of the kids in that class were in Grades 9-11 and so there's no reason for the teacher to respect the eighth grade ceremony, but still, it felt weird to take the test the day after a "graduation."
And I almost missed that ceremony. No, unlike first and sixth grades, I wasn't dared to do anything -- this I did all by myself (and besides, my big eighth grade dare was back in November). I mentioned this in my last post -- I was supposed to stack textbooks that were returned to the library. But when the librarian was distracted with a phone call, I kept stacking books to the ceiling (since no one was telling me to do otherwise). Once again, he threatened to punish me by keeping me out of the graduation.
Well, I mentioned in previous What If? posts that the events leading me to become the library aide in eighth grade almost certainly don't occur on the COVID-93 timeline. Therefore this library incident doesn't occur in that universe.
During the summer after eighth grade, I was invited to join two teams. One of these teams was the Academic Decathlon -- I was one of only two freshmen allowed to join. The other was, of course, the Cross Country team. It's likely that I'd be still invited to Acadeca on the COVID-93 timeline, since I assume the criteria for being invited were my (letter) grades. On the other hand, my invitation to XC was based on my performance during the mile run in eighth grade PE classes. I don't wish to remove XC from the COVID-93 timeline -- it's still possible that once in-person learning resumes in April, a mile run still takes place in April or May. I excel in that run, and so my name is recommended to the XC coach as a possible runner.
Of course, my membership on both teams was interrupted in November, when I would transfer out of the district. My new school doesn't have an Acadeca team, and so I never participate in it. On the other hand, I do get to run XC, missing only the League Finals race when it's time to move.
(Note: It's possible to write a version of this COVID-93 What If? story where due to the pandemic, we decide not to move to another residence, at least for an extra year or so after the pandemic. This story might be interesting to write -- for example, I'd get to participate in Acadeca, which would correspond to the 2022 competition on the original timeline. But that story would be very speculative and go well beyond what I wish to discuss on the blog.)
Updating What If? COVID-97
We continue with the COVID-97 What If? For this What If? story, the schools close in March 1998, during my junior year, and full reopening is in June 1999, at the end of my senior year.
I've blogged extensively about what my senior Cross Country and Track seasons would have looked like on the COVID-97 timeline. Unfortunately, that project was a failure -- I was hoping that perhaps I'd make it to the CIF Prelims race in this universe, but that goal is unrealistic.
Let's remind ourselves why I engaged myself with that fantasy in the first place. It all started during Cross Country season in February -- I attended the races and noticed that nearly two-thirds of the runners who had competed in 2019 were no longer on the team. On the original timeline, I was the #12 runner on the team. We expect most Varsity runners to remain on the team rather than quit during the pandemic, but nonetheless, I needed only five faster runners to quit for me to make the Top 7 Varsity team (and only three attritions for me to make an alternate Varsity spot). Then once I make the Varsity, it's likely that my team could qualify out of League and into CIF Prelims.
But then on the original timeline, all XC races past League were cancelled. There are still CIF races for Track, but qualifying for Track is so much more difficult than doing so in XC. Indeed, my alma mater (in both the COVID-19 and COVID-97 timelines) would have easily made CIF Prelims for XC in the pandemic year, but not even one of our distance runners could qualify for CIF in Track.
Notice that Track is a much more individual sport while XC is more team-oriented. In most years, my school's strength is having several solid distance runners, not an individual barn-burner. This is why I could have made the top 7 or 9 XC runners and still have six or eight runners ahead of me who are fast enough to qualify for CIF in XC, without any of those Varsity runners advancing past League in Track.
Of course, I could just declare that there's a CIF Prelims race for XC on the COVID-97 timeline, but the whole purpose of these What Ifs is to match the actual year 2021 on the original timeline. And since there were no XC CIF races in 2021 under COVID-19, there can't be any in 1999 under COVID-97. (I point out that the only exception is technology, but that loophole works only if I can say something like Since Zoom exists in 2021, there's no CIF for XC, but since Zoom didn't exist in 1999, there would have been a CIF race for XC. But that statement is clearly unjustified.)
So here's what my COVID-97 XC season really would have looked like -- let's say that enough of our top runners quit to put me in the Top 7 or 9 on the team. Since I can't decide, let's say I'm #8. This puts me as an alternate Varsity runner on the team. Ordinarily, the alternates run Junior Varsity, but one strategy that our coach often used during the dual meet era was to have our top freshmen on the team run in the Frosh Soph race (even though they were in our Top 7) in order to win that race. In those dual meets, I get to run in the actual Varsity race.
At League Finals, I run in the JV race and finish in the top three. Perhaps I even get to win the JV race (depending on how many runners from other teams quit in the pandemic year). And then that's it -- there's no CIF race, and so I don't get to advance as an alternate Varsity runner. I get my hopes up that I could make the Top 9, and then there's no CIF. Disappointedly, I prepare for Track season, where I'm nowhere close to making Varsity, much less CIF. I cap off my career at League Prelims, where the 1600 race is considered to be a final:
On May 25th, 1999 (League Prelims/Finals), my 1600 time would have been 5:05.
This matches my PR for this distance. It also matches what the current runner for my alma mater -- the runner whose times I've been following only because they're so close to my own -- runs at his final race of the 2021 Track season. I might have tried to shave a few seconds off my time if a CIF Prelims spot was on the line, but we know that making CIF is not realistic.
Of course, there's more to my senior year than running Cross Country and Track. That year, I joined teams for both Math Club and FBLA (Future Business Leaders of America), but I assume that all competitions are cancelled in the pandemic year. (I do read that FBLA had some sort of online competition in 2021, but I'm not sure whether it can be mapped back to 1999 using 1999 technology.)
Our school will have in-person ceremonies for graduating seniors, and so I do get to enjoy this in 1999 on this timeline. It helps that with our district starting later than most others (so that finals are not given before winter break), graduation isn't until June 15th or later, after the state has reopened.
Meanwhile, UCLA plans on a full in-person reopening for the Fall 2021 quarter. This means that my first quarter at UCLA on the COVID-97 timeline should likewise look almost normal.
Updating What If? COVID-08
We continue with the COVID-08 What If? For this What If? story, the schools close in March 2009, and full reopening is in June 2010.
This one is a bit tricky, because I completed my student teaching during this stretch, in Fall 2009. I student taught in the LAUSD district, but when we map the 2019-2021 pandemic back to 2008-2010, we see that LAUSD is in full distance learning in Fall 2009 under COVID-08, just as it was full distance in Fall 2020 under COVID-19. I wasn't sure whether student teaching is allowed when a district is in full distance learning, and so for this What If? I pushed it back to Spring 2010.
But that might still cause a problem, if Spring 2010 under COVID-08 is supposed to match 2021. You might have heard a lot about the LAUSD model for reopening, derisively called "Zoom in a room."
Yes, I admit that this reopening plan ultimately goes back to the unions -- UTLA is probably the strongest teachers union in California. The union didn't want to implement any sort of hybrid plan where teachers must give instruction to both in-person and online students at the same time. So how can teachers teach, given that some students will opt out of any in-person plan yet must somehow receive instruction along with the in-person students?
The proposed solution is "Zoom in a room." Students are assigned to a sort of advisory/homeroom class where they log in to Zoom for all of their classes. This is supposed to give the best of both worlds -- students have the opportunity to return to physical campuses after being away for a full year, while teachers only have to teach online, since all students including the in-person kids are there. "Zoom in a room" has an additional advantage -- whereas many hybrid schools are implementing a block schedule so that students only have to mingle with three sets of kids rather than six, "Zoom in a room" only requires students to mingle with one group, thus reducing the likelihood of catching COVID even more.
But once again, the perfect becomes the enemy of the good. As it turned out, LAUSD middle and high school students are even more likely to opt out than traditional hybrid students -- the reasoning being that if students have to log into Zoom anyway, why bother going to campus? At least with hybrid, the in-person kids get to see their teachers standing right in front of them.
I'm not quite sure what LAUSD should have done, if "Zoom in a room" is so bad. After surviving hybrid this year, I can understand why union teachers would want to avoid it. Then again, even if the schools reopened for full five-day instruction (as the traditionalists would prefer), some students would opt out, and then the question remains how those kids would receive any instruction at all.
That's not for me to say here in this COVID-08 What If? story? The goal here is to map "Zoom in a room" back to the COVID-08 timeline -- where it becomes "Skype in a room," since Skype is the video streamer that existed back then. And the important thing here is that, if I'm not allowed to student teach in Fall 2009 because instruction is all on Skype, then I can't student teach in Spring 2010 either, since teaching "Skype in a room" isn't different from teaching pure Skype.
In fact, I'd rather maintain the dates from the original timeline and student teach in Fall 2009. This means that the entire semester is full distance learning on Skype.
Notice that so far, I've been assuming that no student teachers are allowed during full distance learning, but in reality, I have no idea where LAUSD has student teachers in 2020-2021 under COVID-19. As far as I know, there were plenty of student teachers in LAUSD this year -- it's just that if there were, there's no way for that information to get to me, typing for a blog on my keyboard in 2021. The only time I was on any campus to see a student teacher this year was at a school with a true hybrid plan -- neither pure Zoom nor "Zoom in a room."
If student teaching is allowed under full distance learning, then I complete it at my LAUSD school during Fall 2009. I already blogged about my student teaching and classroom management troubles at another school in Spring 2009 (and how I ended up leaving just barely before March 13th, the day that schools close under COVID-08). It would be a hollow victory to finish student teaching in Fall 2009 without any classroom management problems, since there would be no students in the classroom at all.
On the other hand, if there's no student teaching under distance learning, then not only am I prevented from student teaching in LAUSD, but anywhere in LA County, since the entire county would remain in the purple tier during Fall 2009 (corresponding to Fall 2020 under COVID-19). I would have to student teach in Orange County. Perhaps I would have found myself in the same OC district where I completed my long-term on the original timeline (maybe even at the same school, but note that in reality I student taught at a high school, not a middle school).
After I completed my student teaching and earned my credential on the original timeline, I returned to classrooms for day-to-day subbing. All of my subbing back then was in LA County, and so I wouldn't have subbed until April 2010. Most likely, this subbing would continue into the 2010-2011 school year.
Updating What If? COVID-14
We continue with the COVID-14 What If? For this What If? story, the schools close in March 2015, and full reopening is in June 2016.
Earlier, I wrote about how April 2016 -- the month when kids can be on campus in this time -- is also the month when I was hired at the old charter school. I wrote of the possibility that my predecessor -- who obviously left the school in June 2016 (hence the reason the position was open) -- might have used the pandemic to leave right when students return to campus. Thus on this timeline, I'm hired to work at the charter school and then asked to start teaching for the entire month of May. It's possible that the science teacher would have left as well, or perhaps she might have finished the year -- thus relieving me of the need to teach science that month.
It's difficult to tell the exact date when my school would have reopened -- we can't check to see how my charter is handling COVID-19, because the old charter no longer exists. My guess is that it would have reopened when the LAUSD did -- specifically, as soon as the elementary school we were co-located with reopened. This was the third full week in April.
On the other hand, I doubt that our middle school would have used "Zoom in a room," even if the other LAUSD middle schools did so. Our school is so small that, if needed, the students could stay where they were and we teachers would move to the proper grade classroom.
With the schools reopening this fall under COVID-19, I must assume that school would look more or less normal in Fall 2016 -- that is, my year at the charter school would match the original timeline, and I'd be just as successful (and unsuccessful) as I was in real life. But there is one key difference that is worth discussing here -- the LA County Fair field trip.
In case you haven't heard, last month, the LA County Fair made a decision that the first post-pandemic fair will be held in May 2022 -- and moreover, that May will be the fair month from now on. Part of the rationale for the change involves California weather (and I've written about our weather in posts dealing with Labor Day vs. Early August start of the school year). Due to our proximity to the ocean, the hottest day of the year (which I've once heard referred to as "the summer thermistice") occurs several weeks after the summer solstice in June.
This results in two seasons unique to Southern California -- "May gray"/"June gloom," when there are low clouds and fog (especially in the morning and late evening), and "Santa Ana winds," hot, dry winds that often occur in September and October. Thus, the fair will be moving away from the uncomfortable September days and towards the nice, cool "May gray" days.
It's likely that the fair was considering a season change anyway, but the pandemic expedited it. Thus it's reasonable to assume that if the pandemic had occurred five years earlier under COVID-14, then the new May dates would have been implemented earlier as well, with the first spring fair in May 2017. So we must assume that our charter would have had its field trip in May 2017 -- near the end of the school year -- rather than September 2016 at the start of the year.
Believe it or not, the changed fair date does have a small but significant effect on my year at the old charter school. Recall that the during the fifth week of school, I gave my sixth graders a test, my eighth graders a major quiz, and my seventh graders a basic skills quiz. This is the quiz that I now propose calling a "Hero Quiz," but back then, I used that old, unacceptable name for them (that I don't wish to post again on the blog). I wanted to give these assessments at the end of the fifth week -- but since Friday was the day of the fair, I gave them on Thursday on the original timeline. On the COVID-14 timeline, let's assume that I would have given them on Friday, since the fair trip isn't until May.
This was right around the time that my classroom management deteriorated, and my students started to listen and obey my student support aide instead of me, especially the seventh graders. On the original timeline, I saw my seventh grade first on Thursdays, and so they received their "Hero Quiz" first -- before my aide arrived on campus. But on the COVID-14 timeline, I don't give the quiz until Friday, and I see my Grade 7 students second on Fridays, after my aide arrives. Therefore the "Hero Quiz" goes much more smoothly on the COVID-14 timeline than on the original timeline.
In fact, the Grade 7 "Hero Quiz" was a disaster that day. Before the quiz, I wanted to explain the reason for giving them a basic multiplication quiz -- but the class was so loud that most students weren't paying attention to me at all. One good girl tried hard to hear what I was saying -- but when she heard me use the old, inappropriate name for "Hero Quiz," she was very offended. She was so upset that she told her mother when she came to pick the girl up after school -- and the mom ran directly to me and complained about the word that I used.
The dean intervened and explained that many students have trouble with their multiplication skills -- but still, I should have been more diplomatic in explaining it. (In fact, this mother's reaction was a factor in my eventual renaming of the quiz to "Hero Quiz" last fall, with my new song title "No Zeroes" last week.) But even though the mother forgave me, I don't think the daughter ever did. She often avoided participating in class and gave me the silent treatment -- as I know now, this is how students act when they genuinely believe that the teacher is treating them unfairly. This is sad, since up to the incident, she was one of the best-behaved students in the class.
But on the COVID-14 timeline, this doesn't happen. The quiz occurs on Friday, after my aide has arrived on campus, and so the class isn't as loud. This girl is able to hear my entire speech -- and while I still use the improper name for them, at least she hears my entire explanation. She doesn't give me the silent treatment and thrives in my class -- and she may even become an important ally in my struggle to manage the seventh grade class.
Of course, the fair itself looks different on this timeline. On the original timeline, I don't even make it past March -- ideally on the COVID-14 timeline, I'd like to complete the three years remaining before the charter renewal is denied. But perhaps with a better relationship with my seventh grade class, I at least make it to the rescheduled fair trip in May. I spent that day with a group of my sixth graders -- and they were miserable that day, with the September heat being a factor. The field trip on this timeline takes place during the May gray -- with cooler weather, my sixth graders enjoy it more. And perhaps we're able to walk all the way to where the farm animals are (although in September, I should have had my group take a tram to the animals).
Returning to the Original Real Timeline
This concludes my What If? stories where the pandemic occurs in an earlier year, and what I would have done if I had to face an earlier pandemic. These stories treat the pandemic as a crisitunity -- Homer Simpson's word for an opportunity in a crisis. In the childhood What Ifs, I don't get to see my friends -- but I also avoid seeing those kids who would dare me to do bad things. And in the the COVID-14 What If? I get to work longer at my old charter school and develop a better relationship with my students.
The idea of the pandemic as a "crisitunity" brings us back to the original real timeline of COVID-19. I was able to find an opportunity in this pandemic -- I had a long-term position at a middle school. I most likely never get this opportunity without the pandemic -- the regular teacher was afraid that his mother would get sick if he brought her the disease home from school, and so he left the class to me from late September to early January.
But as I find out now, this doesn't lead to any real opportunity -- the chance to be not just a long-term sub, but a regular math teacher in my own classroom. I've interviewed for several positions, but I'm not being hired for any of them. By this point, I must assume that I won't be hired as a regular teacher in the upcoming school year.
Where did I go wrong? One of my interviews was for a high school in the very district where I just completed my long-term position. I filled out the online application, and even submitted letters of recommendation from the principal, assistant principal, and regular teacher. And as it turned out, I even subbed at the actual high school the day before the interview -- and the regular teacher of that class sent me an email to tell me that I'd done a good job in his classroom that day. But it was all for naught -- I haven't heard from that school since, so by now I must assume that another candidate won the position.
Just before the pandemic, I often attended teacher job fairs on college campuses. Sometimes a recruiter would ask me, "When do you complete your credential?" Many of the other candidates give answers such as "I'll finish it in June." My answer, of course, was "years ago" -- and that response often raised a few eyebrows. The thought here is, if this candidate completed his credential years ago, how come he doesn't have many years of experience as a full-time teacher? I've long past the point where it's actually better to say "I'll finish my credential in a few months" than "I've already finished it" -- recruiters would rather hire a brand-new teacher than one with such a large gap since completing the credential, without a commensurate number of years as a full-time teacher to fill that gap.
A few years ago, I recall one of our traditionalists becoming a master teacher. He wrote that most of his student teachers expected to be hired even before completing the last day of the student teaching semester -- and often at the same school where the student teaching was completed. Thus his protegee was starting to get worried, until she was finally hired at the school in late May.
In 2019, student teachers could expect to be hired right away. But this wasn't the case in 2010, the year that I completed my credential. Back then, it was the Great Recession, and the budgets in most districts were drying up. Not only were most schools not hiring teachers, but many of them were giving pink slips to all teachers, based on seniority. March 15th was the date when the pink slips were given -- and virtually every first- and second-year teacher would get one. Moreover, if money was found for more teachers, they first had to rehire the ones who received pink slips, again by seniority.
So this is the job market I faced in 2010 when I completed my credential -- I had to compete with many candidates for very few open positions, and my competitors had seniority. And as we've seen, this sets up a Catch-22 -- in 2010, I can't get hired during the Great Recession and so there's a gap on my resume, but a few years later when the recession is over, that gap is used as a reason to turn me down and not hire me.
There are a few ways I could have beaten that Catch-22. I could have made the decision to become a teacher a few years earlier -- then perhaps I could have gotten a few years of experience (and seniority) before the recession. Or I could have waited a few years later to get the credential, so that I could be one of the new teachers who gets to say "I'll finish my credential in June" rather than have to deal with a gap on my resume.
If I insist on 2010 as the year when I finish my credential, then there might have still been a way for me to break into the teaching profession during the recession. To do so, I needed to have good classroom management -- not just average, but above average to excellent. That's the only way I could beat the dozens of competitors for the few open teaching positions. But, as I've detailed on the blog, my classroom management has always been below excellent. And to see the reason for this, I'm going to go all the way back to my very first day as a substitute teacher. I won't do "A Day in the Life" for this since I don't recall all of the clock details, but I still remember the events as if it were yesterday, even though it was back before I started blogging. (Again, this is the real timeline and what really happened to me, not an alternate timeline where the pandemic happened in an earlier year.)
I was subbing in an eighth grade math class. When I first received this assignment on the phone, there was a message from the regular teacher that I should begin with the Warm-Up. Then when I arrived, I found out that he'd planned an entire traditional lesson (which is a rarity -- most teachers don't have a full lesson on sub days).
First period arrived. The class was a bit loud, and a few students refused to do the Warm-Up (much less the main lesson). Second period was louder, with even more students doing no work.
But the worst class of all was third period. This class was very loud, and no one did the work. Some students started taking papers from the teacher's desk and tossing them around, and the class pulled a classic prank -- "1, 2, 3, jump!" and the whole class jumped at once. I knew that I should write down the names of misbehaving students, but I didn't know any of their names -- and I didn't bother asking, since no kids are going to tell me their names while they're breaking rules.
Fourth period was better, but only because the students had seen the ripped up papers from the teacher's desk, including some referrals -- they thought I'd given out a bunch of referrals the previous period and didn't want to get in trouble too. (In reality, I didn't give referrals because I didn't know what names to put on them.)
After lunch and fifth period conference, sixth period arrived. But it was near the end of the year, and the eighth graders were preparing for their panoramic picture for graduation. So after I took attendance, all the kids left for the photo -- except for one guy who refused to be a part of the photo. He spent the period working on the math assignment -- ironically making him the hardest-working student of the day, during a period when he was supposed to be at the photo instead.
Students were supposed to return to class for the last few minutes of the period after the photo was complete, but the opposite happened -- the photo wasn't finished by the end of the period. The administrators withheld ringing the dismissal bell, keeping Grades 6-7 in the classroom so that they wouldn't disturb the photographer. So I stayed with my one boy until the bell finally rang. I told him that he'd done a great job on his math assignment and wrote his name on my first-ever good list.
But I learned two lessons that day -- both of which are incorrect. The first was that I shouldn't push the students to work hard when I'm subbing. If I push them, they'll fight back by jumping up and down and messing the classroom, but if I go easy on them, at least the classroom stays clean. And the second is that students will disobey me just because I'm a sub. As soon as I reach the rank of "teacher," the students will respect me and stop treating me like a sub.
I found out that the second lesson is false when I arrived at the old charter school -- not only did the students not listen to me there, but they listened to my aide over me. I outranked her, and yet she was the one they respected and obeyed more. There's nothing magical about having the rank of "teacher" as opposed to "sub."
I've mentioned Harry Wong's book The First Days of School on the blog before -- it's the definitive book on classroom management. Wong refers to another book, "Tools for Teaching" by Fred Jones -- and both Wong and Jones recommend a similar management style.
Of course, Wong's advice about the first days of school doesn't really apply to us subs who aren't there on the first days of school. But both Wong and Jones emphasize not just the first day of school, but the first minutes of that day. What the authors write about the first minutes applies to the first few minutes of any school day -- including the day when a sub is there.
Both authors tell us that we shouldn't spend the first few minutes of class taking attendance -- instead, we should get the students working on an assignment, and attendance should be taken silently without involving the students. Unfortunately, this is easier said than done for subs -- Wong recommends looking at the seating chart and marking who is missing, but this assumes that students actually obey the seating chart on sub days. The kids move around -- and if I ask them, they always claim that the regular teacher switched their seats and forgot to change it on the seating chart. They insist that I just call out their names for attendance and not rely on the "mistaken" seating chart.
Moreover, it's often difficult to start the kids working on an assignment. On days where the teacher provides a Warm-Up, it's straightforward (and Jones calls this "Bellwork"), but sometimes the teacher wants the class to divide into groups and start a project, or maybe do some problems out of a workbook, but I can't figure out where the stack of workbooks are. By the time I figure out what the assignment is and get the kids working on it, it's ten minutes into the period -- and many schools are strict about submitting attendance in the first ten minutes. They call teachers on the phone and urge us to submit attendance right away.
While it's impossible for subs to follow Wong's attendance plan exactly, there are still some tips from Wong and Jones that I can apply as a sub. I often don't like repeating myself, and so I like to wait until all students have arrived (including tardy kids) and take attendance before saying what the assignment is, so I won't have to repeat it. I didn't have either the Wong or Jones books back on my first day as a sub, but there are some natural classroom managers who instinctively know effective methods of running a classroom, even without having read Wong or Jones.
Here's how a natural manager would have subbed on my first day -- even before letting any students into the classroom, she tells the earliest arrivals that they should begin working on the Warm-Up. (Jones tells us that it's important to enforce management even before the tardy bell.) If the students enter loudly, then she tells them right away to be quiet. If they do anything but take out the Warm-Up, then she reminds them to take it out. And she repeats this as each group of kids arrives in the classroom.
The natural classroom manager doesn't remind repeating expectations at the start of class -- and in fact, repeating it now saves her from having to repeat it later. By the time the tardy students arrive, they see the rest of the class doing the Warm-Up -- and they realize that they should do the same.
These students on my first day have presumably been doing Warm-Ups all year -- so they should already know without my directing them to do so. But when they arrive and see that I'm not their regular teacher, their hopes are raised that they won't have to do regular work that day. By reminding them to start their assignment, those hopes are extinguished -- they realize that this is going to be a regular work day, and I'm going to enforce unpleasant rules. This isn't a "chill sub" -- it's a "fill sub" who's going to fill their head with knowledge.
According to Wong and Jones, this is the most important task of a teacher (or sub) -- letting the kids know that I'm a strict teacher. They already know what they need to do -- now what they know is that I'm won't let them get away with not doing it. And the natural classroom manager knows this, but I must make an effort to do and say what comes instinctively to her.
If the assignment is more complicated than a Warm-Up, then I could perhaps start the class by asking the students to take out and write their name on a piece of paper. That way, I provide the important info the kids need (namely that I'm a sub who expects them to work) while I try to figure out what exactly the assignment is.
Teaching and My Future
Last year, when I applied to teaching positions, there was a vicious cycle. Since I earned my teaching credential, I've been a full-time teacher for one year (at the old charter school) and something else (a sub) for nine years. That bad ratio raised a red flag in most human resources departments -- they were reluctant to hire me, because they wonder why I haven't been a teacher longer. After I was rejected, I had to wait until this year to apply to teaching jobs -- but now it's been one year of teaching and ten years as something else, so the red flag has been raised even higher.
The one thing I thought would end this vicious cycle was my long-term position -- but as we see, it didn't end it. I applied to a position in the same district and was rejected yet again. The teacher at the same school whose class I covered had praised me -- but that teacher doesn't work at human resources, and he doesn't see my weak resume. I was considering "accidentally" forwarding the email in which he praised me to human resources, but that move reeks of desperation -- and it probably wouldn't have made much difference anyway. Instead, I'll have to wait until next year to apply -- by which it will have been one year of teaching and eleven years of something else.
When I returned to my long-term school last week, I received positive comments from several people, including students, the regular teacher of my long-term, another teacher next door, and even the principal and AP, thanking me for taking over the class during these tough pandemic times. The main problem with all of this praise is that it's 2021 and not 2010. None of these people work in human resources, where they see the gaps in my resume. In short, I needed to do more positive work back when it really mattered.
As a student teacher, I had two master teachers (since my first one didn't work out), as well as a BTSA induction mentor (during a special program during the Great Recession in order for unemployed teachers to earn a California clear credential). Of those three teachers, at least two -- and probably all three -- were natural classroom managers. At the old charter school, my aide was a natural classroom manager, as was a special instructional aide at that school. All of these natural managers tried to help me with my classroom management and gave me pointers -- but their assistance never got to the root of what was wrong with my management. They couldn't see why teacher actions which came naturally to them were so troublesome to me.
Here's what I should have done during my student teaching -- watch everything that those natural managers do, then try to do the same myself. If something doesn't work for me, then ask my mentor a very specific question about why it's not working. For example, my first master teacher would always tell a gum-chewing student to go "visit the trash can" (and spit out the gum there). So here's the type of question I could have asked:
In third period, you asked a girl to "visit the trash can," and she promptly went to the trash can and spat out the gum. But in fourth period, I asked a guy to spit out his gum, but he claimed that he wasn't chewing any gum. He asked me to prove that he had gum, and then his friends sitting next to him told me to stop picking on him. The argument took over a minute and left us both feeling bad, whereas your interaction with the girl took less than ten seconds. She didn't ask you to prove that she had gum -- she just spat it out. What can I do in tomorrow's class so that I can get a student to spit out gum in ten seconds or less, just like you?
That's a very specific question, and so my master teacher could have given a specific answer. I'll never know what she would have told me. She might have said the students know that she means business, so they know not to mess around with her with comments like "prove I'm chewing gum." And they know she means business because she makes sure that they're working hard as soon as they enter the door, and she doesn't allow them to talk during the lessons. By contrast, I allow the students to whisper quietly during lessons, so they don't think that I mean business. So they feel that they can talk back and argue with me. So what I need to first do tomorrow is stop the kids from talking when I'm talking -- and once they know that they can't get away with it, they'll respect me and follow my directions rather than come up with excuses like "prove I'm chewing gum."
Instead, the gum argument discouraged me from telling the students to stop chewing. I figured, all that will accomplish is an argument, so I might as well just let them chew gum. The "no gum" rule had been neutered, and now the kids tried to figure out what other rules they could neuter. And that's why I got into an argument with my master teacher, forcing me to leave her classroom.
The lessons I learned on my very first day of subbing lingered with me -- if I pushed the students too hard, their response would be to jump up and down. But as I know now, the third period jumping incident was the wrong lesson for me to take from that day. Instead, I should have focused on fourth period -- when the students believed that I was a strict sub handing out referrals left and right, they behaved much better. Therefore when I'm a sub who doesn't know the names of the students -- or a student teacher just getting to learn the names -- act as if I already know their names. If I'm not in control of the class, act as if I am anyway. What matters here is perception -- if the students perceive me to be a strict teacher, they will act accordingly.
Hopefully, by following this, I get through my subbing more effectively, and I'm able to complete one of my two student teaching stints in good standing. What I need is a letter of recommendation signifying that I had strong classroom management during the student teaching semester. This is the only way for me to be hired during the Great Recession.
Because of the budget cuts, if I do manage to get hired soon after student teaching, I'd almost certainly get a pink slip on March 15th of that year since I'm only in my first year of seniority. In this case, it's OK -- human resources departments know that everyone's getting pink-slipped that year, and it looks better to have a year of teaching and get pink-slipped due to budget cuts than not to teach at all. Perhaps at some point I get another year of teaching in, and get pink-slipped again. In this case, returning to subbing between pink slips is OK. And if I manage to get two years of teaching in during the recession, these count for BTSA and the clear credential, eliminating the need to join that special BTSA program.
Once the recession ends, I can be hired for my first multi-year job. This might be around the time I was hired at the old charter school -- perhaps even at the charter school itself. This time, with much stronger management skills, I complete all three years before that charter is shut down. Once it's closed, I have a much better ratio -- five years of teaching and four years of something else. This would put me in much better shape to earn more teaching jobs.
This story sounds much like the What If? tales from earlier in this post -- and technically it is. But it's not a COVID What If? -- it doesn't change the pandemic or anything beyond my control. (In particular, it's not the same as the COVID-08 What If? even though it mainly takes place at the same time.) The only things that change from the original timeline are my actions and reactions. It shows how I could have launched a teaching career despite the Great Recession -- it all begins with having excellent classroom management, so that I could have a stronger resume when few teachers were being hired.
Oh, and by the way, you might ask whether I develop either the "Who Am I?" game or songs to sing on this timeline. On one hand, I'd like to believe that on this timeline, I have much better classroom management skills and don't need to resort to gimmicks like games or songs. On the other hand, there are some classrooms where the students come in determined not to do any work. This can occur either in LA County's tougher neighborhoods, or in classrooms where it's Friday, but the regular teacher only leaves enough work for Thursday. (Saying "Let's continue yesterday's assignment!" is a non-starter, since the students will reply "We already finished it," even if they didn't.) On those days, sometimes the only way to get the students to work is to play a game or song. So I'd like to believe that I develop games and songs on this timeline -- perhaps much earlier than the original timeline, since I'd understand the need for them sooner.
But on the original timeline, this never happened. Instead, it's 2021, and my resume is weak. By this point, I'm forced to admit that in all likelihood, I will never become a full-time teacher. There's no way for me to escape the vicious cycle that makes my resume look weaker with every year that passes.
Conclusion
Last summer, I had many projects going on at the same time on the blog. One of them is Ian Stewart's book Calculating the Cosmos, and I plan on returning to it. We read the first dozen chapters last summer, then I added Chapter 13 over winter break. And so we'll resume with Chapter 14.
But there's another book I wish to read -- Eugenia Cheng's Molly and the Mathematical Mystery. This book came out in March, and so I was hoping it would be my usual spring side-along reading book. But the local library just barely received its copy, and it will still be some time before I get it. And so I'll start the summer with Stewart, then switch to Cheng once I receive my copy. Then we'll return to Stewart to round out the summer side-along reading.
I won't return to Shapelore or music lyrics this summer. I already developed new songs during the school year. Perhaps I might come up with new Geometry songs if I were actually teaching Geometry this fall, but I'm not. Likewise Shapelore and easier vocabulary words only matter if I were actually Geometry students.
And so there's one project I definitely need to return to -- the Java project. Last year, I started learning to code in Java because I feared the schools would close and there would be no opportunity for us substitute teachers. This year, the schools have reopened -- but now I'm afraid that I won't get any opportunities to be a full-time teacher due to my weak resume and the reasons stated above.
Now don't get me wrong -- I really like being a substitute teacher. Subbing was a chore at first, but I admit that my games and songs make it more enjoyable. As I wrote above, many students look forward to my subbing for their classes, and I know it's because of my games and songs.
The problem is that I'm now forty years old -- four-oh, 40. At age 40, I'm not supposed to be still searching for my first career opportunity. Yet here I am -- and if I'm going to be stuck as a sub with no possibility of becoming a teacher, then I need to look elsewhere for a career. And as they say, if you want a new career, "learn to code."
I still haven't decided which two of my three districts I'll keep in the fall. And I will return to those districts -- but I'll be looking for non-teaching jobs along the way. And if I find such a job, I'll say goodbye to subbing -- and to this education blog.
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