Moments of Awakening:Chapter Twenty-Eight

Moments of Awakening: Chapter Twenty-Eight

In the Work it is said that one thing that keeps us from seeing contradictions in ourselves is buffers that stand between two opposites and keep us from seeing them. Though I recognize that I am an excellent substitute and should be with all my years of experience, on the other side of a buffer I have doubts about my effectiveness. For over two weeks, even on the streets of New York, I have little moments of worry about a referral that I gave to one of my six grade students.

I was subbing in Ms. Caddie’s sixth grade class. After their spelling test, the students were partnered up working on math games. Shannon, a light skinned African American girl who was sharply dressed and very popular, stood up, popped something into her mouth, and told the whole class, “Look, I’m chewing gum!”

“Get rid of it,” I said pointing to the thrash can.

“It’s not gum. It’s a mint,” she told me.

“Get rid of the mint,” I said.

“Miss Caddie lets us chew mints,” she replied.

“Well, I don’t let students eat anything in class,” I tell her and hurry to the back of the room to settle an argument between two boys. When I return to the front, I see Shannon pop another mint into her mouth. “Shannon, I told you I don’t let students eat anything in the classroom,” I tell her.

“Ms. Caddy lets us eat mints,” she replies chomping away on the mint.

“Well, I’m not Ms. Caddy,” I tell her and get a behavioral form out of Ms. Caddie’s basket. “Here, fill this out,” I tell the girl.

“No, Ms. Caddie lets us eat mints.”

“Fill out the form or I’ll have to write a referral and send you to the office,” I tell her.

“Write me a referral. I ain’t done nothing wrong,” she replies.

“O.K. Let me have your worksheet,” I say figuring that I can copy her last name from it.

“No,” she tells me holding on to the worksheet with both hands.

I grab the worksheet and pull it out of her grip.

“You can’t do that!” she tells me.

“I’m your teacher. I can do that,” I reply.

At lunch break, Ms. Holdon calls me into her office. “Mr. Daley, I need to speak to you for a moment,” she tells me and explains that Shannon told her that I had ripped her papers out of her hand and when she complained I told her, ‘I’m a teacher. I can do anything I want.’

“I never said that,” I protest.

“Oh, I talked to several of Shannon’s classmates, and they all agree that you did say that. You just need to be careful about what you say, Mr. Daley.”

“Yea, I can see that.”

“O.K. Thank you, Mr. Daley,” Ms. Holdon says.

“Thank you,” I answer.

This happened on a Friday. On the following Monday, I didn’t get a call to sub. Since it was a week before Easter vacation, I figured that teachers were not taking time off. However, when I didn’t get a call on Tuesday, or Wednesday, or Thursday, I began to wonder if Mrs. Holdon had taken my name off the preferred substitute list or something. Though it was great to have these days off before my trip to New York, in the back of my mind I was wondering if I might not have to start looking for a new job.

On the Monday after Easter break, I get called to sub and happen to run into Ms. Caddie in the faculty room. “Did your students complain about what a mean sub I am?” I ask her.

“No, not at all. You did an excellent job,” she replies.

“Yea, you have a really good group of kids. The only one I had any problems with is Shannon.”

“Oh, Shannon has a real attitude. Everyone has problems with her,” Ms. Caddie tells me.

So, there I was worrying for over two weeks that maybe I had been too hard on the student, that maybe I was going to suffer some consequences. It seems that when I am on one side of the buffer, I question my ability. I wonder if I go too far in my effort to correct the bad attitudes that some students exhibit. While on this side of the buffer, I see that it is a part of my job to work on attitude, to teach students that they should have respect for their elders and obey classroom rules.

Last night, I woke up around 10:00 P.M. to the sound of a driving rainstorm. A gust of wind came over the house and through the back yard trees. Turning over, I listened to the pleasant sound of rain dancing on the ground.

This morning the April sky has parted leaving enormous billowing gray white clouds from one horizon to the other. The rising sun breaks free from a great white cloud and floods the valley with sunlight. I step lightly on the rain softened earth and study the new green leaves of the almond trees. About fifty feet in front of me, four or five long neck wild geese huddle together. I slow my pace and tighten the reins on my dog, Boo. The geese begin flapping their wings and giving off high cries of freight. I slow down and try to get as close as possible. Their wings flap more and I almost think that they are going to turn and attack me. I get within thirty yards or so and they take off and fly a hundred yards or more west and glide into the canal. Again, I get within forty or so yards and with a great flapping of wings the geese are airborne. This repeats itself several times, and then the geese take off to the south and fly several hundred yards before landing in a field of high green wheat.

As I look from horizon to horizon, white fluffy clouds crowd the sky in a complete three hundred and sixty degree circle. Above the clouds three black crows cut a path southward. The silence of this April morning fills me with the wonder of our turning Earth. My mind empties out completely. The silence takes hold me. A blue bird flits out of an almond tree. It shows a blue that has never been before, the essence of all blue. The wind blows from Mt. Diablo and sets the leaves of the orchards in motion. It blows all thought from my mind and body. I am at one with the wind blown silence.

It’s about ten o’clock at night. Chris asks if he can borrow my car for an hour or so. He explains that he’s working in the gas station right across street. “You won’t have to pay for any auto repairs anymore, Jus’ bring it in to me,” he tells me.

I tell him to park it in the garage when he’s through with it.

Next morning, I finish my morning coffee and go into the garage to start my car. The key is in the ignition and still on. Damn, he must’a left it on all night, I tell myself. When I turn the key, the engine doesn’t even turn over. The battery’s dead, I tell myself wondering if I can push the car across the street to the gas station. When I get out, I see that the front end is all smashed in. He must’a wrecked it, I’m thinking as I shake my head back and forth.