New Job, New Probs

Hello world!

After attempting to get a "real job" in elementary schools, I was informed that my elementary education degree doesn't really mean so much anywhere other than Idaho.

Because I don't plan on staying here forever, I opted to not spend hundreds of dollars on state exams. So, after passing a mandatory tuberculosis test and proof that I graduated high school (whew), I am a certified substitute teacher down here in The South.

And I look just like this.

People ask me if there could actually be enough teachers absent every day for people like me to make a living babysitting classrooms. The answer is yes, there are enough teachers absent every day. Making a living is a different story, but I am still here--living--so yes. I am making a living. Just a substantially lower living than substitute teachers in nearly every other state.

Thaaaaanks Alabama.

Each day begins with a prayer for patience, followed by a power struggle as I walk into a new room full of new faces and new names. My northern accent has grown-ups guessing I'm from Wisconsin or Canada. The kids think I'm from...well. I'll get to that.

Apparently, we Yankees (but am I a Yankee?) just cannot pronounce things correctly.

It is so awesome how ticked off some of these little country kids can get if I mispronounce their name.

Taking attendance: arguably the most challenging part of my day.

"Cody. Is there a Cody here?"

"No, my name is Cody."

"Coldy?"

Roll Tide!

"No! Cody. C-o-d-y. Not Coldy."

"I said Cody the first time."

"You said it wrong. It's Cody."

Something about the way the local accent (oh, and don't get me started on Sawyer. SAW-yur? Saw-YOUR? I'll never get it right here) enunciates some mysterious part of that name makes every student in the class call out, "No Miss Barry, that's not right!"



Whatever kid. I've got bigger fish to fry, like the child who has taken the sharp part off his ruler and is dueling with his unarmed neighbor's face.
His face.
Come. ON. Didn't kids stop doing that when I was in 3rd grade?

Anyway, Cody (CO-dy) loudly challenges me: "Miss Lady d'you go for Alabama or Auburn?"

The class is simply not prepared for my response.

"Actually, I don't care. I don't go for either."

I wish I had never exaggerated when story-telling, because I am telling the absolute gospel truth when I say that the entire class gasped collectively in absolute horror.

"What do you mean?" 

The concept is just not familiar to them. The culture here is all about Alabama and Auburn football. Being someone who doesn't care about football, or really any sport--I prefer things I'm good at, thank you--I'm not about to pretend to choose a rivalry team here.

"I'm from Idaho. I go for the Vandals."

My man Joe

This bit of news inspires a fresh round of questions from the room.

"Miss Barry do you have those things--those pointy things, they're not hills...um..."

"Mountains?"

"Do you speak Spanish?"

"Is it cold there?"

Yes. We have the mountains. And yes, I speak Spanish--though I don't know how that relates to the conversation. I draw a quick outline of Idaho on the board and explain a little more about the gem state.

I forget about the whole thing until lunchtime, when once again Cody and I are at battle with his name.

"Cody, straight line please."

"Miss Barry that ain't my name! It's CO-dee. Not Co-DEE!"

Another student pipes up in my defense. "Be nice to Miss Barry, she's from a different country!"

Wait.

They think Idaho is a different country. 

Throw in potatoes, and it's actually pretty accurate.

That's okay kids.

I guess American History isn't until 5th grade anyway.