"Class, your teacher is sick today and you will be having a substitute."
It's like a mini-vacation, almost as good as a snow day.
"Miss Jones is sick? We have a sub? Yay...!"
There must be a special place in Heaven for all those poor folks who have
One of my favorite substitute teachers was Mr. Smith* who took over for our regular grade ten French teacher -- for one whole, glorious month. Poor Mr. Smith was a happless, grey little man. He wore the same grey suit every day, and he had matching grey hair and moustache. The very air around him was grey. As substitute teachers go, he was an easy target. By the second week with our class, he was excusing himself every few minutes and disappearing into the washroom with a silver hip flask. I had never seen one before, and I didn't know what it was. By the third week, Mr. Smith was taking swigs from the flask without leaving the classroom. At the end of week four, he left with the cheery parting, "Adios, you little b*ggers..." I don't know what came over us during Mr. Smith's sojourn with us. We were known throughout the school as the "good kids" -- the straight "A" students. Maybe it was some sort of a "Lord of the Flies" thing, I don't know.
A little friend of mine, who shall remain nameless, informed me yesterday that his class had a substitute teacher for a few days. I could hear the wicked glee creeping into his voice
"Oh?" I asked, "And how did that go?"
"Well", he said, "She yelled at us a lot, so you know what we did? When her back was turned, the whole class changed seats."
Oh, goodness, it's wonderful to know that some things never change.