The Misedumacation of the United States of America

Follow up after spending a year substitute teaching

When the school year started, as a stopgap measure to extinguish some medical debt, I began substitute teaching at my local school. Being the full-on hypocrite that I am, I didn’t send my own kids to school - we practiced autonomous learning at our home. I wrote about education through my lens in this post as a primer:

But then I got this little cancer thing and had to focus on a more steady income, and off to school the kids went (for the record, their choice, not mine). I told myself: one year, Tonika, one year, and you’re done. Surely I can make it through one year. Bite my tongue and shut my big mouth. Today is the last day of school.

I’m typing this during my lunch period before I have to take the kids to Arabic (one of the 5 essential classes they rotate through each day of the week: Spanish, dance, gym, and music round up the rest). Before I lay down my observations, I’d like to state that the teachers and staff at this school are good people. They, too, are caught in the system, a system that taxes them to the max, and they’re trying to do their best, probably with a certain level of uncomfortable realization that perhaps this isn’t what they signed up for. These teachers seem to care and have compassion for their students. Even if some hold ideologies or moral compasses different from mine, I don’t think they weaponize that for some unhealthy power trip. This school is considered a level A+ IB institution, and it is one of the best in the state.

Each school day begins with the Pledge of Allegiance, hand on chest and body turned towards the American flag. No omission of “under God” here. They have 3-4 different students come up each day to deliver the address over the PA. I am personally torn on the reciting of the pledge. On one hand, it’s probably wise to always remind your populace, especially at a young age, that they all belong to the same tribe (even as disjointed and diverse as America is) and that everyone living on this land should think of America as indivisible. On the other hand, it’s a bit of a joke, innit? Are we pledging allegiance to America or those who rule America? Is empty patriotism parroted redundantly precisely because it is empty? How do we teach allegiance without becoming drones of an empire hell bent on destroying the rest of the world, perhaps even destroying the place you once called home? Or is priming our young to pledge loyalty without being invested the point?

I no sooner ask myself those questions when the answer comes in the form of the so-called Spirit Week at my school, when kids are encouraged to wear jerseys and colors of their favorite teams. First of all, what kind of favorite team does a pre-k shrimp have that wasn’t just impressed upon them by a relative, and second, I’m going to go ahead and make some folks mad, but what kind of loyal fandom does a team even ask for from the layman? What are we loyal towards, actually? Are we getting paid millions of dollars to throw around a pig skin? Do we get new sneakers or top-of-the-line cars for making it to first base? Movie deals for bouncing an orange ball around the court? Why are we so invested in these arbitrary tribes simply because, what, we share the same city?

An actual flag that hangs on an actual house in my neighborhood, though this image is stolen from the internet

All this comes on the heels of overhearing an adult SECA declare how he cries if his team loses. A grown adult. Crying if Da Bears take an L. You’d think he dons the orange and blue himself.

So we root, mindlessly, for sports, politics, countries… we are primed to take sides from a very young age. Choose a side, pleb. But let’s not go off course. This post is a glimpse inside an educational institution. I’ll try and stay away from the conspiratorial as much as one can, while keeping “education is indoctrination” at bay.

I have subbed for every single teacher in this school, including the SECAs (they are the special ed personnel who usually travel with a specific kid or small group of kids). I enjoy being a SECA sub the best; not only is a smaller number of students easier and more interesting, but it gives me an insight into how kids learn, and I get to observe those authentic aha moments rarely seen from the other kids. I don’t like it that kids are incentivized to behave with stickers or little trinket toys, or the school’s very own printed money, which they get to spend each quarter on a traveling cart store that sells them more trinkets. I’m not opposed to the store itself, actually. I like that they have play bucks to teach them about buying and spending, just wishing they could earn those bucks for helping around the classroom or doing odd jobs instead of for how quiet they can keep while waiting in the bathroom line.

Speaking of which, is it just me, or does the notion of having to ask to go to the bathroom particularly conjure up prison? I reject the idea of being solicited for permission; just tell me you’re going. But plenty of teachers reject the request, which baffles my mind. If you gotta go, you gotta go. Or if you’re in kindergarten, that raised hand might no longer be asking, “Can I go to the bathroom?” but telling you, “I just went to the bathroom.”

Yes, fam, school has gotten major skibidi since we were young. You bet, I picked up “skibidi” there. The vernacular of Gen Alpha is a language in itself. All this brainrot talk has got me low key chad with the kids.

Gen Xers looking up “skibidi” on the internet

If you’re lost, here’s a short tutorial:

And let’s be honest, when we were young, we did the same:

And although they can talk a mile around you, the quality of education, as I’m sure of no surprise to anyone reading this post, is in the absolute dumps. A week ago, in 6th grade, I was overseeing the class (30+ students) working on a wellness packet. It was about meditation and I thought that was pretty good material. At one point, a girl raised her hand to tell me she didn’t understand question number 6. I asked her to read it out loud, thinking this could help other students if they were also having problems with that particular question.

“What is a way that buttheads calm their minds?'“, she reads as classmates giggle. I walked over to her desk thinking she is razzing me when in fact she was trying to make sense of the word “buddhists” and I couldn’t process that 12 year olds are this particularly bad at reading. Although, I must admit, it was a much needed laugh. No cap.

This school year I had my share of laughs and frustrations. This is Chicago, so the city is terribly progressive. Funny how I identified with so much of it five years ago. I wouldn’t have batted an eye that everyday kids 5th grade and up would watch CNN10 - a ten minute round up of news meant for school age children which makes indoctrination through media fun and easily consumed. Just check out this episode released right after fluoride made a splash for being removed from water in certain states:

It’s the subtle way with which they imply fluoride is safe to drink, or at least, that’s the expected conclusion which the student would have to write about in their daily reports. During the episode which aired after Biden’s cancer announcement, there was no discussion about the likelihood of the ex-POTUS not knowing he had cancer, no discussion about him casually mentioning he had it in one of his press conference gaffs, no critical thinking applied that there is no way, no how a person who goes through annual presidential medical check-ups by the top doctors ever missed a stage 4 cancer diagnosis. No discussion the role media plays in our understanding of current events. None. And no, I don’t think FOX is any better or worse. Media is indoctrination. But so is school so they go hand in hand, I guess.

Because I’m not only a guest teacher, I’m also a parent, I’d like to include some correspondence regarding health class I received for my 8th graders. I didn’t opt out. Instead, I asked them to talk to me after each health class so I can offer more information and to gauge their reaction to the material.

Now, I would think sex ed would start with the basics, and perhaps move on to these other topics later, after they understand reproduction and STDs and all that, but this teacher seemed to think they could go right into LGBTQ and race in sex issues. Even though, I had covered a lot of the birds and the bees with the twins already, I ended up having to answer a lot of questions the boys had about menstruation at home.

I get it. People in Chicago, lost their minds over Trump winning and thought gay rights were going to revert back to the stoning age. Emotions ran pretty high and people scrambled to respond to potential sticky situations. As an educator, I even received the following correspondence about helping teachers respond to concerns regarding trans issues:

I wonder why the onus is on the cisgender person to change bathrooms? There are plenty of single stall bathrooms in the school that anyone uncomfortable with the public bathroom situation should be allowed to use , but why is the onus on those who have been using the same bathroom for years?

“This is not something that happens” is not a solution to a concern, CPS.

As far as I know, there was only one third grader, who wore a fabulous purple coat, that frequented the girls’ bathroom and, as far as I know, no girls minded that that happened. But how long before puberty makes it all a bit awkward?

To be fair, the public bathroom issue has been talked about to death and I’m certainly not going to find a solution here and now. I don’t want any kid to get hurt, trans or otherwise, though the phrase ‘trans-kid’ itself feels unsettling. Once they’re an adult, they can get tattoos and piercing, drink, smoke, cut their peckers off, die for their country, or otherwise do damage to their bodies meant for adult mind decision making. So, I’m going to slowly peddle away from the morass and leave you with the following anecdote from the last day of school.

I’m in second grade. I’m a guest SECA for a few of the kids in this class. All sweet kids with a range of academic and behavioral problems. The ratio of boys to girls is 2 to 1. This was the first class I ever subbed for and when I did, I thought I had surely made a huge mistake. During the first 20 minutes of guest teaching back in September, one of the boys screamed really loud out of nowhere startling everyone and then, in the middle of me reading a book to the class, ran and turned off the light, plunging us in darkness. One of the other boys here hits. Hard. Another just runs around and throws things off the shelves for no reason. One of the girls requires bathroom help and she can’t walk without someone holding her hand because she often falls. Yet another boy often writes “fuck” around the room and on other kids’ worksheets. This is one of the most challenging classes in the whole school and their main teacher who only uses soft spoken voice and explains directions multiple times over reiterating every simple expectation has performed a full-on miracle getting this class to simply listen. This is no small feat. I am still traumatized by my first experience here.

It’s only apropos that my last day in school is also in this class.

The kids are filling out their “2nd Grade Memory books,” writing in their answers and coloring their pictures. I glance over to a shy girl who always comes dressed better as an 8 year old than I do as a 46 year old. Her hair is always nicely made. She is well cared for. She is responding to the prompt: “Something I want my 3rd grade teacher to know about me.” In scribbled 8 year old writing, I make out the words “That I am a stupid idiot.” with a very large period darkened for extra measure. Underneath it, a stick figure of her with the thought bubble coming out of it that says: “I have a tiny brain.” Ok, admittedly, that made me laugh a little, but I was still concerned with the sentiment so I whispered to the teacher to go see what the girl had written. To her credit, her teacher did way more than that. She took her over to her desk and began showing her all the projects the girl had worked on throughout the year. She showed her pictures of the girl engaged in learning. She showed her a card she had made for the teacher when the teacher was sick. How can a tiny brain be able to do all that? It was a good moment. A very good moment.

Their teacher has printed each and one of them a special award which I diligently laminate. In my head, I mutter about participation trophies. But each award is unique to each kid: math whiz, happy helper, future president, curious kiddo, etc. Right after lunch, we head to the assembly where the principal is giving out the real awards for Honor Roll and Perfect attendance. Some kids get medals. Two of the girls in my 2nd grade cry because they don’t get anything at the assembly. Back at the room, the main teacher goes to one of the cryers and I go to the other.

I ask, “Are you upset that you didn’t get a medal?”

She nods her head through tears.

“I have to tell you something,” I say, “My first day here, there was one person, out of the whole school, kids and adults, that made me feel really welcome here. A person who gave me a hug and made me feel like I wanted to stay at this school after a really long and hard day. That person was you, “ I tell her, “and I wish I could give you a medal for that.”

She straightens up and smiles. I can tell she’ll hold on to that one for a spell and then she asks, “Will you come back next year?”

Ugh. I’m so soft. Sure, kid. I live across the street after all. I can’t help it that I’ve really fallen for the kids. Someone has to tell them they can just go to the bathroom when they feel like they have to go.

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