The Heaviest Door

Someone once told me that if the doors of opportunity do not open to you, break them down with determination.  What was I thinking?  Did it occur to me to look into the mirror.  At an age when most men are dreaming of retirement, I was going back to college at Arizona State University in a program to get my Arizona Teaching License.  It all sounded so good after two years of substitute teaching, I needed to find my place.

In the two years, I had done every grade and just about every subject including dance where one of the students had a conversation with me with her ear touching her knee as she managed to put her leg on the doorframe in the classroom.  I had even done a high school physics class where the students were doing a worksheet on vectors.  One of the students sat at his desk staring out the window.

“Are you finished?” I asked.

“Yup.” He nodded.

“So you completed and totally understand this concept of vectors?” I asked knowing that this was a rush job with over forty minutes left in the class there was no way he could have done it.  “So you do understand vectors?”

Annoyed by my question, he looked at me and said, “Do you?” 

I said nothing the rest of the class, because I had learned my lesson and I was not the smartest person in the classroom at this moment.

If someone were to ask me why I chose to pursue a secondary education degree and license, my answer was simple, “If I have a bad day with a student in an elementary school, I am stuck with that student all day long whereas in middle and high school, I only have to put up with them for an hour.”

Which always brings me to the time I had substituted for a kindergarten teacher with a class of thirty some cute students with big round heads and eyes to go with their big round heads.  It takes a special kind of person to deal with their issues.  This is illustrated when one of the boys came to me and started yelling, “Teacher! Teacher!”

He was wiggling one of the teeth in his mouth while I was trying to teach a math lesson.  Suddenly the tooth came out and he was left holding it as blood began to run down his chin.  I had some sterile gauze which I applied to his bleeding mouth and told him to hold it there while I wrote a pass to the nurse’s office.  I had him go with another student in case he began to get light headed.  The next thing I know I was surrounded by the rest of the thirty some students all wiggling their loose teeth in unison.  I was in no way ready for this and began to feel my own stomach reject what I was seeing.  

My wife had taken me shopping for supplies for my classes and I became very emotional for some unknown reason, but the best one I had was the fact I was over fifty years old and would be attending classes with students half my age at the downtown Phoenix campus.  

“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.” Is all she said as I dried my tears.  I felt foolish for my sudden display of emotion.   We finished and got home where I had about an hour before I had to leave.  It was over one hundred ten degrees and in Phoenix where there was nothing, but pavement and glass, the temperature would be about ten degrees hotter.  Heat makes me ill sometimes even when I drink a lot of water.

Another time, I was substituting for a gym teacher at the middle school where I was to have a kickball class.  The activity went fine, no problems, but upon returning to the gym, I saw what I thought was a fight.  This is common in middle school.  There was a dust cloud and I began to hustle my way toward it.  When I finally arrived, there was no fight, just a student sitting on the ground with the biggest wasp I had ever seen crawling down his leg.  I could hear him moan as the insect headed straight underneath his shorts to an area we refer to as private.  Concentrating as best I could and knowing if I missed, he would be stung in a place that was highly sensitive, I cupped my hand and knocked the wasp off him in one swift motion.  To my horror, the wasp had relanded on a female student near her neck.   She began to cry, but I told her to stand still so I could have another shot.  Her eyes were as wide as saucers when I struck again.  This time the wasp landed in the dirt where he had just enough time to right himself when my foot came down on him ending his reign of terror.  As we walked back to the gym, I put my arms around both traumatized students and whispered, “You two are the bravest students I have ever had the pleasure of subbing for.” 

The traffic into town was quitting time traffic, but it was going the opposite way I was and I was grateful.  I had my music on which I usually did whenever I drove any distance.  My drive would be over twenty miles from where I lived to where I would be attending classes. I sang to some of the tunes, trying to keep my mind off of what I was attempting to do.  

This was crazy.  Why on earth had I agreed to do this.  I was told at my inprocessing that since I was a language arts major, I would have to attend some of my classes on the main campus in Tempe, which was not as far as downtown Phoenix, but parking became one of the worst headaches I would ever encounter as the fines I would incur would total over five hundred dollars after paying three hundred dollars per semester for the privilege to park on campus.

“Can I talk to you?” A young lady asked me as I stepped out of Mesquite High School after substituting teaching there for the day.  

“What can I do for you?” I wondered why this stranger was asking to talk to me.

“I’m from the local newspaper and I was hoping to interview you.” She smiled.

I could not think of a reason why not, so I agreed.  She took my picture sitting on the bench just outside the door at the administration building and then proceeded to ask me questions about what it was like to be a substitute.  I answered as honestly as I could, because I had not the motivation to lie and even if I did, this was not the time or place. 

A week later, I saw the article in the newspaper with my picture holding my coffee mug and briefcase.  I told her that I loved the variety and the freedom to choose whatever job I wanted to from the computerized system.  

I managed to find the parking garage I would park in for evening classes across the street from Chase Field where the Arizona Diamondbacks play baseball.  I sat there in my car with the engine running, because if I did not have air conditioning, I would cook in about five minutes in the one hundred fifteen degree heat that was pouring into this open parking garage.  I hated the heat and knew the dragon’s breath would greet me as soon as I opened the car door.  I closed my eyes listening to a song about having the courage to follow your dreams.

“You should come join our team.” One of the teachers remarked at a school I would frequent as a substitute.  

“Sink the sub.” I heard students remark when they came into my classroom.

“We don’t have to do that part.  Our teacher said so.” Another student would say when I handed out the daily assignment.

“I think you’d be happier in your own classroom.” My wife once told me after a long tedious day at a middle school.

“As soon as the school year ends, you won’t be getting a paycheck.” One teacher told me in the teacher lounge at one of the schools.

“My mom says you yell too much.” A fourth grade student once informed me.

“Kids today are so entitled.” A teacher complained in the teacher lounge as I ate my lunch alone.

Teachers at this one high school would not monitor the halls, because half the student body was high.  When I got to my last class of the day, I looked into the eyes of my students in the classroom. I don’t think any of them knew even where they were.

“God, what am I going to do today in class?” A teacher said aloud in the teacher’s lounge, “I guess I’ll give them a crossword to do.” 

As it turned out, sitting there, about forty minutes early for class, facing the heaviest door I have ever faced, I called my wife and told her, again in tears, that I didn’t think I could go through with this.

“You do whatever you think is the right thing to do.” She said with perfect confidence.  

I sat there with the engine running, the cool air blowing on me as the dragon outside my door was waiting for me.

What was the right thing?  Was I really happy as a full time substitute?  For a year I was, but after one summer of not getting paid, I felt the pinch.  In dealing with some of the administration, a substitute teacher was considered the lowest life form on the planet.  Some of them were nice to me, but I could feel their pity as they handed me a class roster and lesson plan.  Most teachers would plan their absence and have a “video day” when the sub came in.  Was I really satisfied with being a professional video player?  

When I substituted at my daughter’s first grade classroom, I found that most of the students were pretty well behaved.  There were a couple who did not totally get the social graces required of first grade, so I would raise my voice as I often had to do, because most of the time the kids would not stop talking if a sub was in the classroom.  So later that evening, I asked her how she thought I did.  “Dad, you did alright, but you scared Morgan.” 

This door was too heavy for me to open, I thought but then I sat there and before I knew what I was doing, I turned off the engine and exited the car.  The dragon breathed fire on me in an instant.  Sweat poured down my back, but I walked to the elevator to the ground floor and rode the un-air conditioned car to the street.  Once on the sidewalk, I could feel the heat rise up from the concrete and nearly melt my shoes.  Just had to cross the street into the building where there would be a jet of air conditioning to keep me from melting like the Wicked Witch of the North. 

“Can I help you?” The woman at the desk asked when I entered the building with a sigh.  

“I’m here for class.” I answered.

“Class doesn’t begin for another half hour, but you are welcome to stay.” She nodded.

Yes, stay, I could not go out into that heat again.  I felt as though I had lost twenty pounds just crossing the street.  I got in the elevator and rode up to where my classroom was, but there wasn’t a single soul up there and from a quick scan, no break room to sit and wait for the next thirty minutes. 

It seemed unfair that I was able to open the heaviest door, but now had to sit and wait for the longest thirty minutes of my life in an empty room like solitary confinement.  Suddenly a few more people showed up and I started feeling aged again as they looked at me for a moment before moving on.  

Another factor that troubled me as I sat there waiting, it would be after sundown when I would return home on the city freeway.  My kids would be in bed, my wife would be in bed watching television while I microwaved leftovers from dinner.  This was not the lifestyle I had envisioned myself in at this time of my life.  I was also told that I’d have to do student teaching.  I had done it before, but it did not count here in Arizona.  It was like I was starting all over again from square one.  This also did not seem fair, but this was how it had to be.

“Are you the professor?” One of the fresh faced students asked me.

“No, I’m a student.” I confessed.

“Really?  Cool.” He moved on with his friend who also had a fresh face.  Finally ten minutes before class, I entered the classroom where the professor was setting up.  He smiled and greeted me and did not seem too concerned about my age.

Ten minutes later, the professor smiled and said, “Alright, it’s now time to begin.” 

A couple of people hustled in as he said this.

“On an index card, I want you to write down your experiences in education to this point.” He began passing out the index cards.  I almost asked him for a second one since I was not sure this was going to be enough.  So I started writing. I did not have enough room to tell him about the heaviest door I had managed to open or all of the doubts I had sitting in his classroom at this moment in time.  I did not have room to tell him how my wife had guided me through the landmines of my own mind.  

It was scary to realize how close I had come, to putting my car in drive and going home, no questions asked, just an acknowledgment that I did not have it in me to take this second chance and make it happen.  How close had I come to telling myself that this door was too heavy to open and that I was being ridiculous in attempting to make it happen.

When I did finish with this year at Arizona State University, I ended up getting my license and being hired as an Emergency Certified special education teacher.  Sitting in the district meeting for the new hires, I told my story of the heaviest door I had ever experienced and how I had overcome it.  Later a teacher cornered me and I could tell she was about my age and she said, “Funny I did the same thing.  I had trouble opening that door.  I wasn’t sure I was doing the right thing.” 

The reality was that door wasn’t the least bit heavy, but in my mind it was almost insurmountable and in that private moment of truth, I was able to open that door and it was the best thing I have ever done.  Really.