There’s something you should know about me...
I identify as a spiritual person. However, I don’t believe my sole purpose on earth is to convert everyone I meet to my exact way of thinking. Instead, I resonate more with the belief that God's greatest commandment is to love Him and to love our neighbors as we love ourselves.
This spiritual perspective has led me to pursue careers focused on serving others. It also explains why I cherished my experience as a substitute teacher in the public school system. Substituting ultimately convinced me that I would thrive in a full-time teaching role.
One of my last substitute teaching assignments was the day before Thanksgiving break in 2023. I took a position at a small rural school as a 5th-grade teacher for a class I had filled in for at least twice before. I was familiar with the students, and we shared a good rapport. However, this class had a difficult start to the year, facing a series of substitute teachers due to the teacher's family emergency. By Thanksgiving break, the students were quite unruly, likely fueled by the excitement of the holiday ahead.
Here’s a brief overview of what I faced that day:
A student became violent, jumping on desks and yelling, leading to a room clear.
Another student fainted from low blood sugar due to not eating properly.
A different student curled up under the teacher's desk, refusing to attend PE and crying.
One student lay on the floor in a fetal position, moaning and crying, eventually tearing chairs from under classmates.
A student got so upset during recess that he began banging his head against a brick wall until it bled.
Among these challenges, there was New Sam, the student I want to share the most about. On my first day substituting for this class, I noticed the name "New Sam" on the roll. I called it out, not questioning the name on the list.
The kids erupted in laughter.
His name was simply Sam, but he had been new, hence "New Sam." I mentioned that my brain was old, and I would always see him as "New Sam." He liked it and encouraged me to keep calling him that. Everyone was pleased.
New Sam reminded me of my youngest son, Thing 3, with his longer reddish hair, pale skin, and cherubic face. Both were a bit nerdy in the best way, and I developed a fondness for New Sam.
A classmate, whom I’ll call Silver, won the school-wide Hi-Five drawing that morning and chose a bouncy ball as his prize. Unsurprisingly, he struggled to keep it contained during class. I should have taken it away, but given the day's chaos, I decided to pick my battles. At one point, the ball mysteriously vanished, and Silver insisted that New Sam had taken it.
New Sam swore he hadn’t taken it.
However, everyone else confirmed that he had.
Tensions were rising, and I needed to act quickly. I assigned the class a task to work on quietly and warned them that I would call the principal if they couldn’t maintain calmness while I resolved the situation. I called New Sam into the hallway to hear his side of the story.
“New Sam,” I said as casually as possible, “Please tell me your side of the story.”
I wanted to nurture the rapport we had built. Then, unexpectedly, New Sam said, “There’s something you should know about me.”
“Oh, really?” I responded, trying to sound nonchalant.
“Yeah, sometimes...I lie, and I don’t know why,” he confessed, devoid of arrogance or defensiveness, just humble and worried truth. I could tell he was also worried about losing our connection, yet he felt safe enough to test the waters with me.
Wow! I was honored, and I recognized this as a rare opportunity to connect with a student. I felt a surge of energy.
“Hmmm,” I mused, “I think I know why.”
“Really?” he asked, his disbelief tinged with hope.
“Yup, you lie to protect yourself. It's like fight, flight, freeze, or fibbing. I suspect you’re afraid of something, and your brain is in protection mode to keep you safe. Just like some people might get angry, run away, or freeze when they feel afraid.” I then inquired, “What do you think you were afraid of in this situation?”
He pondered for a moment before replying, “At first, I was just joking around, but then Silver seemed really upset, and I was afraid he wouldn’t want to play with me anymore at recess. He’s one of my only friends here, you know, because I’m new.”
“That’s why they call you New Sam, after all,” I joked.
He smiled back, “No, only you call me that.”
Feeling a nudge to go deeper, I asked if he’d like to hear a story about a time I lied during my own school years.
“You’ve lied?” he asked, surprised.
“Oh yes, and it was much worse than a bouncy ball.”
He was intrigued, and I shared my story with him. It’s a tale for another time—one day I’ll recount the incident when I took a first grader's prized possession after Show & Tell. For now, I can say that by the end of my story, New Sam felt better about himself and was ready to make amends.
We discussed how he could resolve the issue and how I could support him. He wanted to apologize, but also felt it was important for Silver to understand why he had lied. I assured him that Silver seemed like a reasonable 5th grader and would likely comprehend.
In the end, the two boys spoke, and everything worked out. I spotted them playing together during lunch recess.
As the day concluded and I walked the class out for dismissal, New Sam approached me and said, “Mrs. Sandwitch, thank you for your help today. I think you’re the best teacher I’ve ever had.” He then gave me a hug, which, if you know 5th-grade boys, is quite a significant gesture.
That day, I left school with mixed emotions. On one hand, the class had been pure chaos, and I felt I had done little more than manage mayhem. On the other hand, I had an incredible opportunity to connect with a student.
Some days, teaching occurs amidst the chaos. It’s vital to recognize those moments and seize the opportunities that arise. While there’s plenty of science behind teaching today, this experience highlighted the art of teaching.
It’s about taking the time to connect with another human being in a profound and meaningful way, which is a spiritual practice for me.
What an extraordinary privilege that is.
