Finding the joy...

guacamole tsunami song by Parry Gripp

Last Monday morning, I found myself in a music room at my son’s school, frantically searching the classroom for lesson ideas before nineteen third graders filed in for class at 8:30 am. The teacher had left a note that I could show Tom and Jerry cartoons and talk about the music accompanying the show but that seemed dull to me, and this classroom was full of fun percussion and xylophone instruments. Surly I could come up with something more fun than T.V.

The bell rung and I waited outside the classroom door for the students to arrive. As they walked down the hall and spotted someone who was not their teacher, the expression on their faces turned to wide-eye wonder, who is this dear soul that stands before us that we can dominate, I thought they must be thinking. They filed in to take their seats and there was a moment I’ve now come to recognize in substitute teaching, the silent assessment; the one quiet minute of reflection that occurs by all the children as they try to ascertain who am I am. It’s a moment of simmering excitement and it’s a moment of sheer terror – the moment before I take the improvisational stage of substitute teaching and tap-dance through whatever the students have in store for me.

I didn’t mean to start a new career right when I was getting divorced, and moving, and renovating a house. It just happened that way. Teaching has always been a profession that held my curiosity and high esteem, but I avoided it because I grew up in a school were my father worked, and it all felt too familiar. I wanted to do something different with my life.

But here I am, at forty-six-years-old, and I’m going back to school. None of it makes sense on paper financially. It just feels like the right thing to do in my body. It brings me into the same schedule as my son, which is important as a single mom, and it brings both of us into a community that shares our same values. But the overriding reason for pursuing teaching right now is the pure joy, the radiant energy I feel every time I step onto the campus and interact with the students. So far, I’ve substituted for fourth grade math and social studies, fifth grade English, seventh and eighth grade English, first grade, second and third grade reading, and now music.

I introduced myself to the class and gave a short description about me, which usually includes that my son is in first grade, to which they all ask for his name. This I’ve found immediately breaks the ice and confirms me as safe; I’m a mom here at the school. Then I took attendance. I’ve noticed with third grade, they love to change their names, and this is the moment they explain to me their new choices. There are a lot of Taylor Swifts, Messi’s or Renaldo’s, and the occasional random names, such as Banana 1 or Deadpool. With a few, they’ll exchange looks with their friend sitting next to them and giggle, taking their friend’s name as their own. It’s cute how obvious it all is, and we all laugh.

I explained our lesson for the day – to create an orchestral arrangement to accompany a book I chose, and if they did it well, their reward would be a freeze dance party at the end of class. This excited them and so we proceeded to read, Going on a Bear Hunt, and breaking up into six groups, each one picking either the triangle, or the blocks, or the tambourine, or the sand shaker, or the xylophone to make their character’s sound. We practiced watching me, the conductor, getting loud when my hands went up in the air, soft when my hands went low, and the most important, no sound when I closed my hands up.

Was there a lot of discordant noise? Yes. Was there a lot of chaos and mallets bopping other things besides the xylophone? Yes. But man, did we all have a lot of fun.

The moment I knew I had them was when every child was playing their instrument to the fullest as I read that the bear was chasing the family to their house, and when I struck the big drum to indicate the front door was shut and their cue to silence their instruments, everything fell quiet, in unison. I watched them look at each other, eyes sparkling, smiling, in amazement. What a beautiful thing to see. What joy we all felt, collectively.

Martha Beck, the author and podcaster, talks about how finding joy in life is the best way to navigate life. She states in her podcast, “The Wandering Room; Finding the Joy,” “that, “joy, like beauty, is its own excuse for being,” and “that joy is what gets you through this world because it reminds you that you are not of this world. It is something more lasting, more powerful, and more loving than your physical experience ever could be.”

We ended all the classes playing freeze dance to one of James’ and my favorite new songs by Parry Gripp, “Guacamole Tsunami,” which, if you ever need a pick-me-up, I highly recommend. Then the bell rang, the students filed out of the classroom, and I got ready to do the whole thing over again four more times.

By the end of the school day, I had lost my voice, yes, but I was filled with new vibrational energy. It almost felt like my body was shaking slightly, and I’m pretty sure this wasn’t from the extra coffee I drank at the cafeteria. As I left that afternoon, crossing the campus, one of the students called out to me, “Can we do that again tomorrow Ms. B?” I turned and smiled, responding, “I hope so!”