I had the privilege of subbing at a Middle School a few weeks ago and it was a relatively uneventful day…until Study Hall.  My instructions from the teacher I was filling in for were clear.  Study Hall was for the students to actually study.  They were to receive one warning for talking and if there was a strike two, I was to send them to the Principal’s office.  I may be shooting myself in the foot here if there are any teachers reading this that were thinking about requesting my services, but I don’t always follow the teacher’s instructions to the letter.  In fact, sometimes I dismiss them altogether.  This was one of those occasions.

It wasn’t that long ago that I was a student in Study Hall.  OK, it was actually a very long time ago, but the point is that I still remember what Study Hall was all about.  It was a break in the day from all the other boring classes like Math and Science and History and pretty much everything except English, which I believe they call Language Arts now.  So I was perfectly fine with the students kicking back and unwinding a little bit.  Until one kid took it too far.

He was bigger than most of the other students, in height and girth.  His way of unwinding was to go from desk to desk, arm-wrestling the others.  Luckily, he didn’t challenge the girls, but he showed no mercy to the boys.   After he had beaten everyone, some multiple times, he proceeded to strut around the classroom, hands in the air like an invisible referee was raising them in victory, and proclaiming as loudly as he could, that he was champion.

I asked him to take his seat and he blatantly ignored me.  I then told him to take his seat and he continued to play deaf.  I then told him that I was giving him his final warning.  He stopped, looked at me and innocently replied, “Sorry.  I didn’t hear you, Mr. Fartman.”  Mr. Fartman?  Really?  I’ve been called a lot of derogatory names in my life, most of them deservingly so, but Mr. Fartman?  That’s not even clever!  I’d expect more creativity from a Middle School student.  Then he continued, “I guess I’ll sit down…but only because I’ve beaten everyone in the room.”

That was the final straw.  My last shred of maturity was now gone.  Someone had to take this kid down a notch or two.  I slowly stood up, stared at him and with a little more baritone in my voice than usual, said, “Not everyone.”  As I write this now, I realize how cheesy that line was, but it felt appropriate at the time.  This seemed to amuse the reigning arm-wrestling champ.  He raised an eyebrow and smiled at me as if to say, “Are you kidding me?”

“Here’s the deal,” I said.  “We arm-wrestle.  If you beat me, you can run Study Hall however you like it for the rest of the period.  If I beat you, you sit down and study for the rest of class.  Do we have a deal?”

“Yeah,” my opponent replied. “With one condition.  I get to use both hands but you can only use one.”  Like I said, this was a pretty big kid.  I was confident I could beat him in an even matchup, but now the deck would be severely stacked against me.  And there was nothing I could do about it.  I had painted myself into a corner.  I couldn’t back down now and not accept his stipulation.  After all, the rest of the class was watching and I would look like a punk if I said no.

“Let’s do this thing,” I said, stealing a line from the hero of any ‘80’s action movie.  We locked hands, his two on my one and one of the girls in class told us to begin.  This Clash of Champions was underway.  We both grunted and groaned without ever breaking eye contact with one another.  Then, after about fifteen seconds, I used a move made famous by Lincoln Hawk (Sylvester Stallone’s character in the greatest arm-wrestling movie of all time, Over the Top…seriously, if you haven’t seen this movie, quit reading now, go watch it and then come back.  You’ll thank me later.).  I repositioned my fingers a little higher on his hands and leveraged his arm down to the table for the victory!  It took a little more effort than I had anticipated, but I had definitely taught this 6th grader a lesson!

But it’s not the actual arm-wrestling that I remember most from that day.  Yes, I was reminded of it later that evening as I was icing my wrist.  But it’s how he reacted after the bout that sticks out in my mind.  He shook hands with me and sat down at his desk and pretended to study for the rest of the period.  He kept his word.  He turned out to be a good kid.  And I believe 99% of the students in schools today are good kids.  Who knows why some of them act out like they do, like my arm wrestling buddy did, but beneath the façade that a lot of them put up, they truly are good kids.

All it took for the good kid in my story to come out was for me to find some common ground with him.  In our case, it just happened to be arm-wrestling.  I’ve found that, as I’ve subbed more often, it’s the same with most students.  They seek that connection with a teacher and the good teachers find that common denominator and use it to help connect with the student.  That’s not an easy job for a full-time teacher.  Between curriculum handed down to them to teach and time constraints and performance pressures, finding ways to reach and teach individual students is a daunting task.  But like I said, the good teachers find ways to do it.

This is just one more reason that I believe teaching is one of the noblest careers one can have and I tip my hat to everyone making a difference in the school system today.  One day of teaching drains me physically, mentally and emotionally.   I can’t imagine the stamina it takes to come back and do it day in and day out, but I’m grateful for the good teachers that do.  They are literally building our future.  And that’s not an exaggeration.

Teachers: Thank you for your service.  Thank you for connecting with students however you can.  And thank you for not going insane in the process.  You guys are rock stars!

The epilogue to this story is that I passed the student I arm-wrestled in the hallway later in the day and he actually gave me a high-five in front of his friends.  He called me Mr. Fartman again, but hey…a connection is a connection!