Today I was asked to sub for a Shakespeare class. The kids were supposed to watch “10 Things I Hate About You,” which meant I could sit and do whatever the hell I wanted while they were entertained. That’s a good way to earn twenty bucks.
I was happily checking my email and reading “Catcher in the Rye” so I won’t have to lie so baldly when my students are reading it next quarter when the damn movie ended. Just ended. Apparently they had already watched most of it the previous day.
I looked at my watch and there were 20 minutes left in class. I’m not trying to set up a 20 motif here, this is actually the amount of time. Way too much time to say, ah, just hang out a minute, and class is almost over. At least, for me, in my compulsive workhorse mode. The minute those kids saw I was their sub, they moaned, “Oh no!” and the seniors said, “I thought I’d never have to see you again!” in the half-agonized, secretly pleased way of adolescents.
So I stood up and got them to spit back the plot of “10 Things,” and then explained about how “The Taming of the Shrew” was sexist, and what a shrew is, and why taming a woman is offensive. All this in between, and sort of half over, their side conversations and yelling at each other and staring into space apathy. I could win about 1o seconds of auditory real estate in this room. If one of my words was “race” or “sex,” I had a better shot.
I got them to vote on whether the play should still be performed. It came out 50/50. I got the smartest kid in class to tell everyone that race is addressed in Shakespeare, in “Othello,” and he mentioned that they refer to Othello as a moor, and and as “uncircumcised.” Apparently that made an impression on him.
But they never really shut up completely, and as I moved the discussion to race, and another kid declared that Abraham Lincoln had slaves, someone else said, “Why are we talking about slaves? What does that have to do with Shakespeare?” And for the hundredth time, I asked, “How did Lincoln have slaves? He lived in a free state.” “He just did. Those other white people didn’t care.”
Right before the bell rang, I stood up in front of the door. Most of them were used to this trick. I said, “I’m just going to add one thing. But not until everyone’s quiet.” This took a minute. I wrapped up with something about considering the culture of the author, and how we should accept them or deal with offensive parts of their work, and how they would look at this more in their college English classes, while they thought about what they were about to have for lunch, and then I let the floodgates open.
“You the only one I ever heard talk about slavery and Shakespeare,” one of the sophomores said.
As I walked upstairs, I was annoyed and worn out. A kid on the stairs had her cell phone out. I held my hand out to confiscate it. She refused to give it to me.
I encouraged her to do this the easy way and not get into deeper trouble, and she said, “I’ll do what I want,” all snotty. This kid was on track to be valedictorian of her class, and I’ve been worried about her getting careless and rude.
So I asked her to step into the chemistry lab. “This isn’t like you. This isn’t who you are,” I began.
“You don’t know who I am,” she said.
Well, fair enough. “I know you have made lots of smart choices in the past, and I’ve noticed that your choices lately are not smart.” This seemed worth a try.
She looked at me, infuriated, and I thought, Well, whatever.
Then she gave me her phone and stormed off.