Dear Chattery

Mr. Kearns had always been a substitute teacher. The kind who floated from class to class, filling in for illnesses, maternity leaves, and the occasional administrative oversight. He’d never been assigned to a homeroom before, but this year, due to a scheduling mishap, he found himself responsible for 30 sophomores every morning. The district hadn’t exactly been clear about what homeroom entailed—somewhere between announcements and attendance—but Mr. Kearns was confident he could manage it. He decided, as he often did, to improvise.

He reasoned that high school students probably weren’t so different from younger kids. Sure, they were taller and moodier, but deep down, he thought, they were still just children. And what do children love? Songs. He began the first week with “The Wheels on the Bus.” It was a nostalgic choice, and he was sure it would break the ice. “Come on, everyone,” he said cheerfully, waving his hands like a conductor. “The wheels on the bus go round and round, all through the town!” The class stared at him, a mix of horror and disbelief. One student, Jared, muttered, “Is he serious?” but Mr. Kearns heard only the melody in his head.

By midweek, he’d added “The Itsy Bitsy Spider” and “If You’re Happy and You Know It” to the repertoire. No one sang along, but Mr. Kearns was undeterred. “I get it,” he told them earnestly. “Teenagers are self-conscious. That’s normal! But I promise, singing builds confidence.” A few students began to film him on their phones, but even that didn’t faze him. In fact, he mistook it for enthusiasm. “You want to remember these moments,” he said, smiling. “I understand.”

One morning, Kayla, a bold junior who had grown tired of the routine, raised her hand. “Mr. Kearns,” she said, “why are we singing nursery rhymes? Like, are we supposed to be learning something?” Mr. Kearns paused, taken aback. “Well, singing fosters community and emotional well-being,” he explained, as if delivering a TED Talk. “Plus, these are classics! Don’t tell me you don’t sing these songs at home.” The class erupted into laughter. Kayla shook her head. “No, Mr. Kearns, we don’t.” Another student chimed in, “My little cousin sings these, and she’s three.” Mr. Kearns felt a pang of self-doubt but quickly dismissed it. “You’re never too old for ‘Row, Row, Row Your Boat,’” he declared.

Eventually, a guidance counselor intervened after a parent called to report that their child had been subjected to what they described as “musical regression.” The counselor gently informed Mr. Kearns that homeroom was generally reserved for studying or preparing for the day—not sing-alongs. Mr. Kearns, though mortified, accepted the feedback with grace. The next morning, he announced a new plan: quiet reading time. As the students filed in, he handed out copies of Hop on Pop. “A classic,” he said solemnly. The students exchanged bewildered glances. One student whispered to another, “I kind of miss the spider song.” Mr. Kearns overheard and couldn’t help but smile. Maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t entirely off-key after all.