I never expected to be hugged by an eighth grader. First graders, certainly. Second and third graders, perhaps. Getting a hug from a fourth or fifth grader is not outside the realm of possibility.

I should back up a bit here. I am a substitute teacher. I’ll sub for almost any grade and almost every subject. I like it a lot. Naturally, I’d rather have my own classroom, but I haven’t discovered exactly who to kill in order to get a job around here.

Sometimes substitute teaching is a lot like babysitting; the teacher expects you to pop in a video and let it run. Other times the teacher expects you to actually teach. Which is easy (for me, at least) if it’s a subject like science, language arts, reading or social studies. Math is OK through basic algebra - after that, forget it. I’ve done every subject at every grade level. Art, band, orchestra, chorus, special ed, English as a Second Language, PE, Spanish, computers, drama, agriculture, health, driver’s ed (Don’t get so excited; you have to have a special driver’s license to take them in a car) and FACS (what we used to call Home Ec - taco salad at 8:15 in the morning - mmmm.) There are days when I struggle to stay awake through the fourth showing of Land Before Time in Spanish and there are days when I earn my pay.

One of my first subbing jobs this school year was for a sixth grade class at Chiddix Junior High. While Chiddix may sound like a chain of grocery stores (This week at Chiddix! Fresh Adolescents! Buy One Get One Free!) it’s one of the better junior highs in town.

It was a very successful day, I could tell right away. The kids were great, well behaved. The teacher left good plans that I followed to the letter. And sixth grade is such a good age. It’s before the serious onset of attitude.

I’m sure you’ll be just absolutely shocked to know that teachers talk in the lounge. But in this case, it was all good because suddenly I found myself being requested all the time at Chiddix.

After a while I started to get to know the kids names, which is half the battle. I even could predict what kinds of behaviors to expect from certain kids. And junior high kids are funny. They’ll tell you things they would never tell their regular classroom teacher.

In early December, I subbed for the same eighth grade math teacher who was having oral surgery. The kids were fun, if a bit loud; the lesson plans were easy. The regular teacher didn’t even leave answer keys so I could correct the worksheets she left every day. There were some real characters in these classes. Especially in fifth hour.

The teacher I was subbing for also had lunch duty. Now, if you haven’t been in a junior high lunchroom recently, you’re in for a treat! The lunchroom at Chiddix has a high ceiling that amplifies every sound. The resulting decibels equal that of a landing jet aircraft. Then there’s the odor of institutional food, adolescent bodies and steam. A true fine dining experience.

At a table nearest the serving line, a group of jocks, some of them from fifth hour, sat. Among them was Mark.

Picture Mark: as tall as me but skinny as a rail. He must eat five times a day but his metabolism eats seven. Unruly brown hair and active brown eyes. Big, friendly smile with deep dimples. He is a jock, as are most of the friends he sits with. He plays basketball and baseball. His wardrobe is not that of a typical jock, however. Instead of dressing in a preppy fashion, he’s into the baggy hip-hop fashions favored by the skaterdudes.

There are two other teachers working the lunchroom with me. Since there are only two serving lines, we dismiss the tables one at a time to get their food. Kids waiting in line for food can get ugly, ya know.

I worked the room, saying ‘hi’ to kids I knew. Then I passed by the boys’ table. They greeted me by chanting my last name and with high-fives. Mark got out of his seat, rounded the end of the table, and planted himself in front of me with outstretched arms.

He had big, goofy grin on his face.

He wanted a hug.

Oh, God, what should I do? I would have never, ever hugged a teacher as an eighth grader, and especially not a substitute teacher. And I was in junior high in the seventies, that free-wheeling, liberal, anything-goes decade when a hug probably would have been accepted as necessary for the healthy emotional growth of the student.

But Chiddix is not the small, intimate junior high I attended and this is the uptight, Politically Correct New Millennium. Teachers do not touch students unless they are hurt or in imminent danger.

A million things ran through my mind in that split second. I shouldn’t hug him. I knew that. It’s not exactly forbidden but it might look funny. It wasn’t a Bad Touch but definitely a gray area.

But then, if I didn’t hug him, what should I do? Hold him at arm’s length? Take a step back? Run away? Say "Sorry," or "No, Thanks?"

And why was he doing it? Did his friends challenge him? Is he trying to prove a point? Is he just being a goofy adolescent (as if there’s were any other kind of adolescent)? Or finally, does he just want a hug?

I assuaged my fears by reminding myself that he had initiated the hug and he had a lot more to lose than I did. After all, he was in front of a roomful of his peers.

So I hugged him. Right in the middle of the Chiddix lunchroom, in front of his friends, the lunch ladies, the other teachers and God.

It was a nice hug. Not too rough but nice.

There were no wolf whistles. The room did not suddenly become silent. The lunch ladies didn’t flip out of their hairnets. Nobody said anything about it; not then or ever.

With eighth graders, your friends are everything. The peer group controls your life and sometimes - no, oftentimes - can be cruel. But then I realized that Mark had hugged me right in front of his friends and peers.

That took a lot of guts.

***

It didn’t end there. From then on, whenever Mark saw me in the hall, I might expect a hug. I could never initiate it. It wouldn’t be appropriate. But as long as Mark initiated it, that was fine.

And he started a trend. There was another boy, Jeremy, who began hugging me and a girl, Jennifer.

I still had to be careful. I made the hugs brief, and always made sure we’re in a public area if they hug me. I still never initiated the hugs. If a kid approached me, that’s fine, I will hug them.

I’ve spent some time pondering why these kids are hugging me. Part of it, I think, is that as an overweight, middle-aged guy, I’m non-threatening. Some of them may not get much affection from their parents and as a substitute teacher I, of course, would have no knowledge of that. Maybe I represent a father figure to them. Maybe they’re out to prove something; what, I don’t know.

One of my friends in California suggested that they’re responding to my aura; a concept so totally New Age that it’s ludicrous.

One thing is for sure; the kids who are hugging me have to be pretty secure in who they are to risk the ridicule or even possible ostracism from their peers. Either that, or they’re crazy.

In any event, I’m honored that they feel comfortable enough to hug me. On the other hand those same hugs have caused me some mental dissonance. Which is a nice way of saying they’ve messed with my head.

Maybe I’m the one who’s crazy.

***