“Field trip chaperone,” read the yellow sticker slapped on my shirt.
It represented power … authority … responsibility … supervisity. (Sure, kindergarten chaperones shouldn’t be making up words, but the little yellow sticker left me drunk with power.)
It was my second run at “the big show” — a kindergarten expedition off the reservation.
The first trip for my daughter’s elementary class had been a walking trip to the pumpkin patch in October. Just far enough from school to constitute a trip, yet not far enough away that children could run too far afield.
I was in my glory. If there ever is a job opening somewhere (Bangladesh … wherever) for a professional kindergarten field trip chaperone, sign me up. Pay: Unimportant. Job requirements: To play freeze dance, to get an occasional piece of candy, to hear stories, to operate the buddy system, and to make an utter and total fool of yourself. I’m totally in.
The second field trip, just this past week, involved taking a ghost train to Fort Menendez at the Old Florida Museum. There we learned that Spanish settlers were short and stinky, and that the Timucuan Indians really could have used a Home Depot. (I mean, carving a canoe from a tree using nothing but oyster shells! Didn’t they know fiberglass was the way to go?)
“Wouldn’t you love to be a 5-year-old again?” one of the other dad chaperones asked me. I didn’t really hear him as I was too busy grinding corn while simultaneously trying to light a campfire.
My wife had been concerned about me.
“Do you know what you’re supposed to be doing?” she asked me before the first trip. “Did you read the rules and responsibilities?”
“Rules and responsibilities!” I replied. “What rules and responsibilities? I’m a grown man going on a field trip. Rules don’t apply to me!”
“NO!” she told me. “For the kids! You’re going to be in charge of probably 10 to 15 kids … making sure they all get back safe … walking them down busy roads … past open manhole covers and people of questionable repute. There’s a whole list of responsibilities! You signed the form that said you read them and agreed to follow them. You’re not going to have ‘fun’ … you’re going as a ‘chaperone!’”
Oh. A “chaperone.” I had to look it up — someone, usually older, who accompanies people, who are younger, and “ensures proper behavior.” Hmmm. No, I’m pretty sure the form didn’t mention anything like that.
Suddenly I was a little nervous. Open manhole covers!?! That could be bad. And how would I know if someone was of “questionable repute?” Would it be on their yellow sticker?
Sure, I could keep one child — mine — alive for long stretches at a time. But a whole gaggle? Entrusted to me! What if I lost one? Would the parents understand? “I know your son ran off to join a biker gang, but in my defense, their repute seemed pretty much OK.”
Oh, it could certainly end in doom!
There were times when I didn’t know what to do. Like before the first field trip even began. One of my daughter’s classmates shuffled over to me like Charlie Chaplin and asked if I could help her.“Sure,” I said. “What’s up?”
“My pants legs are tied together,” she said.
My mouth dropped open. Down at the cuffs of her pants, drawstrings were tied to each other so tight that the fabric was now married on the molecular level.
I panicked. “We need a teacher over here STAT!” I called.
With a second field trip under my belt, I’m an old pro now. A senior field trip chaperone. Number of children lost on my watch: 0. I have ensured proper behavior. I have been helpful and pitched in when helpers were called for. I’ve tied necklaces and counseled young minds on critical topics: “… so that’s why I think Ivy League schools are wildly overrated. Now, back to this problem with your brother eating crickets …”
Along the way, I learned something about myself: I CAN BE RESPONSIBLE! Responsible and have fun at the same time. Maybe that’s what “supervisity” means. And maybe I would have known that, if only I had read the form.