Dad On Duty #56

“I missed you Bobby!”

We didn’t get to do Bobby last week; hit a couple of snags trying to get all the kids picked up for morning car pool, so we were late.

Today we did much better, and got fuzzy and into the hallway fairly early. Many, many kids told us that they missed us from last week.

Funny thing is that the Bobby suit missed them too. I could actually sense that.

I feel like I’m the conveyor, that allows the suit to move around the school. But the Bobby suit is his own being, and kinda does his own thing.

I notice I unconsciously assume a goofy Disney character walk when in the suit. I think it’s Bobby walking, and I’m just along for the ride.

I can’t see outta the darn thing, so when we go into classes, I’m always at risk of stomping on a kid or doing a header over a desk. Today, I’m trying to high-five everybody in class, while leaving them in their seats as much as possible. So I reach across desks with a paw and hope there’s a kid there……

….and sometimes I miss. Today I’ve got Bobby’s paw stuck out across a desk where I think there’s a kid, but no kid. After several seconds of awkward silence, with Bobby stretched across a desk with his paw hanging in the air, a scholar takes pity and leaps into action, crossing the room quickly to high-five me (Bobby?). The class breathes a sigh of relief. I don’t know any of this; Tori tells me later.

*********

Myself and another Dad (Marc) are escorting second grade off campus on a field trip. All our kids are dressed in the same color shirt, which makes it really easy to spot if one of our kids is separated. There are also kids there from another GISD elementary and from two other private schools. To me, our group seems a little hectic; kids dancing around, myself, Marc and the teachers are having to do a lot of verbal and physical controlling and redirecting. We file into the theater, sandwiched between the other schools.

The other schools didn’t have matching shirts, or Dads. Marc and I take it upon ourselves to help with the other GISD school too; helping them unload, directing their busses, standing sidewalk guard as they approach, checking with their teachers (who have never seen us before) to make sure they’re ok, and asking about accountability.

As one of those classes crosses the lobby between Marc and I, who (out of habit) have formed a Dad corridor, their teacher comments “sorry; we’re a hot mess here”. I replied “you’re fine”. “Are you kidding me?!” she says incredulously. “Y’all look like a drill team, all dressed the same, and you brought your own guards” motioning to us. “We look like amateurs here” she said, then followed Marc into the theater.

I thought: we do look pretty darn good here. McCoy has our %^*# together.

********

While waiting to start gathering the kids after the event, I hear the office calling me on the radio. I call them on the phone   “I’m still out here on the field trip” I remind them. “Well, that’s no good. We need you here. One of your boys is really acting out, and the AP thinks you can help”. At about that same time, that kid’s teacher texts me “where are you?”

I can’t help. The kids are about to start coming out, and it’s going to be a melee (as I’ll describe in a minute). “I’ll get there as soon as I can”.

I feel tremendous anxiety. I need to be there for him, and I need to here too.   I’m pretty sure I know what’s happening with my boy, and I’m certain I can help, if I can get there in time.

I don’t.

By the time I finish with the Charlie Foxtrot of The Great Bus Loading of 2015, and haul butt back to the school, the situation has deteriorated beyond my reach.

It ends badly, and there’s nothing I can do now. A real sense of failure washes over me.

*******

Back to the theater:   Shortly after the school calls me to help them back there, the show ends and the kids are coming out.

The busses start arriving; two for our kids and two for the other GISD school.

The cops tell us to bring the busses to the front of the theater; that street (Austin Ave….main drag down the center of town) is partially (key word to remember…..PARTIALLY) blocked off for Red Poppy Fest this weekend.

The busses can’t go all the way through. They must go out the same way they come in, within a 1-block space. I ask the cops; how do we do this? They tell me: either have the busses turn around (do a U-turn) in front of the theater, or have them back out, down Austin Ave, for a couple of blocks.

Ok, both those options are awful.

Cars are still entering the street (vendors, City workers) in the same space our busses are going to use.   Cars are also parked on both sides of the street, further reducing the space in which we have to operate.

And busses are really big.

The cops then disappear, leaving Marc and I to handle it.

I tell Marc what the cops told me. His reaction is the same: “that’s not good”. The busses are queued up on a side street, waiting for direction from us. I go over to the first bus and tell him his two options. No surprise as to his analysis: “those stink”. He decides we’re better of doing a u-turn rather than backing out and down a major street. I agree.

He launches his bus into the Zone of Destruction. Marc takes the near side, keeping track of the kids on the sidewalk. I go out into the street and try to keep the bus from backing over a parked car or light standard, while also controlling the vehicles trying to turn into the block from the side street, and the ones who decide they need to depart the area around the bus while its trying to turn around.

Cars are stacking up behind the busses that are queued on the side street, and they are getting impatient. Some are honking and waving; a few bolt around the waiting busses.

Marc now has about 250 kids on the sidewalk, including 50 from the two private schools, who need to move through our kids to get to their vehicles a few blocks away.

To do a U-turn, the busses must do a 5-8 point maneuver, where at the end of each point, one end of the bus is about a foot from a car, pole or sidewalk full of people.

It’s more fun than a barrel of drunk monkeys.

For most of it, I’m standing in the middle of the street, walking behind the bus as needed to guide the driver as he backs and then stepping out to order a car to friggin STOP as it turns into the block.

And not a cop to be seen anywhere btw. Maybe we looked competent (ha!) so they left it to us, or maybe some other reason. But we handled it, by ourselves.

Finally, the first bus makes it to the curb in front of Marc.

And there are three more to go.

I stay out on traffic control, Marc loads the kids and personally verifies accountability….including on the other school’s busses.

And 15 minutes after it starts, we’re done. All safe, and on their way back.

********

During lunch, I notice a little girl crying at her table. I go over and kneel beside her: “what’s wrong sweetie?” “<other girl> tattled on me and got me in trouble, and it wasn’t even true!” I now see the girl across from her is also crying; “and she was mean to me too!” I ask the reported perpetrator if she did what they claim, and she basically replied “they deserved it!”   I actually know all these girls, and I’m pretty darn sure the two who were crying were innocent in this case.

In turn, I hug each of them and talk very personally to them, quietly and closely. I remind them that they control whether somebody’s words hurt them, and they need to take back that control right now. I point out all the friends sitting around them, who will gladly spend recess with them.

They are both smiling and thumbs-up, ok by the end.

Almost made up for not helping my boy earlier. Almost.

********

One of Tori’s friends is in the nurse’s office with a bee sting. She’s being very brave and tough about it; I’m quite impressed. While chatting with her, a little boy comes in with a bee sting too. Huh.

I step out into the hall to work on recess traffic some more, and here comes a third kid with a bee sting.

That’s it. We gotta rogue bee out there. A killer. A man-eater. And I’m gonna go get him.

I’m stomping down the hall toward the playground and pass Mrs Doerfler, who comments “well, Mr Phillips, you look like you are on a very serious mission!”

“Scuse me ma’am; I gotta go kill a bee”.

<insert Spaghetti Western music here. Or perhaps the theme from jaws>.

I march out onto the blacktop, but can’t find the culprit. Coach Nick, who suddenly sounds like Quint to me, says “you ain’t gonna find that bee. He’s slipped away. You can’t catch them thataway”.

We need a bigger boat.