Dad on Duty #63

Today is our Halloween costume parade. 600 kids will march through the school as Jedis, werewolves, Harry Potters and Minecraft villagers.

In preparation for the parade, Amy, Tori and I came up a little early to designate and label changing rooms.

Here’s something we learned from last year; all 600 kids need to get OUT of those costumes. And the relatively open-format, 3-stall bathrooms are not adequate for that operation. So this year, with the boss’ permission, I decided to create real changing rooms.

The day before, I’d come in and stuck marker notes on the rooms I wanted to use. Now, with only 45 minutes before the parade, we were going to need to cover the windows and tape up signs….on 12 rooms.

Armed with pink and blue paper, pre-printed signs (thank you Rosie) and lots of tape, the three of us rushed through the school covering doors in blue or pink paper.

Just before the parade I went around and told the teachers about the changing rooms; “oh man, great idea!” was pretty much the response.

I certainly thought so, straining my shoulder a bit patting myself on the back.

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So far in October, we’ve had about 2 1/2 inches of rain.

Today, we got about 6 inches.

Not just rain, but real storms.

Therefore, the parade will be all indoors. All the kids will come out into the hallways and, in turn, each grade will march around the school. And 200 parents will be jammed into the cafeteria to see them.

We’ve got five Dads on duty today.

We huddle up in the hallway to construct the plan. The actual real school cop (who has a kid at our school) also joins us. I run through the plan; security during parade (“eyes on every kid and every door, stay in the center, see and be seen”) accountability after the parade (“direct contact with every teacher, individually ask if she’s got everyone, radio any unaccounted kids to office”), we determine how we’ll hold the parents back till we’re ready for them to come into the school (John, the 6’3′ 280′ army Sgt. will stand between them and the hallway {that really worked btw}), and how we’ll sweep to clear the visitors out at the appointed time.

Right in the middle of the planning session, we find out it’s likely that we’ll have a real tornado warning right in the middle of this zoo.

Excellent.

So we build that into the plan.

This is a really capable group of Dads; almost every one has military, tactical or emergency management and response experience.

The SRO listens quietly while we construct the plan and agree on action items.

He then says “I think y’all got this. I’m gonna go watch my kid in the parade” and heads to the cafeteria to be a parent/spectator.

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Sure enough, right after the parade, I get called to the office. Deb (the new secretary) points to her computer screen: “they just warned that storm to the South of us”.

Along with the Boss, a couple of the guys huddle up on the screen, do the math, and make the call; we have enough time to at least get the parents out before we go to shelter mode.

Just then, another warning pops up just southwest. And they’re now reporting real damage in Austin.

We accelerate our exit sweep. The Dads quickly and purposefully disseminate into the hallways; account for all the kids and shoo the parents out. Calling their assigned halls on the radio crisply and professionally. In a few minutes, we’re clear.

Can you imagine if we had to send everyone to shelter in place with 200 parents in the building? There’d be a crush at the front door of Moms exiting with kids under arm.

Amy is still here; as we ramp up the urgency, she sees it. This is not a drill. She says “I think I’ll take Tori”. I respond as a parent, not a trained responder. “Yes”. As if the tornados are specifically coming after the kids at school; and somehow my house (2 miles away) will be better. Thankfully, Amy realizes, long before me, that Tori is way better off in this building than at our house…or worse yet, in the car…..and reverses her decision. “I’m leaving Tori here with y’all. But I’m getting the hell outta here. This is going to be a circus”. Good call.

We decide, based on the pace of the storms, to call a “drill” in 15 minutes.

The Dads disperse again, going to each classroom and telling the teachers to prepare for a shelter drill. Confirming; do you remember where your class goes? Need any help?

A few of the teachers ask, out of earshot of scholars, “is this really a drill?” I answer honestly; “no”. They nod solemnly.

I radio the Boss: ready. She pulls the trigger.

It went *perfectly*. In 8 1/2 minutes, every single kid was hunkered down safely in their assigned spot, and we had checked and confirmed every. single. room. All clear.

We stayed in place till the nearby warnings expired. Then sent everybody back, none the wiser.

Over the course of the day, we had several other warned storms in the area. We stayed in constant alert mode, ready to move the kids to safety, all day.

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Midway through the day, we notice a damp area on the rug near the counselor’s office. We call Mike (the custodian) to take a look. He follows the water pattern….down the hall…..under that door….

……and opens the door to an electrical/server room.

It is completely flooded, with about a inch of water covering the entire space, and more water flooding in through a floor conduit.

There’s probably about $20,000 worth of equipment in that room, not to mention a lot of electricity.

The custodians set to work, frantically. They’ve got every applicable tool in their repertoire in use. But within minutes, the water has spread and is covering about 200 square feet of the office.

I’m thinking; y’all need a bigger boat (obscure ‘Jaws’ reference. I’ll wait for you to catch up).

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When you least expect it, real life will suddenly insert itself.

And shock you.

There is real abuse and neglect here in Mayberry. Don’t think, for a moment, there is not.

Occasionally, thankfully rarely, a child shows up with an actual physical sign of abuse or neglect at a school.

Our teachers are well trained, totally attuned and quick to react when they perceive harm to their small charges.

There are few situations that will produce within you this unique and intense mix of sadness, frustration, anger, nausea…and empathy.

When our staff suspects abuse or neglect, the appropriate actions are always taken. The authorities show up. The Process is set in motion. We stay the course, and follow the protocol.

But that’s not what I want to do. I want to wrap the child up in my arms and run away with him right now. I also feel a wave of rage; how can anyone possibly do this?!?!?

But now, I need to get back out in the hallway and keep the lines moving, hug a bunch of kids, compliment their costumes, tie some shoelaces.

And be positive.

Suddenly, that’s way harder than it was 30 minutes ago.

I share that real experience, today, to ask you this:
When you hear of an opportunity to strengthen the family intervention and mental health resources in our schools, do not hesitate in your support.

I BEG you.

That little child that I am thinking about now, that was real and immediate and HERE…begs you.

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We have to do rainy day dismissal.

Few operations are as stressful, loud and unnerving as rainy day dismissal.

I…truly, honestly….would rather go to a crash of a tourist bus full of old people, than do rainy day dismissal.

And I say that having actually handled several such bus crashes.

Way easier than this Blender Full of Screaming Banshees.

I prepare the cafeteria as best I can to make the operation less….well…awful (see photo).

I dunno if it helped, but it made me feel better. Like kneading a rosary.

Anyway, 23 minutes later, it’s over. Last kid is loaded.

And I plan to be too, in short order.