Dad on Duty #76

Day 2 of the new school year

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This is our first Bobby Day of the year.

As soon as we get into the hallway, I hear squeals of “Bobby!”   Kids are running to me, arms outstretched.

Now, I don’t care what kinda day….or week or even month…..you’ve had up until that moment.  If you’re on the receiving end of that, all of a sudden it’s a darn good day.

I’m pretty happy.   The suit….well, the suit is just plain ecstatic.  Bobby starts dancing around, wagging his tail.

I’m just along for the ride.

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There is one odd Bobby experience today.

Remember that kindergarten kid I told you about last blog, that was freaked out by Bobby?

Well, here she comes……

I can barely see outta this thing.  But I do hear a shriek, and see Tori jump.  A Dad scoops up a tiny girl and rushes past us, daughter in his arms.  I can hear him say “see?  We’re going right by him. No problem. It’s fine”.

For just a second….just a fleeting, weak moment, really….I think about lunging in her direction.

It mighta been funny.

But I don’t.

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School is still really exciting…and distracting…to the kindergarteners.  As we try to move them through the halls from class to bathroom to PE to recess, they are just amazed and a little overwhelmed by all the stuff there is to see in this cool new place.

I find myself crouching down at kindergartener level, saying “look at me….look at me.  Now listen to me.  You need to go over there.  See your class?  Follow them. Eyes thataway”.  Motioning with the universal sign of two fingers pointed at my eyes, then fingers directed at the desired target.

I swear, if I did that once today, I did it a dozen times.

But they are also emotionally settling in.  They are engaging and talking to us. They are relaxing and finding their place in this sea of people.  For most of them, the hallway at lunchtime is the most people they’ve ever seen in such a small space. Think about that experience for a moment.

They’re doing really well, already.  And that’s a testament to our staff and especially the KG teachers. Kudos.

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Today, for some reason, GISD has decided to catch up on every work ticket we’ve turned in all week.  The place is crawling with repair guys.

Thankfully Marc, the Chosen One, is working today too.

We gotta open doors and get large pallets and teams of guys and carts full of stuff into the building and down the halls, without leaking any kids out or running over children in the hallway.

At one point, we have a team of GISD guys at the front doors, propped open to bring lots of stuff in, and then another couple guys pull up to the back door to bring in some stuff.

I pull the plug on that.  Marc is handling the guys up front, and I march to the back and tell them “you gotta gimme a few minutes, or come up front.  I can’t deal with this many open doors. It’s lunchtime, there’s a bunch of kids moving right now”. To their credit, they stop, think a minute, then nod. “Yeah, sorry. Didn’t think about that. We’ll wait till those guys are done”.  Thanks.

Marc and I both have 4th graders, so both our kids are coming in to eat now. We join them.

As we are eating, the office calls on the radio.  “Just want you guys to know, there are two IT guys in the building.  One in an orange shirt, one in green. You can’t see their name tags, but they are legit. They are GISD.”   And Marc leans in close and quietly says to me: “‘so don’t kick their asses’ is what she’s telling us”.

Yep. That’s exactly it.  Two things of note in that exchange: 1) staff has internalized that we are going to confront people we don’t know, that are not immediately identifiable, and 2) we are fully prepared to do so, and will.

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Frank the custodian has the coolest tool for cleaning and polishing the floors.  It’s basically a minature Zamboni that he can drive all around the school.

And he does. During school hours. While kids are in the hall.

The kids LOVE IT.  “That is the coolest thing ever!” an amazed kindergartener exclaims, as Frank whirrs past him in the hallway.  I can only agree. Yeah, it really is.

The kids watch, mouths agape.  Frank revels in it.  Waving at his adoring fans like he’s in the Macy’s parade.

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Dismissal.

It’s still the first week. There are some bugs to work out.

A Mom appears at the front doors and makes an earnest….one might even say ‘concerted’….effort to punch through the front doors to get her kindergartener.  Two of us move quickly to subdue the door-banging, much to her surprise.  I talk with her. “They’re going to come out right there” I say, pointing to the muster area, outside, for kindergarteners. “Oh….I thought maybe they’d just gather in this area {the foyer inside} and I could just grab him”.

I’m thinking; really?  350 kids will be coming through that small space, in a period of eight minutes.  Have you not seen this the other four days of this week?  What do you think would happen if even 10% of the parents came in to get their kids?

Instead of saying that, I just tell her “No ma’am, that wouldn’t work, given the volume of kids. Right?  So if you’ll stand right here {in designated parent standing area}, he’ll be here in a couple minutes”.

She does and sure enough, like magic, her kid appears….all smiles.

Suddenly The Boss radios me, an inflection of urgency in her voice.  I find her in the center of the school, with the AP.  “There’s a strange man at the back of the school, walking back and forth between the door and the playscape area. I don’t do strange men. Go deal with that”. The AP is nodding in support of that particular policy position.  I start moving purposefully toward the back, and sure enough…I see him through back windows.  Jokingly, I prod the Boss: “strange men can be good…how’d you meet your husband?” as I continue to march toward the suspect.

She’s not amused. “haha.  I knew him.  Go deal with that“.

Before I get to him, he turns and walks around the side of the school. I swing to my left to catch him in the bus lane, moving more quickly now. Marc starts moving that way too. Roel, a SPED aid, and one of only three fulltime men in the building, intercepts and challenges him in the bus lane.

Roel calls us on the radio and assures us “he’s a Dad.  It’s ok. First time; didn’t know where to go”.  By now, Marc is in his face too.  It took a minute and a half for those guys to corner him. I bet he doesn’t make that mistake again.

Roel has now moved up to the front of the school to work the car pickup line, where I am.

As we’re loading kids and chatting, all chillaxed, a Mom pops out of her car and opens the driver’s side back door on her car. She begins to move her kid over to the outside to load.

Here’s the problem with that: that lane of traffic is moving. She and her child will be standing in an active lane of traffic as they load.  It is the second worst situation in the loading alley, second only to a kid running across the traffic lanes.  The Boss sees it first and points.  “Hey!…” is all she gets out. Roel bolts out there to cover them.

Real instincts.  This guy is *good*.

I mutter “sh**”, hopefully not too loud, and sprint behind to help.  I stand in the lane and block traffic, while Roel loads the kid, and Mom, and sends them on their way. Clearly no the wiser for the emergency they created.

And I’m thinking: Roel moved *fast*.  That was impressive. We are lucky to have him here. 

Right after that, a kindergarten teacher approaches us and asks “have you seen Susie?”   Mind you, this is the same kid that escaped her, and switched name tags, on day one.

We all look at her in disbelief.  Really?  You lost her again?

The poor teacher is genuinely freaking out.  The Boss asks me; “are you going to that?”  Yes ma’am, that’s mine.

The teacher goes back into the building and I follow. “Where was she supposed to go?” I ask.  “To YMCA”, she says, which is in the cafeteria after school. “I’ve already checked, she’s not there”.  I head down the hall to start looking in classrooms and common areas, along with the teacher and the AP. Then I stop; like the time this same kid disappeared on the first day, I have a feeling.  I turn around and head back into the cafeteria.  I see a knot of folks against the back wall.  And sure enough…there she is. She had gone out front, then circled back on her own via an alternative entrance to end up, more or less, where she was supposed to be.

“Got her. All good” I radio.  The poor teacher finally takes her first breath in the past 10 minutes.

As the AP and I walk back out to the front loading lane, the Boss asks the AP “Did you get Christopher on his bus?”  This is a kid that’s already had some issues, and some volatility in his going-home routine.

“Yep. Got him.  All handled. Done. On bus 84” the AP proudly reports, mentally jotting it down in her journal of stuff she totally nailed.

Without even a segue, the boss immediately retorts “97”.

The two women, #1 and #2 in command, stare at each other for a moment.

There is a loudly audible, almost deafening, but unspoken…..

OH SH#%

I inadvertently let out a little cough-laugh.

Hey, if this isn’t your screw up, it’s pretty darn funny.  Sorry.

Without a word…literally, the last thing said out loud was the Boss saying, simply, flatly “97”….the AP shoots a quick glance at me (shut the hell up with your laughing), spins around, and moves briskly to the bus lane to fix that little problem.

The Boss doesn’t look at me, but mutters “oops”.

And yet, that kid….and all the other 624 kids….got home just fine.