Dad on Duty #82

Veteran’s day and Freedom Fest 2016!

AKA “the Longest Day”.  Over twelve hours of McCoy bliss.

This morning, we have our Veteran’s Day celebration.  This is one of our most popular events.  The choir does a big show, we have lots of handmade art on the walls recognizing those who have served our country, and hundreds and hundreds of visitors in the building.

Both my parents and my brother served in the Air Force.  My dad did a combat tour (albeit way beyond the front lines) in Korea. I was headed into the Air Force too, but veered away at the last moment and went into the fire service instead.

Tori is very proud of her relatives. She decided to do a Vet Day poster featuring her grandfather, grandmother and uncle.  I know my Mom and Dad were smiling down

When Ruth started this event a few years ago, we hosted the Vets in the library for breakfast, before bringing them into the main venue (the cafeteria) to be recognized.  They all fit easily in the library then.  Now, the celebration has grown so much that we have to convert the gym to a temporary dining room.  And the visitors barely fit in there.

As the ceremony starts, each Vet is escorted by their hosting kid, and the pair march into the cafeteria as The Boss calls out the Vet’s name and branch of service.  The kids are bursting with pride.  It’s a great moment.

There’s so many folks here that it’s impossible to run them through the background check system.  Fortunately, we have the manpower to handle it today.  We have six Dads working. The Boss tells us not to allow anyone past the threshold into the main body of the school.  Without really even discussing the plan, four of us move to the threshold and form a line, shoulder to shoulder.

One of the teachers commented: “that’s a pretty clear message; ‘Thou Shalt Not Pass'”.

Good, that’s what we meant.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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A little later, I’m heading upstairs on a routine errand.  As I pass the Art room, I happen to notice a drawing that looks out of place from the others.

Its Tori’s “portrait of a girl in pencil”.  Mrs. Smiley, the art teacher, has it hung in the highest profile spot just outside her door.

I guess it’s pretty good.

I go into a fourth grade classroom to fix an errant cabinet door. Right behind me come three student council officers dressed in turkey hats.  They are going room to room, advertising the “turkey feather” fundraiser that StuCo puts on just before Thanksgiving every year.  They proceed to sing a song and do a little turkey dance, extolling the virtues of making your teacher wear a turkey outfit (by purchasing the most feathers in your grade).

So the contest is basically an exercise of purchasing power?  Tori starts doing some stretches and loosening up her spending muscles.  No contest; she’s got this.

And sure enough, two weeks later, Mrs. King is a turkey.

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It’s now time to start getting ready for Freedom Fest, a huge party/fundraiser put on by PTA after school on Vet Day every year.  We’ve got to move dozens of tables, bring in hundreds of chairs and put down a thousand feet of colored tape.  There are about ten parents working now.  We set up generators and portable lights outside.

The hardtop is covered in tree crap and mud from recent rainy weather.  It looks awful.  We put a call out via facebook to other parents for power washers; I get six offers in 10 minutes.  Two of the Dads, Marc and Aaron, set to work and the hardtop looks like new in 30 minutes.

Freedom Fest is a big operation, requiring hundreds of hours of volunteer work from both parents and staff.  The kids love it, and look forward to it.  And the event generates thousands of dollars that get put right back into the school.  So it’s worth it.

But I’ve been here for 12 hours now, since Bobby dress out at 0715.  When they announce the close of festivities at 7:30, my wife pulls the plug.  She wants a semi-normal Friday night, with a date, without me being so beaten up that I can’t move. There’s plenty of help for tear down and clean up, and I’ve done it…every minute of it….for the past five years.  She insists; we’re leaving now and going straight to dinner and drinks with our friends.  I don’t argue; I’m whooped.

So for the first time, I walk away before the job is done.  And, not surprisingly, it went just fine without me.