Dad on Duty #98
The countdown is now thunderingly loud. It is almost all I can hear. I have to make a concerted effort not to let that sound….tick, tick, tick…..drown out the voices of the kids around me.
It is now abundantly clear that this transition is not about Tori moving up to middle school….although that is bittersweet, no doubt. It is about me leaving a place that has imprinted more, and more, and more, over six years. It’s my problem, entirely. Not as a parent, who’s little girl is growing up, but as a Dad to 625 kids, for six years, who will now leave them.
I move easily through this building. I anticipate needs. When I’m here, and something pops up, we don’t even discuss the plan; the conversation consists almost entirely of “you got that?” “yep, already here”.
It is hundreds and hundreds of hours of hallway-level experience, come to fruition.
Just in time for it to end.
*******
Today was a pretty fun day. “Showcase”, where the kids get to show their parents (or grandparents, or parent figures) some of their best work over the spring semester.
As an observer, two things are striking. First, the number of kids for whom the adult attending today is not their parent. Grandparents, aunts/uncles and even mentors sent by the District. But not mom or dad. Substitute parents. It says a lot about the reality these kids face, but it also says a lot about those adults who make it their mission to be here, today, for that kid. There is sadness and disappointment that this need even exists, but joy, hope and gratefulness that this need is answered, by so many.
Second, I am taken aback by the impact to a kid when no one….not even a stand in….attends. There are dozens, maybe hundreds, of those kids today. I try to cover….well….three. Out of maybe a couple hundred.
One little girl I know pretty well tells me, as she passes me on her way to lunch (after her “showcase” time) “my parents didn’t come”. She says it matter of factly, just informing me, but also venting.
I stop her.
“Would you show me your work?” She immediately nods.
“Come get me after recess. I’d love to see your work”. Smiling, she goes on into lunch.
Later, the teacher who is on recess duty asks me: “<scholar> says she’s supposed to come find you after recess to show you something?” It is out of protocol, so the teacher is somewhat skeptical.
Yes. That is true. Please let her come get me. The teacher nods, and sends her my way.
Holding my hand, we walk down the hallway, looking at her various creations. She really did do a great job. The sparkles on her fish’s tail were particularly amazing.
I give her a hug and send her back to class. I think, in a better place than she was an hour ago.
Another girl, returning from recess, also comments that nobody came for her showcase. “Would you show me?” I ask. She hesitates, looks at me for a few seconds, then grabs my hand. And we admire and talk about the nuances of her paper frog and snake.
Finally, I head upstairs to check on the big kids. I’m in the 5th grade hall, and run into a kid sniffling. “Hey man, what’s up?” “Nothing” he says, unconvincingly.
5th graders are not as forthcoming as the little ones.
I stand quietly for a moment. He does too.
I take a guess.
“Which of these are yours?” I ask, motioning to the projects on the wall. He points to an area, without looking up. “That’s pretty cool. Can you tell me about it?”.
He looks at me now.
And. He. Talks. He tells me all about what he created, how he arrived at his conclusion, and what he thinks that means.
And, truthfully, it was pretty darn cool.
I tell him just that, and I think he knew I was being honest….not just saying it.
“Great job buddy” I tell him, and open my arms.
He hugs me. For a bit. Then goes on into class.
And I am emotionally exhausted for a few minutes. Overwhelmed. I need a moment before I see anybody.
But that moment is hard to come by here, in this place. I’ve learned that; cry later, right now there is another kid to go to.
******
Tori’s view of Bobby, I think, is very different from mine. To her, I believe, it’s a job. A job that she’s mostly enjoyed, sometimes tolerated, and occasionally resented. The part she’s enjoyed is the fame, recognition and exemption from the usual routine. Since 1st grade, she’s been able to waltz into class on Fridays pretty much whenever the hell she feels like it. And nobody can touch her, ‘cause, well, she’s Bobby’s bodyguard.
She gets to stand in the hallway and chat with friends and classmates….which she does extensively, almost to the point of abusing the power. She decides, unilaterally, what grade we will visit after the bell rings (that’s our SOP; stay near front entrance till the tardy bell, then we pick a grade to walk through).
I think she likes those parts.
For me, it’s the most painful way, ever, to hug kids. The suit is awful. We got a new one this year, and it’s actually worse. The fan in the head moves about 3 molecules of air per minute. It’s like breathing in a small cardboard box, for about 40 minutes, while sweat rolls into your eyes (that you can’t reach….).
So it’s a pretty intense labor of love for me. But every kid that yells “Bobby!” and runs straight at me, with his arms fully outstretched, recharges me just enough.
So the end of that part of our collective life, I think, will be very different experiences for Tori and I. I want to hear her view on it. Will she miss it? I really don’t know.
****
Sometimes it’s hard for me to even walk through the hall, physically. I can’t move, because there’s so many little kids attached to my legs. Not just at McCoy, but when I’ve gone to the other schools too. It’s a testimony to how badly these kids need Dads in their lives.
One little person has taken to calling me “Daddy”. She started by saying “the other kids think you’re my Daddy”, because she hugs me so often. But now it’s evolved to where she calls me that, and she clearly wants it to be true at some level. I push back somewhat; but I’m not sure how to balance her genuine need for a Dad against our collective interest in getting her to focus on her own family, and to be truthful. I kinda don’t know what to do.
******
The main 5th grade “showcase” event is the Sumo Bot competition. This year, between a grant and some PTA money, we were able to offer Lego Robotics to every 5th grader. It was part of their regular rotation. So all year long, they’ve been building their robot and learning to program it to, well, fight.
And now the time has come.
Tori had an odd reaction to this project. For most of the year, she complained that she “hated” it. “I can’t code”. Then suddenly, in the last few weeks, she realized she was coding, and was doing pretty well at it. Most of that epiphany did not come from within; two different teachers told her “hey…..you’re pretty good at this” “You could be an engineer”. And, coming from them, it completely changed her perspective on herself.
That. Is. The. Power. Of. A. Teacher.
Now, the Bots fight! It is crazy entertaining. The designs and programming by all the kids are very good. Tori’s team, Girl Squad, places well enough to move up to the championship rounds tomorrow.
Almost all the winning teams were girls. Hell. Yeah.
*****
Tori and I have started the conversation about next year. We don’t know what we’re going to do yet. But we’re talking about it.
She’s, understandably, reticent about me being in middle school with her. But she also recognizes that I probably won’t see her but for about 15 minutes a day; it’s been like that in 5th grade already. I recognize the need for Dadness in middle school, but I’ve also rotated through several other elementary schools this year. My experience has been that there is a huge gap at that level….at all NINE of those buildings. I think I could do good there. But I also think I could help at middle school.
But, I don’t think I can do it all.
So, I’m torn. And I think, so is Tori.
It will turn out to be a very important decision, for us both.
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