As I walked through the campus of Junior’s elementary school the
other day, I was mistaken for a hero. Or heroine. Or perhaps a rule
enforcer. Well, I was mistaken for someone else, let’s put it that
way.
As I walked through the campus of Junior’s elementary school the other day, I was mistaken for a hero. Or heroine. Or perhaps a rule enforcer. Well, I was mistaken for someone else, let’s put it that way.
Yes, the children thought I was a yard duty.
There they were, a group of about 20 first-graders. And they were intimidated by me. Me. I don’t even intimidate the dog. Or the mailman. And I haven’t intimidated Junior since July 17, 2002. But such is the power of the yard duty that 20 or so boys and girls stayed frozen in line waiting for me to release them to play on the “Big Toy.”
Of course, I couldn’t release them. First of all, I wasn’t sure what the Big Toy was, but I thought it was the giant piece of playground equipment sitting in a large sandbox just east of the waiting kids. But second – and most importantly – I’m not a yard duty.
And that made me afraid. I mean, what the heck would happen when one of those kids discovered that I wasn’t the voice of authority they thought I was? They may have been first graders, but they weren’t stupid. I was pretty sure they could tell the difference between an ordinary mom and the yard duty.
So I walked faster. And I tossed a smile in the direction of the kids, hoping that would throw them
off. But before I could get past them, they started asking, “Can we play on the Big Toy?” I just smiled and walked faster. They asked again. I walked as fast as my short legs would go. They asked a third time, their little faces frowning in confusion when I smiled again and walked even faster.
And then one of them looked at me and squinted. And I knew what he saw. He saw fear. And he knew that I was no yard duty. Because everyone, even the most innocent first grader, knows that yard duties don’t show fear. And that little boy opened his mouth and yelled, “Hey, she’s NOT a yard duty!”
And all hell broke loose.
There were little rebel children running pell-mell for the Big Toy. And little goody-two-shoes kids were frozen in line screaming, “We can’t go YET, she’s not the yard duty!” But the rebels didn’t care. They were all over that Big Toy like ants at a picnic. Sand was flying everywhere as they leaped onto monkey bars, slid down slides and raced across suspension bridges.
Time froze for the goody-two-shoes kids as they watched the rebels play. And then a couple of the them – the ones who teeter between rebelliousness and fear of going to the principal’s office – broke free from the group and joined the rebels. One yelled as she ran past me, “I knew you weren’t a yard duty!”
But the remaining goody-two-shoes stayed in line. They waved their arms at all the kids and feebly shouted something about the real yard duty coming any minute. But they were looking with such longing at the Big Toy – which was now covered with laughing, screaming kids – that I knew it was just a matter of time before they joined the rebel cause.
I was scared. Very scared. Once you get a bunch of first-graders arguing over the Big Toy, there’s no telling where it will lead. A full-scale riot could break out on the blacktop. They could attack me. They could attack each other. They could bring down the fabled Big Toy.
And then I was rescued. By the yard duty.
Out she came, that brave woman, armed with only a whistle, a couple of Band-Aids and a detention bench.
She was fearless. She strolled across the blacktop. The rebels leaped from the Big Toy and scrambled to get back in line with the remaining goody-two-shoes kids.
She blew her whistle, and the entire world stopped.
Children froze, half-on, half-off the Big Toy. Rebels lost their will to rebel. Goody-two-shoes stood in their raggedy little line with superior smirks. And I walked past the entire thing before they could blame me for the rebel cause.
And as I reached the crest of the hill, I looked back down. All the kids, rebels and goody-two-shoes alike, were swarming the Big Toy. And the yard duty who saved me was watching them all, whistle in hand, ready to rescue the next idiot mother who got in a playground jam.
