Field trip

Yesterday I was lucky enough to chaperone Mark's class to the local swimming hole. That's right, I escorted 100 5th graders to the indoor high school pool. Just the walk there was crazy. As we journeyed toward the pool, I made the following observations.

• Most of the 5th graders are taller than I am--even the girls! I blended nicely into the mob, thankyouverymuch.
• It's very hard to see when you walk a mile wearing diving masks or swim goggles. Especially if the lenses are blue.
• It's also hard to breathe when you wear those masks and walk a mile.
• 5th graders will wave and yell to any and every car on the road.
• The honking that ensues from this renders the children deaf to all adults. Especially when the kids near blind driveways or busy street corners.
• Walking with children is a nice euphemism. When I remarked that it was like herding cats, another mom responded, "No, it's worse--it's like herding chickens!" I watched the kids flit about, and realized she was absolutely correct.

We finally arrived at the pool, group intact. The kids parked themselves on the bench and listened to the lifeguard's very loud but garbled rules (turns out indoor pools amplify sound and convert them to vague echoes).

At some point, she blew the whistle, and the kids were off. Clothes and towels flew in the air, landing on every bit of exposed concrete bench, and on the floor surrounding it. The kids split off into gender-appropriate groups and hit the showers.

The quiet while they all showered was brief. They exploded out of the locker rooms, and within moments, the pool was filled with screaming, splashing kids. It stayed that way for the next four hours.

Mark decided to take the swim test so he could jump off the high dive. But he hasn't been swimming since last summer, and was suitably nervous about passing.



He didn't make it the first time, but he did pass the second time. He wasn't quite sure why, though.

"I did the same exact thing that I did the first time!" he exclaimed.

"Whatever," I told him. "You passed--hit the high dive!"

The kids loved loved loved the high dive. The girls specialized in running jumps and gymnastic maneuvers. The boys were even divided between flinging themselves wildly off the board, or jumping while kissing their arm muscles and flexing their arms into the air, a la The Thinker in Night at the Museum 2 ("Hey baby, check out the gun show going on over here. BOOM BOOM! Firepower!").

Nathan was a wild man off the high dive--I told him it looked like someone tossed him out of a moving car here.

Mark was more reserved, but equally brave.

The lifeguard blew her whistle to end the swim day, and there was a massive groan from the pool. But slowly, the kids left the water and moved toward the jumble of scattered clothes, towels and shoes.

One kid made it to the gate without his shirt. "I lost it!" he cried. "I lost my shirt!" The louder the kids laughed, the louder he repeated himself. Someone finally lent him another shirt so he didn't have to return to school shirt-less.

I anticipated the walk back would be more subdued after all the swimming, but I was wrong. The kids were still full of energy, engaging more drivers, even getting the entire drive-through lane at McDonald's to honk their horns.

We arrived back at school 20 minutes after school was out, but none of the kids really cared. They had wet hair and red eyes from all the chlorine, but they were thrilled at their day.

"Can you believe this actually counted as P.E.?" one boy asked me.

"Yeah, you got five hours of P.E. today," I told him. "That was better than spending the day in the classroom, huh?"

"WAY better!" he said, happily. And as I looked across the yard, I saw 100 equally happy faces that completely agreed with him.