One of the primary advantages to being a parent of a school-age child is that you get to go on all sorts of interesting educational field trips under the guise of being a "chaperone."
However, don't let that title fool you. No matter what anyone tries to tell you, you won't be the leader of anyone. You will, in fact, be spending your day trying to keep up with a handful of children who have already created their own private agendas. Yes, it's true.
In fact, there are generally five sorts of children that will be in your field-trip group, no matter how thoughtfully the teacher divides them up.
They are:
1) "The Eater," who is clearly only in this for the food, and demands to eat lunch the instant he disembarks from the bus at 9:30 a.m. and then again every 15 minutes after that.
2) "The Shopper," who has pockets full of money to burn and doesn't want to waste valuable time looking at things like dinosaur bones and pyrite crystals and the miracles of nature and all that when, by golly, she could be looking at the dolphin posters and starfish key chains on sale at the gift shop.
3). "The Organizer," who has only one thing on his mind: not to be late back to the bus. This kid has a plan and is usually armed with an itinerary and a map but, unfortunately, no watch. He will ask you what time it is approximately every 32 seconds to make sure you're on schedule.
4) "The Active Child," who, you guessed it, spends most of the field trip catapulting himself from place to place with you running along behind him trying to catch up. This is the kid who, if not watched closely, will suddenly disappear from the group and then magically reappear, seconds later, swinging by his knees from a light fixture three blocks away.
And finally, on top of it all, there is your own child. This is the kid who you thought you were going to spend quality time with, but who doesn't seem to recognize you now. She will not respond to or, in fact, talk to you at all except, of course, to remind to you to call her by her "real" name: Carlita Vieja.
If you think I'm exaggerating, then take the other day when I went with my daughter's class to the aquarium. It seemed like such a good idea at the time: guiding a small group of well-behaved 9-year-old girls around the aquarium for a few hours at their own pace, exposing them to priceless firsthand experiences with nature. However, I had foolishly forgotten all about the rules of field trips.
The conversations during the day went like this:
Me: "My, aren't those penguins something. Look at the way they propel themselves through the water with their wings."
Kids: "Is it time for lunch yet?"
Me: "No, but did you know that the male emperor penguin sits on the eggs to keep them warm until they hatch?"
Kids: "Can we go get an ice cream now?"
Me: "Just look at how they slide on the ice."
Kids: "How about a small soda?"
Kids: "Hey, stop. We just passed the gift shop."
Kids: "Did you see any dangly bracelets in there?"
My kid: "Excuse me, uh, Mrs. Farmer, what time is it?"
But, all in all, going on field trips does have its high points. Like, for instance, getting to ride on the school bus and seeing into the cars next to you. I mean, somehow it's comforting to see that the well-dressed person in the Lexus, who's on the way to a six-figure salary job in the financial district, has an old can of soda crushed into the floorboards and wads of tissue stuffed between the cushions in the backseat. Face it: You just can't get this sort of information riding around in a car.
And then, of course, despite what you or anyone else thinks, you are spending quality time with your child. Face it, everyone, everyone looks back on field trips fondly. Oh sure, they can be taxing and inconvenient and all that, but once they're over, you've created a lasting memory with your child.
And, hey, if you don't believe me, I have a giant stuffed octopus and one heck of a dolphin bracelet to prove it.
Saratoga, California Since 1955
