In the newfound era (i.e. my seventh grader would rather be dead than have me with his friends) I squealed with delight when my fifth-grade daughter begged me to chaperone her class field trip. Yes, there are many other things I’d rather do than ride a school bus (surrounded by lovesick tweens all day), but I plan to savor every last drop of my child still finding my very existence to be socially acceptable. For that alone, the day was a success.
We packed our brown-bag lunches, popped on our hoodies and off to school we went. Accidentally leaving my phone at home was a blessing in disguise (after a brief withdrawal and the sad realization that I couldn’t take photos). I was present, body and mind!
It was fascinating to put faces to the names my daughter’s been sharing all year– to observe the social exchanges of friends, foes, and everyone in between.
Hormones were in full swing! The sun was shining, spring was in the air– I’m pretty sure ‘Dream Weaver’ played as a subtle soundtrack when a certain girl breezed past a curious boy– hair blowing just so. There were giggles, and eye rolls, and sighs. On this day, on the cusp of sixth grade, life was good.
The day went without a hitch, as we toured several beautiful and historically important sites in Lexington and Concord. I now have a much deeper understanding of New England’s role in the start of the American Revolution– but here’s what I really observed:
