Fourth-grade Field Trip

Parenting/school duties for this year are paid up.

Believe me.

I agreed - half-heartedly - to chaperone a fourth-grade field trip yesterday. On the agenda: The Indianapolis Motor Speedway, home to the Indy 500.

I'm not a big racing fan. In all the years we've lived in Indiana, I've never been to the 500 (though I did go to the Brickyard one year). It wasn't really on my list of must-sees. But hey, it was with Sylvia's class.

Arrived at school, and I was assigned Sylvia and two of her friends for my group. They are well-behaved girls, so I was good. I was given three wristbands and told everyone must wear a wristband.

Adults, too? Yes, adults too. Well, I only have three, for the kids.

Everyone needs one, I am told by Mrs. R, the teacher.

I repeat again, I don't seem to have one. Again, she says, Everyone needs one to get in.

I apparently need to be more direct.

Do you have anymore wristbands? I ask. I gave my three to my group of three girls (I feel the need to be very specific).

I'm not sure, Mrs. R says. We may have just the right number.

???

If you don't have a wristband for me - a wristband that is required for entering the museum - please tell me now, before I get on the bus for the hour ride down there, where I will be forced to sit on the bus or outside the museum. Please.

Five minutes later, Mrs. R hands me my wristband. Damn.

Overall, not a terrible day, but not terribly exciting, either. The day was planned so badly - you'd think we were the first school group to tour. Nope - this program has been in place for three years. Yet they had us walking all over that infield, back and forth, passing by where we had just been three or four times. I understand the need to stagger the groups, but could it not be done in a more linear fashion? I mean, come on - we walked from point A to point D then back to point C then to point F then back to point B - you get the idea.

And our docent, when walking us to Point X, took us up a path that had no gate, so we had to backtrack and walk way around to get to the door. Hello - do you have any idea what you're doing? I know she is a volunteer - very nice woman - but could someone have trained her? Given her, I don't know, some idea of where she was to take us?

I did learn what all the flags mean (Gary did not know what the black flag meant); and seeing the old cars was sort of fun, the evolution of race car engineering. The video on crashes was anti-climactic (come on, surely there were better ones to see).

(And the young guy who ran the video - OMG, Peter, it was a young you! He was like your twin.)

I learned about superstitions at the race; I learned which driver drank OJ rather than milk, and what year that was.

And it didn't rain all day, an added bonus. Cold as hell, but no rain - count my blessings. I dressed like most of the other parents - jeans, tennis shoes, sweatshirt, rain coat. One mother had on her nice pants, her high-heeled boots, her trendy coat with coordinating scarf.

I have that outfit. I have the pants, the boots, the trendy coat. But hello - we were walking around the Speedway in what could have been pouring rain. I didn't even really fix my hair for the day - why bother? And my feet were comfortable. So for one day, it was worth sacrificing the put-together look.

On the way home, I had to sit near the kid on the bus who meowed - like a cat - the entire way home. The fact that no one was acknowledging him did not seem to deter him a bit. Need I mention this kid was sitting alone?

Did I mention this is the GT class?

Sylvia and I came home and made hot chocolate. I told her thanks for inviting me.

Well, she said, I didn't actually invite you. All I did was hand you the note and permission slip.

OK.

But it's OK that you came, she added. Because then I know I'll be in your group and not get stuck with some weird parent.

I think I'm done with chaperone duties for this year.