In case you were unaware, a car full of girls will sing along to The Greatest Showman soundtrack for miles and miles. They may not be in tune, or remember all the words, but they will be entertained for hours. A tent full of boys has no interest in singing show tunes. Instead, they will entertain themselves by telling fart jokes for forty-five minutes at bedtime. The term ‘sneaky squeaky’ had them giggling for twelve minutes. This was only one of the lessons I learned this past week while on a four-day field trip to the Alberta Badlands and the Calgary Zoo with my grade 5/6 class.
Herding fifteen preteens (and five adults) is like herding cats. We were constantly an hour behind schedule, even though many of them were up and running around the campsite at the ungodly hour of 4:30am. Despite constant reminders, several students always forgot at least one of the following items: shoes, a hat, a water bottle, a granola bar, a camera, or pocket change for random vending machines that pop up in the middle of nowhere.
I could have used more coffee.
Not Mine is a terribly messy and irresponsible person. Whenever I asked my students about whose sock is under the picnic table or whose dirty plate is sitting next to the washing area or whose wet towel is at the foot of my bed, everyone was quick to answer, “Not mine!”
I forgot how little food a normal child eats, especially compared to my hulk of a son who consumes a large pepperoni pizza and two liters of milk without a second thought.
This may be a particularly bad year, but the mosquitoes at Dinosaur Provincial Park are horrific. I had to eat my chili while speed walking around the campsite so the demons of hell wouldn’t drain me dry. Nothing bends space-time like running down hoodoos at sunset while swarms of the bloodsuckers are darkening the sky. Many of my students looked like they were suffering from chicken pox by the end of our stay. As we were leaving, I noticed one woman returning to her campsite in a protective suit, either because of the mosquitoes or because she was expecting a mustard gas attack.
Like many people, my students have fallen into the habit of peppering their conversation with the word ‘literally’. And they misuse it every single time. It drives me crazy – but not as much as the mosquitoes.
An Aerobie is a big hit with kids. Half the enjoyment comes from watching how far it can fly; half comes from throwing shoes and other projectiles at trees when the Frisbee-like orange ring gets stuck.
Without a doubt, the most fascinating area of any interpretive centre is the gift shop.
A hotel swimming pool could also be called a ‘humid echo chamber of absolute madness’. Before the hotel staff had a chance to turn on the waterslide, one boy decided to go for a dry run. I’m not sure how to best describe the sound his bare flesh made as it stuck to the plastic tubing when he slid down, but it was something like “Skeee-ee-ee-ch”.
My students can spend all day in their swimsuits, no matter the activity.
There were seven bonked heads, six scraped knees, five unclaimed socks, four juice box bandits, three forgotten toothbrushes, two dead flashlights, one Superman birthday cake for the principal’s fortieth with no forks, and not nearly enough sleep. But we have stories to tell and memories to cherish, and that’s what being a child (and their teacher) is all about.
