Chaperone!

“There’s got to be a blog post in that,” said my friend Claire, when I told her I was chaperoning our school’s first-in-anyone’s-memory evening Intermediate dance last night.

And, of course, she’s right. There are many blog posts.

There’s the post about the woman, who’s really pretty sure she’s still a girl, going back to chaperone a dance in the same gym where she went to Intermediate dances (and used to wonder if anyone would ask her to dance, and tried to look like she wasn’t wondering about it).

There’s the post about the teacher who didn’t need to do this, and who took her own time to organize, and run, a dance the day after her own birthday, and right before Christmas, and how her eyes LIT UP at the flashing lights in the darkened gym, and how she was so excited because she just wanted the kids to have a great time.

There’s the post about the custodian, greeting everyone at the door, incredibly organized – “Outdoor shoes here, coats here, don’t go past those doors.”

And, because of the “outdoor shoes here” and the “don’t go past these doors” (to where the lockers are, with the kids’ indoor shoes) there’s the post about the girls, running around in pretty, lacy, white dresses and bare feet. And, my gosh, they might hate me saying this, but they looked adorable.

There’s also the post about how seeing those bare feet on those old floors made me feel in a school embroiled in a tug of war over the past and the future. I have no doubt those halls and floors are “heritage” in the human sense of the word. I also have severe doubts they can keep up with our children’s future needs. But, what I do know, is what makes a building a school, is the kids owning it, and those bare feet made me feel like they owned that school.

Of course, there are the usual posts you would expect. Of “omigosh!” conferences in the hall – “He asked her to dance?” “I can’t believe she said yes.” Of boys saying, “I don’t know when I’ll ever forget dancing with her,” and of girls coming out of the bathroom with red, teary eyes. These things that remind me that we own our own dramas and they are HUGE and memorable even at a small dance that ended at 8:30 at night.

And there’s the principal, who many parents probably didn’t know was staying late to be there. And the canteen which was a refuge for kids like my son, who wanted to see what was what, but from a job behind the scenes. And I mentioned the girls being adorable in their bare feet, but I was even more touched by the boys – more gel and ties than Broadview has ever seen before – and could you ever see who’s going to be a heart breaker (or maybe already is), and who’s going to be the life of the party, and who’s going to be an amazing best friend to all the people in his life.

It was a great night. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again – I am touched, and privileged to volunteer in my sons’ school. And, also, I am overwhelmed by the quality of the people we’re raising. We need to let this generation be as awesome as they’re naturally inclined to be.

So that’s my post, Claire!