This was the second field trip I have gone on with my grandchildren.
The first was to a fishery with Dashawn, the third grader.
This trip was to a play at the restored Whiteside theater downtown,
With Angel, the first grader.
The teacher was confused when I showed up.
Had I checked in to the office computer that confirmed that I was approved to volunteer?
Was Angel’s aunt Becca going to come?
Yes, no, and when do we go?
I must say right off that going with Angel is different than going with Dashawn.
There is much more touching, hand holding, and chatter. Chatter. Chatter.
So we got onto the school bus, eventually, having loaded two boxes and buckets of lunches,
And rode two miles to the theater.
I was not able to sit on the bus with my three charges: Bianca, Angel and Maecy (only three to a seat),
So I sat behind them next to Emma,
Who began to tell me all the people in her family who were dying or going to die.
Someone had brain cancer, an aunt had died last week, and the new born twins weren’t going to make it, etc.
Emma’s mother was in charge of the Whitside theater.
So we we’re dropped in front of the theater, en masse, two bus loads, plus others from other schools.
The hike up to our seats in the balcony was as far as my hike up Austen stadium to the 80th row at the University of Oregon.
We climbed three flights to the balcony, and I was beginning to feel faint.
I didn’t take my charges down another flight when we got into the balcony,
Choosing to sit halfway up on the aisle we came in on. The girls were fine with this.
Angel had my hand the whole way and held it during the performance.
I dug out a bar I had brought to regain my energy, but it didn’t help.
My stomach felt queezy.
The play was great and we learned that girls could be swordsmen instead of princesses.
Upon leaving I received two hugs from Tavin, my grandson in kindergarden, who was also at the play with his mother, Becca.
After the play we walked three or four blocks to the gazebo in Central Park.
I had to stop and sit part way. My bloodsugar was plummeting.
And I had nothing to eat.
So the two girls (Maecy had been taken by another adult because she was constantly ahead of us) went to get their lunches which both had brought from home.
I eyed them hungrily.
Then Alexandro came over by us, on the bench, to throw his lunch in the trash.
I asked if he had finished it? He said no.
I asked if he would get it out of the trash can for me?
He was hesitant.
Another adult asked him what was going on and volunteered to retrieve the lunch, but I said no; I would do it.
It was a school packed lunch. It had an apple with one bite out of it, a P B&J sandwich (half eaten) and a bag of small carrots.
I was saved! Not only had I been provided lunch but it fit with my NutraSystems diet (having just lost 20 lbs).
The girls looked askance, and eagerly told anyone who would listen that grandpa was eating Alexandro’s lunch which he had dug out of the trash barrel.
I felt it was a life lesson about those less fortunate that went “dumpster diving” for food.
I think there was divine providence here.
The girls wanted to play on the playground at the park, and insisted that I had to go along with them.
I agreed, since my blood sugar had recovered and I could be human again.
They had a wonderful time building sand temples, with dndelions on tlhem.
We got on the bus and returned to the school.
I’m home now and resting.
Phew, what a day!
-Small town boy