Stop sign meditations and playground lessons

In college, my cousin Leslie worked as a flagger.  She told me in a letter (back when we did things like write letters) that she did some of her best thinking with a stop sign in her hands.

Every morning at school I have 15 minutes of traffic duty.  I hold the stop sign for kids to cross the entrance to the school parking lot.  I didn't know I'd enjoy it as much as I do.  I love seeing all the cute children come to school.  Most of them thank me.  A lot of them answer my good morning with a good morning in return.  The shyest ones smile and avert their eyes as they cross by.

It also gives me opportunity to think.

I think about the mothers who are straight up harried, bringing their children after the first bell.  They pull into the parking lot like they are being chased or they push a stroller and drag a recalcitrant first grader behind them and they emanate stress.

It's OK, I want to tell them.  You're OK.  I don't know what the consequences are for a student that is a couple of minutes late, but I don't think they're too harsh.  At the same time, I know that what the mothers are probably stressed about as much as anything is that they feel like they can't get their act together.  I have been there.  Pretty much on a daily basis.

It's OK, I want to tell them. You're OK.

I think about the mothers who are placid and calm.  One mother crosses my way every morning with three darling children, dressed neatly with hair combed.  Her make-up is done and she is chattering away in Spanish to her children until she greets me with a friendly good morning.

I want to tell her that she is making the rest of us look really bad, but it's OK.  You're OK, lady who  has it all together.  You're awesome.

I've seen cars dropping off kids with out of state license plates.  I remember when we first moved here.  Getting UT license plates happened after a lot of other things.  It's overwhelming, moving.  It's OK, I want to tell them.  You're OK.  Moving is hard and moving with kids is harder.  Carry on, warrior.  We'll take care of your kiddos while you take care of business.

I think about the older siblings that yell at their younger siblings.  Brothers yell at younger brothers to hurry UP!  Cross at the crosswalk!  Put your bike there!  Chain it up right!  Sisters yell at younger sisters to hurry UP!  Leave your helmet there, no, not there!  Do you have your backpack?!?  Can you find your class?

One impossibly small girl was trotting off to class, her enormous backpack bouncing up and down her back and her older sister, who had hollered at her and scolded at every turn, yelled after her, "I love you!"

It's OK, harangued brothers and sisters.  You're OK.  As the younger sister of a sister who scolded me into uprightness at times but who also loved me fiercely, I get it.  You don't know how lucky you are.

Later, at recess, there was a kindergartner in tears.  She missed her mom.  She was sad and inconsolable and wouldn't let go of my hand.  Then one of the other girls ran up to breathlessly tell me her friend was hurt.  They love nothing more than heroically telling the teacher someone is hurt.  I took my little appendage with me and we went to inspect.  There were definitely grass stains on the leggings, but when she pulled them up, not a mark on the little knees.  "I'm sorry," I said. "That must have hurt.  I don't think you need a band-aid though."

There was a collective sag of shoulders because a band-aid would have prolonged/upped the excitement.

The little girl who missed her mom, had forgotten about it.  "I have fruit snacks in my bag," she said brightly. "Can I give her fruit snacks?"

I said yes and she raced away to get the snacks for her fallen comrade.

It's OK, I want to tell the little girl who misses her mom.  You're OK.  You are wise beyond your years because you know this truth:  helping someone else makes you forget your own troubles.