Don't Mind the Sideline

"What do you think these are for?" Emma said to her big brother as they stood on the sideline of her soccer game. She was pointing to the red plastic locks on the poles of the canopy tent the coach had set up to keep the rain off his team.

Her brother shrugged, so I entered the conversation. "I think they're to make the tent go higher or lower," I said.

"They use them to take it down," Emma's brother agreed with me.

"Wouldn't it be funny if the tent were only this high?" I asked, pointing to the level of the locks.

Emma's eyes widened, and she crouched low, considering the idea.

"How would you even get out of there?" I said.

"You would have to army crawl," her brother suggested.

"Or do the worm," Emma added, flopping to her belly to demonstrate.

"Emma! You're going into the game in one minute!" The coach delivered what he assumed was good news.

"I get to stay here for one minute!" Emma cheered and wiggled away.

Flash Bang

The organization could have been tighter.

In addition to it being the Friday of a week interrupted by a holiday and testing, today was also picture day at school, and I was subbing. My group was scheduled to go a little before lunch, which was actually the middle of fourth period. In addition to the class I had, the assistant and I were supposed to pick up "a few" kids from a math teacher on another team. As it turned out, thirty-five excited sixth graders and I busted into the theater, ready for their close-ups.

Fortunately, it was not my first experience with such picture day chaos. Unfortunately, there was not a single administrator or school employee in charge, nor did I know these kids. Fortunately, one of the photographers took matters into her own hands when I asked her where she wanted the students to stand and confessed that I was a substitute.

"Listen here!" she boomed from the stage, and the kids stopped wiggling like puppies for a minute and looked up at her with wide eyes. What followed was a crash course on preparing to be photographed quickly and well. As they combed their hair, straightened their collars, zipped their jackets all the way up (or took them off), and made sure their necklaces were clasped in the back, she divided them into groups and sent them to line up by one of the three makeshift studios.

"Oh, will you tell them to sit in the center section and wait when they're through?" I asked. She did, and they did.

In less than 10 minutes, we were on our way back to class. "The doors are shut," she told me, "because it's our lunch time. But just go ahead through; they're not locked."

"Thanks!" I said. "You did an amazing job up there."

"Thank you!" she shrugged. "I do a lot of middle school pictures."

Dog Whistle

I picked up a big acorn cap this afternoon on my walk with Lucy, and, wedging it between my thumbs and forefingers, made a V with the first knuckle of my thumbs and blew over them into the cap. Lucy turned sharply at the shrill whistle, and I wondered, a little apologetically, if it hurt her ears. 

I showed her the acorn cap on my outstretched palm, and she sniffed it. Then she took it, chewed it up, and spit it out. 

No more whistling today.

Family Business

"He knows your nephew," the sub coordinator told me this morning, nodding to the tall young man helping her. And to him she said, "This is Treat's aunt!"

He reached out to shake my hand. "Treat was right across the hall from me last year," he said.

"He's our school-based sub," the sub coordinator introduced him. "And she taught here for more than thirty years," she said about me.

"And Treat's mother is the art teacher here," I added.

"Oh yes," he replied, "I do remember Treat saying he came from a teaching family."

I carried the warmth of that remark all the way to my first period World Geography class, where I was the substitute co-teacher. I knew the teacher I was working with, and it so happened that Treat had worked with her as well. 

The block passed by quickly in pleasant consideration of various land formations and climates, and their appeal to the students personally. "You're pretty good at this!" the teacher joked when the bell rang. "Have you ever considered being a teacher?"

"Well," I laughed, "it does run in my family!

The Closer

"Hey, Tracey," my former principal said smoothly as she and her sister, the president of the league, approached me at bowling this morning. "You've always had an exceptional attention to detail."

I smiled at this unexpected compliment from a past supervisor.

"That's why we think you would be a great addition to the audit committee!" she continued, smiling broadly.

My eyes widened, and the three of us burst out laughing at this brazen recruitment ploy.

"I have seen this opportunity in the weekly e-mails," I conceded. "I just didn't know if someone with more experience would be a better fit."

"Oh no," she assured me. "You would be great."

"Then I accept!" I agreed.

"The president will fill you in on the details," she told me and walked back to her lane.

"She's still got that management flair," I said to the president, shaking my head.

"She always has," her sister agreed.

Don't Get Attached

"Do you want your cute little pumpkin in the bag, or would you like to carry it with you?" the cashier asked as he finished ringing up and packing my order.

"Oh, the bag is fine," I answered, gesturing at the small pie pumpkin I was going to steam and make a casserole from. "That one is food, not friend."

"Okay," he laughed as he dropped it in the bag. "Sorry, fella."

Our Man in the TSA

Our neighbor, James, was sitting outside this afternoon when the cab from the airport dropped us off. "That was a quick trip!" he said.

We laughed, both because he was right - we had flown to Atlanta for just the weekend - and because he knew how long we had been gone. James is a TSA agent, and he and his mom have lived right across from us for the last four years.

"Whenever we fly out of DCA, I always ask Heidi if she thinks we'll see you," I told him, and he smiled.

"I'm always there," he said. "And that side is always quicker than the other one."

Even so, we have never seen James at work, and Friday morning, as we entered the security line, I turned to Heidi and asked my customary question. She scanned the sea of deep blue shirts and black armored vests behind the glass and shrugged.

"I know he's working," I said. "His car was gone when we left this morning, and his shift is until noon." James and I often see each other when he's coming home and I'm taking Lucy for a walk. 

"Wait!" Heidi pointed at a tall, bearded figure with glasses. "Is that him?"

"Yes!" I answered. "James!" I waved both my arms and hopped up and down a couple of times. All the TSA agents looked our way, and he did, too, with a bit of a scowl. Then he recognized us, smiled, and gave us a little chin nod. His colleagues relaxed, but with raised eyebrows.

When we were through security and on our way, he waved again from his post. "Have a good trip, guys!" he called across the hall.

"Thanks!" we waved back. "We will!"

"Everyone at work was like, Who are they?" he told us this afternoon. "And I was like, Those are my neighbors. They're cool."