Took a day off from work a while back to do something I haven’t done in about twenty years—go on a field trip. My daughter’s class was to spend the day at a local university, and she was psyched for some Daddy Time. I was pretty psyched my own self. That goes to show you how long it’s been since I’ve been around about sixty third-graders.
Any thought that our time together would be both quiet and alone was quickly put to rest with the appearance of one of my daughter’s friends, who sat with us on the bus. The little girl’s name still escapes me, though I’m sure she mentioned it. Many, many times. Mentioned quite a few other things as well. Many, many times.
Country folk like me (the men in particular) tend to shy away from calling people by their given names, opting instead for nicknames of their own creation. There is an art to this. A good nickname is comical but not mean, and usually connotes a certain physical attribute or facet of personality. I tell you that so I can tell you the nickname I’d given my daughter’s friend by the time we hit the interstate.
Gums.
Because she never shut up.
Never, ever.
The trip began with me in the middle of a bus seat designed for two small children at the most. Ours contained two small children and one big redneck. Gums began her questions early and often:
“Are you the writer?”
“You don’t look like a writer.”
“Why do your jeans have holes in them?”
“Why don’t you have any hair?”
“Can I have a copy of your book?”
“Why don’t you shave?”
“Is that your notebook?”
“Can I see?”
That was the moment I paused and asked my daughter if she would mind switching seats. There would be more room for us if I was at the window, I told her. It was a lie, of course. But the truth was that I wanted to use her as a sort of human shield, and I couldn’t tell her that.
For her part, Gums didn’t mind. She could talk across my daughter to me just as easily. I had a headache the size of Texas by the time we got off the bus.
We made our way into a ballroom, the setting for most of the day’s activities. Seven people to a table. My daughter sidled up to me in her chair. So did Gums.
Third grade fieldtrips seem to revolve around crafts. I’m not a craft sort of guy. My little girl is (thankfully), though I still had to pitch in with the glue, the tape, and the stapler. Likewise Gums, who managed to staple both herself and me to the mask she was making before we finally got everything straightened out.
That’s how most of the day went, my arms tired from my daughter clinging to them and my ears tired from the chorus of “Daddy, look!” and “Hey Mr. Coffey, c’mere!” It didn’t take me long to realize I’d never make it as a teacher.
The ride home was interesting. Me mashed against the window, my lap filled with a ceremonial mask made out of construction paper and fake feathers and a drum make out of two popcorn containers. Mass hysteria from the seats behind me, teachers fighting the good fight to keep everything calm.
My daughter laid her head on my shoulder. I saw her smile, and I knew the day had been worth it. A smile from her is always worth it.
Gums peeked at me and made a come-here motion with her finger. I leaned in close, ready for whatever questions she had this time. She had none. Instead, she leaned her mouth toward my ear and whispered, “I wish I had a daddy like you.”
Oh my.
I didn’t mind Gums talking the rest of the ride home. And to be honest, I kind of felt bad for nicknaming her Gums (though she seemed to enjoy it quite a bit).
But I learned a lot on that field trip. Not just how to make ceremonial masks and drums, either. I learned a little something about kids, too.
About how they need something else besides food, water, shelter, and love.
They need attention, too. They need adults looking at them in the eyes and listening to the things they say. And say, and say…
Oh, what a timely post for me to read! Going on a field trip with my 7 year old son tomorrow! I wonder if I will have the opportunity to meet a Gums too? 🙂 Great post. Enjoying your blog!
Great post, Billy. And you survived!
You haven’t met MacDuff, have you? (Hint: Next time you’re in the store, take a look at the Lil’ Caesar package. That’s our MacDuff: Attention Hound.)
Ha ha… this post made me laugh…
Being a teacher, I know all about the little ones who could talk the leg off a chair.
I also know that just a little attention and love goes such a long way with kids.
One gentle look, one encouraging word, one hand on the shoulder and you have a friend for life.
Loved this post!
Hmmm…I wonder if my hubs refers to me by that same nickname behind my back : ). And we have two very chatty daughters. Sometimes we’re all too much for him I fear.
I literally said awww out loud when I read what Gums said to you on the way home. Definitely a memory to last a lifetime for you. Sweet Gums…
I’ve been picked on for talking too much for YEARS, and I’ve never liked it. It makes me self-conscious – afraid that I’ll scare people away, which I’ve done too many times in my life. But you’re right – I just wanted attention, good attention, and individual attention. Because, though I’ve hidden it well and most people haven’t known this since about early high school, I’m also very shy. It’s good to have someone listen and have individual care and attention without having group attention or negative attention.
But you’ve reminded me of a personal challenge I’ve been working on for a few years: it’s good to be the listener, too. A lot of people assume talkers don’t like to listen. Not always true.
Oh dang Billy, last field trip I did was with 60 middle schoolers on a bus. Oy. But the kids totally crack me up and the ones like Gums, special place in my heart for those ones. Great post!
billy, i’m new to your site — i’ve been subscribed for the last two posts i think. and i want you to know that i really enjoy reading. God’s blessed you with a gift, a gift that you’ve obviously worked hard on. but also a gift, my guess, that you don’t mind working on at all.
thanks for what you do. [i cried a little when gums whispered to you in the story.]
Sounds like the best parts of the field trip won’t sit upon a shelf gathering dust…
Blessings.
I wasn’t surprised that she didn’t have a Daddy. God bless her, I hope she gets a regular father figure in her life.
Awhh – I did not see where you were taking that until you took it there. Wow.
I love how you write the moments you live. I almost never do. I wonder if it might help me live them just a little more fully if I did…
Thanks for making me cry at work.
What a great and heartwarming story. This is a good reminder for me to listen to my kids, and not just dismiss their constant talking. Topics I might deem as unimportant, might be very important to them. Thanks!
I think you may be wrong. You might make a very good teacher. You certainly make a great father! My married son accompanied his teenage son’s church youth group on a weekend’s l-o-n-g bus trip to the West Edmonton Mall in Edmonton, Alberta. Despite the noise, chaos and exhaustion, he says he’d do it again. It takes a special person. 🙂
LOVE it, Billy. What a special friend you made.
You built special memories in at least two third grade girls that day. It isn’t always girls who can’t keep quiet. We have a friend, a fellow who talks all the time. When he isn’t talking he hums. I think it must be something about hearing your own voice! You are a good dad Billy, and I am glad you took the time off to do this for your daughter (and her friend gums.)
Very nice. My wife’s a 5th grade teacher. There are so many kids who just need love and attention. One of her student’s mother was in jail for drugs and her father was dying of cancer. One day she told my wife that she wished she was her mom and could live with us. Talk about a lump in your throat! I hope gums can find a great father figure and role model.
So sweet. Bless the children – all of them.
Thanks for telling us about her, and your daughter, and you and the field trip.
Precious.