26 Sep When Duty Calls…

Reluctance turns to relief when Andrew Bartholomew finds that helping at his daughter’s school is actually quite enjoyable.

“Don’t we pay fees?” I demanded. “We pay fees, go to meetings – I even do the occasional Saturday morning working bee!”

My wife had just told me the news. I was on roster. I was going to spend an entire day at my daughter Sally’s preschool helping to entertain at least 25 young children. I was stunned that despite all it was costing us to have our child in a good school, I was being asked to sacrifice a day’s work in order to help wash plastic cups and play dress-ups or whatever it was they did there. And this not once, but three times a year!

I was panicking. “There’s got to be a way out! Maybe I’ll have to work that day. Maybe Sally will be sick and I won’t have to go.” It was futile I know. Soon I’d be walking her down the tree-lined path to school and instead of being able to retreat back beyond the safety of the impressively high boundary fence, I would remain trapped until two o’clock rolled mercifully around.

From the day I was informed of my commitment until the day itself, I found it difficult to shake the nagging worry of what would be required of me. It occupied the back of my mind like a monster in the wardrobe – coming out to frighten me when I tried to relax: ‘Don’t forget – in a few days you’ll be at preschool for five whole hours!’ Contrasting starkly with the anguish I was going through, Sally was beside herself with excitement. She’d regularly flash me her winning smile. “Guess what Daddy? In a few days you’ll be at school with me for the whole day!” Hmmm… sounded familiar.

The day arrived soon enough. Innocent and bright, the sun shone in the gleam of Sally’s irresistible eyes. Her mum packed our lunches and off we went, clutching our wildly different expectations of what the day would hold.

I couldn’t fathom how it could work – 25 kids and only two teachers desperately trying to retain control. That must be where the parents come in, I thought, the scandal forming in my mind, ‘to do all their crowd control work.’

However, I was the one about to be taught a lesson.

On arriving, I was not greeted by maniacal terrors pelting me with blobs of clay, soggy paper or unwanted play lunch. What I saw were three little tables, each impeccably set with painting instruments, collage materials and playdough tools respectively. On a mat alongside, several very calm children were intently constructing towers out of wooden blocks. Inside the building, one of the teachers was laying out a series of wooden puzzles on a mat. There was no tension, tears or squabbling. Children were quietly moving from one area to the next as they finished what they were doing.

Sally led me over to a large fridge where we deposited our lunches. This school insisted on healthy and nutritious snacks only – nothing pre-packaged. Drat, I couldn’t bring my bag of chips for little lunch. After warmly greeting Sally by name and welcoming me, the head teacher outlined the day’s activities. It sounded like a day off school to me.

“So, what would you like me to do?” I nervously enquired.

“Just play with Sally, and I’ll let you know if we need a hand with something as the day goes on.”

It sounded too easy. There had to be a catch – something objectionable or unpleasant saved especially for unsuspecting parents. Toilet duty maybe.

But then it hit me. It wasn’t about helping them out at all. They’ve been functioning perfectly well here for more than 30 years and hardly need my assistance to get the job done. No, it was about something of far more consequence – helping me get to know who my daughter is when she’s not being ‘my daughter’.

I discovered a side of Sally I don’t often get to see. It was so enlightening to see her engaging in creative projects, doing puzzles, mixing in groups, being more of her own person. I actually ended up enjoying myself.

After midday, all the kids came inside and sat down on the mat to listen to the story. I watched their faces absorbing every word the teacher read and a warm feeling swept over me. I thought about how much treasure there was in that room, how much potential. I felt privileged to have played a tiny part in their lives. And as I looked down at Sally, sitting on my lap with her friends on either side of us, I felt that I knew her a little better – we’d made some memories together.

The day ended with 25 tired and happy little bodies lying down for a half-hour nap before being collected by their parents. Some slept soundly and some just lay there and stared at the colourful pictures covering the walls, or the mobiles dancing in the warm afternoon breeze. I finished the day by washing the plastic cups – as I’d feared – but with a slightly improved attitude. In fact, I’d go so far as to say I was pleased to help.

When we arrived home, Sally’s mum searched my eyes for tales of pain and torture and was obviously surprised to see a sparkle instead. We took turns telling her about the day’s events – our stories overlapping and enthusiastic. Mine were sometimes too enthusiastic and I received a subtle ‘Hey Dad, those are actually my friends you’re talking about!’ look from Sally. But at this end of the day, we were on the same page – the day had been ours together.

Sally still gets very excited when roster day rolls around, and I don’t fear it nearly as much as I did back then. But as I lie in bed the night before, I still feel a pang of nervousness… After all, that is a lot of kids.