I recently logged 10 hours as a field day volunteer. Five hours walking with Cooper’s fourth-grade class, another five with Katie’s kindergarten class.
We weren’t in a typical classroom, but there were plenty of lessons to be discovered.
Everyone is good at something. No one is good at everything.
My children’s field day is more diverse than the old track-and-field events of my elementary school years. There is a 50-yard dash and a three-legged race, but there are also Hippity Hop races, car washes, martial arts instruction, football tosses and games that have no formal names — only long, comical descriptions. (Place a roll of taped toilet paper on top of a plunger. Hold the plunger high in the air. Run to a marker and back without allowing the roll to tumble off the plunger. And do so faster than your opponent.)
Every year I notice a few kids who get discouraged in the first couple of events. They’re not as successful as they’d like. But eventually they find a game that fits their style — and makes them smile.
The wide variety of activities gives every child a chance to be successful at something. You might not be the fastest runner in the class, but you can show off your awesome hula-hooping skills. In Cooper’s class, two kids were unstoppable with the hoop — standing on one foot, hopping, turning around, clapping.
The fastest runners in his class could barely keep the hoop on their hips for a full rotation.
Wear sunscreen, even if the temperature is comfortable.
The fourth-grade shift was temperately ideal. Blue sky, gentle wind, pleasant spring temperatures. It was so lovely, in fact, that I was lulled into thinking I didn’t need sunscreen. My pinkish, freckled skin was exposed to five hours of sun without a smidge of SPF.
I’m still smarting from the burn. And I’m on a newfound mission to stop anyone from a similar fate. A ready tube of sunscreen will reside in my purse all summer, and I’m not afraid to gently force it on others.
Teachers are incredibly underappreciated.
Elementary school teachers manage expectations, personalities and conflicts. They explain rules and social norms. They calm upset children. They discern minor complaints from urgent needs.
These special skills were definitely tested on the field. And they manage all this on top of their “real” job of teaching children how to read, write, solve and analyze according to very specific standards.
Five hours of play, even with a break for lunch, can feel like work.
Kindergartners started flagging around noon. A few stretched out towels on the sidewalk or grass and curled up for a little rest. (This was about the same time that most parent volunteers started asking, “Is it really only noon? Doesn’t it feel much later? How much longer are we out here?”)
By 1 p.m., a few more students were complaining of being tired. And hot. And even bored. I’m guessing that some of them would have preferred guided reading or a detailed review of the writing process instead of another hour of mandated fun.
Playing is fun. Winning is even more fun.
I remember earning a ribbon or two during my field days; every event was a true competition. The emphasis now is on having fun. On participating, not winning.
And yet the most anticipated event of the whole day is tug of war, in which one class meets another until a grade-level winner is announced via bullhorn with great fanfare.
The winning fourth-grade team took its job very seriously. Some boys wore cleats for better traction. I spotted at least one child wearing gloves, for better grip on the rope. Teammates dug in and pulled with intense determination. Their victory cheers were joyful — and as powerful as their strength.
Tyra Damm is a Briefing columnist. Email her at tyradamm@gmail.com.
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