Happy Hour

 Last Friday, as is my custom, I was hanging out in the office at my school. This is part of the program on most weeks, but the week leading up to this Friday was particularly fraught. The discussion over the preceding days had centered around the turmoil experienced primarily among the upper grade kids. So many of the lessons and tools that had been learned over the past few years about how to get along seemed to evaporate. Petty disputes flared up where "using your words" had failed. Now the principal's office had become a mediation center and we worried about the step back our school had taken. 

A calm reflection began to piece together a source for the unrest. All of the stress of the world right now, with threats of ICE showing up on campus and the White House being dismantled and all of the adult shenanigans was creeping down into the traditionally unfettered minds and souls of the children in our care. As much as we might try to shield our kids from the outbursts of the Orange Menace, it would be ridiculous to suggest that we adults were able to hold it all in. 

By Friday afternoon, we were worn out. Creating a safe haven for the past five days had taken its toll. With all the phone calls made, parents and teachers reassured, we were ready to put this week on the shelf next to the ones that we were more proud of. That's when we realized that we had almost a quorum of folks assembled in the office who were playing Fantasy Football in our staff league. 

It started out simply enough, with our principal decrying her seeming inability to climb out of last place. This brought a flurry of suggestions and offers of help, but without actually trading any players. Then we all began to look at our lineups and spent a solid forty-five minutes engaged in the illusory avocation that is Fantasy Football. There was laughter and collegial banter as we all turned our attention to the imaginary after a long week of being tied to the very very real. 

We were having fun together. 

Which is precisely the moment when someone came rushing in to let us know that a kindergartener had fallen from the play structure during the after school program and had hit her head. Phones were shoved back into pockets. We all took our stations and brought in the ice packs and the gauze. We pulled up the girl's medical history and called her mother. And 911. 

In a heartbeat we became that professional group of caregivers focused on the trauma in front of us. Over the next forty-five minutes, Fantasy Football and the weekend disappeared into the background as we gave the tears of the little girl our full attention. 

Once upon a very long time ago, a teacher friend of mine suggested that we could write a sit-com based on our experiences at the school. "It would be kind of dark, but funny. Like MASH." That's what I remembered after the paramedics had packed up their gear and mother and daughter were safely on their way to the hospital and we cleaned up our triage and put things back in their place. For Monday. 

I was glad we had that moment of camaraderie, and happy that we could snap back into action when we were needed. 

Because we are.