On Guard!
On October 9, 2023 by Speranza
The temperature outside has started to sharpen a little this week, just chilly enough to remind us what is coming. But unlike many (normal) people who are excited to welcome pumpkin-spice latte season or to enjoy the dramatic colours of the changing leaves, I find myself remembering the epic thrill of being selected as not only the class “monitor” but also, a school Crossing Guard …
I know what you’re thinking and you’re right.
These were heady times, indeed.
The General was heartily amused when I shared this with him and laughingly observed that I sounded like the kind of kid that he and his ‘friends’ would have chased. (And I don’t think he meant this in a flirtatious way, either). He laughed even more when I described my duties as ‘monitor’ which culminated in patting the blackboard erasers rhythmically against the outdoor bricks of the school and snapping the “shammies” into the wind in order to release their chalk dust. (God, how old AM I …) Believe it or not this was considered very cool indeed at the time and the younger children would gather around in a kind of awe as we added a casual, no-big-thing flourish to the wrist action as we brandished those pillowy, wooden-handled erasers. Yellowy-white chalk dust remained on our palms and probably lungs throughout the day.
Even though The General teases me for my alleged “brown nosing” tendencies, in actual fact, I was that child who had to routinely leave school via the fire escape in order to avoid The Mean Girls who were waiting for me, possibly envious of my Crossing Guard status and the much coveted privilege of leaving class fifteen minutes early in order to reach my appointed corner and get my belt on.
The belt that was issued to school Crossing Guards – and was one of the highlights of the position – was designed to fit a tall morbidly obese man in middle age and made of crinkly, unyielding plastic. When I pulled the belt over my head, it immediately pooled around my ankles like a fluorescent snake. My father, whose tolerance for such things was set at slightly less than zero, spent a very long time, cigarette off to one side of his mouth, feeding the seemingly endless strip through the buckle to try and make it fit my tiny frame. In the end, he spread the entire thing out on the kitchen table like a surgeon and somehow re-configured it to cross my shoulder snugly and connect with the big steel fastener without even sagging. I felt like Queen Victoria every time I drew that (day-glo orange) strap dramatically across my 11 year old chest and heard the button click into place. (Note: The belts were, of course, handed in at the end of the year and I was anxious that my adjusted version might get me into trouble. Happily, my father’s haute couture skillset remained unnoticed and may have launched a new trend for a pixie-waisted, more discriminating Crossing Guard).
The school crossing guard sash is the ultimate status symbol and takes a very special story teller to remind us how we envied the wearer during those times. How wonderful that your Dad took the time to customize it for you.
Truly special.
I love that… the authoritarian gene can kick in so early can’t it? Cleaning the brushes, doing the teacher’s dishes, hall monitor…all excellent ways of getting out of class to loaf around…you got both Sue! Loved this….
I do remember chalk& dust& the screech from the 5 finger edges device for drawing straight lines. Thanks for the memories…..
Hilarious! I totally loved my crossing guard at zsravebank Road home of Huuricand Hazel, when I was little. Big person to little people.
Oh what memories!
I wonder if the chalk dust had a bad effect on growing lungs. And golly, kids as traffic monitors! These days its crusty old grandparents who fill out the hazmat vests perfectly!
I was never the blackboard monitor but I was a milk monitor (fresh every day – if it wasn’t left sitting in the sun by the milkman!) and the goitre tablet monitor. In my childhood, there was endemic paediatric goitre owing to lack of the right chemicals (none) in soil and water and so every child was required to take a tablet. This stopped in 1966 when potassium iodate was added to all bakery bread. And so ended the heady days of handing out a white tablet to every child. Can you imagine the outcry now?
WOW milk monitor AND handing out the *goitre tabs* – I see now how we are friends, ha! And, you are right.
There would definitely be a take-home form about goitre tablets these days … thanks so much for this Prue.
Great memories, Sue. I particularly like the description of your father — the cigarette off to one side of the mouth, the surgical delicacy of reconfiguring the belt… (me not sucking up…).