I work with a seasoned veteran teacher who refuses to go on overnight field trips with students. She cites an example from early in her career when she did chaperon an overnight and ended up holding her breath for nine months praying that one of the students wasn’t pregnant.
This story coming out of South Carolina reminded me of that–and reinforced my own reasons for not doing field trips like this either.
Every spring we take our 8th graders on a two day field trip to Madison, our state capital. It’s about a 5-hour bus ride from here so we book rooms and get volunteer parents to help chaperon. It’s a good experience. The kids have fun touring the capital, visiting some shops on State Street, and strolling through museums. These are educational experiences we can not duplicate in St. Croix Falls.
I am an 8th grade teacher. These are my students. But I never go with them.
I always feel a little pang of guilt when this roles around every year. I don’t have to go–so I don’t. In the past, I had a second job I just didn’t feel right about leaving during that time. I also have a family and responsibilities to attend to on that front.
But those aren’t the real reasons I don’t go.
From my perspective, this is strictly a control and exposure issue. And the risks are not worth the reward. Middle schoolers are hard enough to control in the classroom. Now put them in a bunch of hotel rooms with a little piece of tape on the door and try to get a little sleep yourself? Fuggetaboutit. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about 13-15 year-olds it’s this:
Stuff happens–and fast. I mean lightning fast.
I don’t care how good you are. I don’t care how prudent you are.
I’ll give you a quick example:
Earlier this spring I took our 8th graders to a National Park headquarters for a short presentation on the National St. Croix Riverway. It’s right downtown, so I was actually able to take 4 smallish (20-25 students) groups one at a time. There was a brief film to watch in an auditorium, a brief talk by a park ranger, and some time to browse a through a few interactive museum exhibits.
One of these exhibits was a clear cylinder filled with about 5 gallons of water and stuff that naturally falls into the river like grass, leaves, etc . . . This cylinder was on a pivot so you could turn it around and see this sort of tea like mixture float and sink to the bottom. The idea is that this stuff naturally decays and gives the water a unique blend of pigments and nutrients.
Anyway, I’m milling around talking to students when I notice it’s about time to wrap up and hop back on the bus. So I make an announcement to head back into the auditorium for a little wrap-up by the ranger when I turn and see one of my students spinning this cylinder like a toy on a playground. He wanted to see how fast he could get it spinning.
I didn’t even have enough time to shout his name before the top of the cylinder pops off spilling water and rotting vegetation all over the floor and himself. What a mess. I wanted to rip the kid’s head off. I was incredibly angry. I was incredibly embarrassed–and for the record, so was the kid.
Here’s what you need to know about this particular example and, really, almost anything dealing with this age group. This kid is not your straight A-model-student. This guy’s more like a B-type-of-easily-distracted-boy. Make no mistake, he’s no angel. But neither is he the type of kid that’s always getting in trouble–or even on your nerves. He’s just kind of average. Normal. He didn’t mean to make that mess. I made sure he apologized to the park rangers both in person when it happened and in a letter of apology (I mean what a great opportunity for a writing assignment, right?), and he did both without hesitation. And I believe he did both sincerely.
And then later in the day, he sought me out and apologized to me.
You should have seen his face when he turned around at that museum. He was completely soaked and stunk immediately of river rot. Sure I was livid. But nobody was more surprised, embarrassed or remorseful than this kid. And it happened about 1 second faster than I needed to prevent it. He just lost his mind. A momentary laps of reason. And he paid for it.
I was thankful that the authorities at the park were so understanding. Which brings me back to why I don’t do overnight field trips.
Check out this mom’s response (from the story linked to above) upon learning her 14-year-old had been suspended from school for having sex on a field trip:
. . . The 14-year-old says she and six of her classmates have been suspended for the remainder of the school year.
“That’s why I’m upset. My child gets punished for an action she made, but what actions are they taking against the chaperone?” the mom told WIS News 10.
According to the mom, the chaperones were in another room when the girls snuck out of their room.
I’m sorry, ” . . .what kind of actions are they taking against the chaperone?” Are you kidding me?
Now (according to this logic) your kid screws up (oops a pun) and the chaperone should get punished? I’m not even going to address the fact that many of these chaperones are volunteering their time to supervise your kid. How about taking a little responsibility.
This kind of attitude burns me up. But it’s reality. And I know it. Therefor I use my own brand of logic to deduce that, as a professional, if I’m going to be held responsible for things ultimately out of my control, the risks are too great. Bad things happen with this age group–and they happen way too fast.
Yeah, my students wonder why I don’t go to Madison with them, but when I read (or watch) stories like this (this time in video format), I’m pretty sure I’m making the right decision here.