2 in the box

 

As the title says.
Put a 2 in the box up there.

Another first for me this week. I had to contact a parent to come pick up her child for medical attention. In 19 years of doing this work, I have never had to do that.

We were on the playground. Gorgeous weather for a couple days this week, and of course we had to take advantage of it.

I have a lot of younger kids. A lot. The K and 1st graders are mostly boys. If you're thinking that means I have more than my fair share of daredevils, all physical and aggressive and loud and obnoxious, you're right.

I monitor them as much as I can.

"Hey young humans, remember we don't play tag on the play structure."

"It's NOT tag! We're playing Hot Lava Monster!"

Yeah if I had a nickel for every time I've heard that one, I'd have approximately 348 dollars. And five cents.

"Not tag, huh? Okay. Is someone it?" 

"Well, yeah, but..."

"And is he chasing other people and trying to touch them?"

Sheepish looks.
Mostly at the tops of their shoes or at the sky.

It takes a moment.

Then one or two will admit that yes, they are chasing.
Kids are funny.

I remind them to please chase either on the grass or in the bark area of the playground. I'm not trying to stop them from playing tag. Just don't want them doing it on the play structure. It's often slippery because it's been raining. And it's, you know, made of metal and it's an unyielding surface. Not having kids get hurt is one of my priorities.

I can hear you saying, "Yeah, but..." and thinking something like kids get hurt all the time or don't turn them into wimps or why can't they just play? And my answer is yes, they get hurt all the time, no way in hell do I have enough influence to turn them into anything and they can just play, but they're going to follow safety rules when they're with me because that's my job.

However.

Since we've been joined by James, the smallest K age kid I've ever met (strangely with the largest dose of charisma I've ever seen in a five year old)  they've been inspired to new heights of reckless and wild.

James is the little guy who was threatened with police and jail by that utterly clueless cow a month ago and joined us a week later.

James is the head daredevil. They have been taking turns jumping off the lowest platform on the play structure. It's about 18 inches off the ground, so not a horrible hazard or scary thing. They step up, launch themselves as far as they can into the wood chips that pad our playground surface and jump back up and run to the platform and jump again.

But I still tell them over and over that, "We aren't going to be jumping off the play structure, guys."

They temporarily stop, but as soon as I am dealing with another situation, and my assistant isn't looking either, they're right back at it.

On Wednesday, one of the two older boys I have in the group was arguing with seven people who did not want him to play soccer with them. They presented a united front, those boys and girls. Some of them pointed toward the other end of the playground.

Get away.

He was not pleased.

I stepped aside with him so he could explain to me that everyone he tried to play with all day long didn't want him around, "They're all stupid and they don't know how to play the RIGHT way and they won't listen to me!"

We were in the middle of the discussion, "Okay Alex, let me ask you this. If every group you've tried to join today asked you not to play and to go away, what's the thing they all had in common? Why would everyone say no to you?"

I won't say something like 'if everyone you run into is a jerk, there's a real possibility that the jerk is you'.

He does act like a jerk. Like he knows everything, everyone around him is stupid and rather than discuss, he escalates to shouting and waving his arms around. It doesn't take much before he's also wanting to shove people around and scream at them. It takes him at least four times longer to cool down than it did for him to get revved up, too. Fun fun.

But it's not my job to tell him he's acting like a jerk. He's a child. He's intelligent, has a great sense of humor that's far beyond his years, and is always willing to help one of the smaller kids with a LEGO build or to tie a shoe for them. He has so many wonderful qualities. He is difficult for the other kids to relate to, though, and hasn't learned how to lose gracefully at anything.

I'm not going to teach him those things by shouting over the top of his words, using a mean expression on my face or getting angry, so we were just sitting on a bench and talking while I watched the other kids play soccer.

Conversation was derailed by Adam the Screamer.
You remember him, right?
If not, well, there's that handy link.

Adam was lying in the wood chips, holding his arm and screaming.

Jim (my assistant) got to him first and was helping him, so I continued talking with Alex. But Jim came to me and said he thought maybe I should handle what was going on with Adam, so I told Alex we'd talk more later.

Adam looked ghastly. Pale and sweaty.
His left arm was swollen already.

I got him up and onto a picnic table bench. That boy is LOUD.
I tried to explain to him to use his right hand to hold his left elbow and to put the arm against his body to keep it from moving too much so we could get inside.

"NOOOOOOOO!" he screamed.

I asked him if I could show him what I meant.
"DON'T TOUCH ME!!!"

Since he wasn't bleeding and wasn't in immediate need of help, I respected his space. If I'd tried to grab his arm or make him hold it the way I thought he should, I could have made things worse. He was hurt enough.

I immediately pulled his paperwork and called his mom.
It went to voice mail.

I left a message and went to the next emergency contact on the list.
Also voice mail.

Tried the third contact.
Number disconnected or no longer in service.

Meanwhile, the Flying James Brothers thought taking advantage of my inattention to them was a great opportunity to start jumping off the platform again.

::sigh:::

I blew the whistle for the kids to gather to go indoors.

Adam's mom called me back as we were lining up and I told her that he needed medical attention. I made sure she knew it was not life threatening, but that if he were my child,  I would be taking him to the doctor.

We settled in to wait, Adam screaming loudly next to me, ice pack against his arm.
As he calmed down a little, I offered him a blanket.
"Why? I'm not cold! I'm HOT!"

Then he began saying under his breath, "Please Mom come soon please Mom come soon."

I felt so bad that there wasn't anything I could do for him. I couldn't comfort him, he was in pain and scared and he wanted his mom.

Several kids were asking me for the babies or the kitchen stuff or tape or art supplies. I reminded each one that there were two adults there, and that they'd need to go talk to Jim as I was busy with Adam.

It didn't take long for Mom to come get her son. She's in the medical field, and knew right away that the arm was probably broken.

She took him out the door.

Thursday afternoon we learned that the arm was broken. We haven't seen him since Wednesday, although it sounds like he will probably be back on Monday.

I want to hope the cast on his arm will make some of the other flyers stop and think before their next launch, but then I realize they are five and six years old and they pretty much CAN'T stop and think about anything.

Never boring.