As it happened, there were too many assistants and not enough kids to watch. Too many helicopter-parenting assistants for the air space. I was sent to watch a fairly-sparsely-inhabited patch of playground, where nobody but two girls, about nine years old, were whiling away the afternoon. The girls were talking about the coming summer.
"I'm going to have a babysitter this summer. She's thirteen. I don't like her," one girl said. "What's wrong with her?" I asked. "She's got too many beauty products," the girl replied. "She's thirteen?" I asked. "You should get her a gift card," I said. The girls started imagining revenge against the supposedly-vain babysitter. "I can take all her makeup, crush it together, and put it in a shower head, so when she takes a shower she'll get covered in her makeup," the girl said. "Even better," her friend suggested, "you could delete her YouTube channel!"
This sounded too horrible - YouTube channels are sacrosanct - so I moved across the playground. When I returned, the one girl was climbing into a tree on the playground. She was climbing just a short height - just enough to exercise those monkeylike instincts all kids have - but high enough to attract the attention of one of the senior teaching assistants, who told her to get out of the tree. Not wanting to undermine his authority, I reluctantly followed up with a request: "I am going to have to ask you to stay out of the tree."
The girl was indignant. "What kind of place is this? This isn't a school, it's a child detention facility!" The girl's friend began imagining that nothing on the playground was actually real - the swing set was fake and the playground equipment too. Just props for the police state. They should use spray paint to post messages for help on the playground tarmac that might attract the attention of passing aircraft. I replied, "Kind of like several weeks ago, when there was paint all over the pavement, from celebrating the Indian holiday, Holi Day." "Oh, but that was a powdered paint," the girl replied. "I painted my friends faces with that!"
The treeclimbing girl got nostalgic for daycare days, back in the distant past, maybe as far back as 2019. "We could do whatever we wanted. We could have as many snacks as we wanted. We could climb in all the trees too." I replied, "This sounds like a scary daycare! But then I guess you got too old and ended up here." Both girls nodded. Things used to better back in the old days.
The treeclimbing girl began climbing into the tree again. This time, I let her. Just then, one of the Deputized Girls happened by. "Wait. Whoa! Is that allowed now?" she asked. "Absolutely not!" I replied, as the treeclimbing girl dangled from a branch a short distance above the ground.
It was late. Playground activities were halted and we joined the kindergartners in the portable classrooms. The littles are always so much fun! The older kids were harder to please, though. I discouraged the pursuit of rodents - you never know, with hantavirus - in favor of pursuing lizards, of which a few were present outside.
The treeclimbing girl was among the very last to go home. She shared what amounted to Dad Jokes. "Where did the pig rest? - In the hammock! How does the corn plant feel? - Amaizing! What did the chick say after running back and forth forty times? - It's egg-sausting!"
As everyone went home from the child detention facility I talked to one of the senior teaching assistants. "I think I'll do it different next year. I'm here every day, all day. I get really picky about every little thing, and the kids push limits hard, all day long. Next year, maybe part-time." I replied, "Yes, maybe a good idea. I'm not here very often, so when I'm present, it's pleasant."
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