Do You Have Your Permission Slip?

It’s been more years than I like to think about since my kid was in school, but I recently sent a text message before a family outing saying, “Don’t forget your permission slip and a sack lunch.” (I think I’m amusing – not sure my family agrees.) In any case, it got me to thinking about field trips. Not the class trip to Washington DC or the band trip to NYC, but the good ol’ elementary school, same day, ride the school bus, field trip.

Living so close to Chelsea, Michigan, I remember (and probably everybody that went to school nearby remembers) the field trips to the Jiffy Mix plant. We wore hairnets, had a tour of the production area, and received a box of Jiffy Mix product to take home to our moms. I wonder how many of those actually made it home.

Back on the bus, we rode down the street to Pierce Park where we ate our sack lunches and played on the playground equipment. I specifically remember playing on the teeter totter and whoever was on the other end holding me up in the air until I started to cry and ended up making a face plant onto the board and falling off. That wasn’t great, but most of my other field trip memories are pretty great.

I grew up in a rural area and a field trip to a farm was obligatory. I can’t imagine this was a big thrill for most of my classmates who already lived on a farm or had grandparents that were farmers, but I loved it. The hayride was always my favorite part, but I’ve always been an animal lover, and I hugged and petted any creature that would tolerate me.

My son remembers trekking around Greenfield Village (I’m sure I probably had a field trip there as well, not my favorite), the zoo, and a recycling facility in Ann Arbor that made a big impression on him. They let the kids select something to bring home (this part is a little mystifying to me) and he reminded me that he brought home a plastic mustard bottle and I was absolutely appalled. Ha, ha. Core memory for him.

This week as I strolled down memory lane, I prompted my work bestie to share a field trip story.  He always has great stories and did not disappoint.

His fourth grade class took the train to Casa Loma, a castle in Toronto. Wow! I was already impressed. He reports that Ricky Warden bought a tomahawk from the souvenir store. (Really? At Casa Loma? Did every souvenir store sell tomahawks in the 70s?) Anyway, it had a feather attached to it, and Ricky pulled the feather off and was blowing it up in the air. As these things go, the feather got too close to his mouth while he was breathing in his next breath. He sucked it down his throat, then immediately threw up all over the train. I hope Ricky Warden has other, better, field trip memories.

One year, maybe third grade, my class went to Abrams Planetarium at MSU. I loved it! In fact, I still enjoying visiting planetariums today. I begged my mom to sign up to go with us as a chaperone. Did others like their parents to be chaperones? I definitely did. At that time, she was going through a bout of depression and I’m not sure why I thought she needed to come. I didn’t really understand her episodes, but I just REALLY wanted her to come on this trip. She reluctantly agreed.

I remember sitting with her on the bus and her gazing out the window.  I loved having her as my seat partner and I thought we had the BEST time. I don’t’ know what she thought. In retrospect, I’m not sure that a bus trip with 30 third graders would do much for my mental health. However, she did come back to herself shortly after our trip and I was SURE that trip to Abram’s Planetarium was a contributing factor.

Part of the joy of field trips for me was riding the school bus. This is a hotly debated topic with some of my friends that rode the bus to school every day, but I lived in town and was a walker. I LOVED THE BUS.  I could probably write a whole blog about my love for riding the school bus.

Not exactly a field trip, but I’m going to wrap up with a memory about riding the bus to summer swim lessons. I have a lot of childhood memories but I’m not always great at remembering how old I was.  Regardless, one summer I rode the school bus to Mason for a week (maybe two?) of swimming lessons.  The pick up point was in front of the Stockbridge library behind Spadafore’s grocery store.

I’m a terrible singer, always have been, but that never deterred me from singing, especially as a part of a big group where only the friend sitting next to you realizes how bad you are.  Those bus trips to Mason were where I learned to sing about 99 bottles of beer on the wall and The Titanic song – apropos for a bunch of kids heading to swimming lessons.

The internet offered me other lyrics than those I learned on the bus. I may not remember where I parked my car when I’m done with my Meijer shopping, but I remember the lyrics in our version of The Titanic.

Any classmates remember those rides to Mason for swimming lessons? If so, hit me up and let’s get together. No time is a bad time for a sing-along.