The Crossing Guard

When I was driving home today, I saw them.

I live about six blocks from an elementary school that has been part of this community since forever (or at least since before I was a kid). During the school year, it's best to avoid driving down West Glenn Trail at or around 8:00am and 3:00pm. Parents are busy walking with or dropping off their kids at school, creating mass hysteria, and creating the possibility of an accident.

Today, I had no choice. I was coming back from Milwaukee, and I just happened to get to the corner of Biesterfield and West Glenn at 3:06pm. I guess I could have turned a street before the school, but since I work from home, and I don't leave the house most days, I completely forgot my own unwritten rule.

Most schools have paid crossing guards at the major intersections. Link is no exception. I am not sure if most schools have children crossing guards too. The older kids get to perform the duties of the paid employees without the benefits of said people. They have them at this school and had them at mine (Stevenson Elementary) when I was a kid. Stevenson is less than a mile from Link.

I wanted desperately to get picked for crossing guard duty. It just seemed like a cool job to do. They gave you this bright orange belt to wear, and you got to carry a clipboard. The clipboard had these tickets attached to it, basically paper violations, that you were able to give to a kid who disobeyed your authority.

I am not sure if it was the belt, the clipboard, or the power that I was attracted to most. Probably all three.

Each day, there were three chances of being picked to be a crossing guard. Since I lived further away from the school, across a busy street, I had to take a bus. Therefore, my chances of being a crossing guard were limited. Limited to one of the best time's of a child's day: recess. It was a tough decision to make; put my name in the running to be a guard, or play kickball and tag with my friends.

I knew kids who were crossing guards on a daily basis. They would brag about how cool it was to be "on the job." Kids had to listen to them when they told them to stop, when they told them to go, or when they told them to slow down. If they were disobeyed, a ticket was dispensed and trouble would be waiting in Principal Litchfield's office.

Prinicpal Litchfield looked like a walrus. He had thick brown hair and a thick brown mustache. He, himself, was also thick. Punishments for disobeying the crossing guard included staying after school to clean the chalkboards, having to write extra book reports, and having to skip recess.

That never stopped kids from getting in trouble, really. I mean, come on, did the adults really think that giving a kid a clipboard, an orange belt, and some paper would make them authority figures?

Toward the end of 5th grade, I decided to volunteer for a recess slot. Mr. Litchfield was happy to have me in the rotation. He gave me the equipment, went over the rules, showed me the corner I would be protecting, and wished me well.

I approached the job with high hopes. I fully expected to protect the letter of the law, providing a safe place to cross the street, without trouble.

Let me describe my experience very honestly and directly: being a crossing guard sucked. Kids crossed when they wanted. They ran when I approached with a violation ticket. They laughed when I tried to chase them (my boundaries prohibited me from going more then five sidewalk spaces from my spot), and even some of the tougher kids threatened me with bodily harm.

My first day as a crossing guard was my last. I learned nothing from the experience except that power often does not come with rewards.

Chaz Palminteri wrote, in his autobiographical one-act play/theatrical movie, "A Bronx Tale," that Sonny, his neighborhood gangster, preferred to be feared rather than be loved. Sonny was a man who rose to power over time. He helped people in the neighborhood with things. He solved problems, sometimes with words, and sometimes with physical harm.

Sonny obviously was never a school crossing guard.