It all started last fall when we had a band trip meeting one evening at school. The band director was talking about the number of chaperons would be determined by the number of students that signed up for the trip. Parents of upperclassmen would receive first choice if the number of interested parents exceeded the number of seats available, because this would be their last opportunity to travel with their child.
Mind you, I’ve hardly been anywhere. I’ve never even flown on a plane and I’ll be 47 next week. (Yes, it is embarrassing to admit this.) The idea of planning a trip seems like a lot of work and, frankly, scares me quite a bit. That’s something I need to work on.
So…the idea of an affordable trip to somewhere that someone else plans? A place not really on my bucket list, but that seems somehow un-American to NOT visit in your lifetime? Hmmm…
As we got in the car after the meeting, I said to Escher, “Maybe I should put my name in to be a chaperon.”
PLUNK.
Dead silence.
I was certain I must have accidentally said, “We are moving away to Ethiopia tomorrow and you will never, ever see your friends again, or have access to Game Grumps or YouTube.”
Fortunately for me, my son is a mind-reader and realized what I had meant to say, and came ’round pretty quickly.
“Yeah,” he said. “I’d probably feel more comfortable if you were along.”
The next day I let the band director know I wanted to be put on the chaperon list. It wasn’t long before I was notified that I had been selected to accompany the group of 44 high schoolers on the 18-hour, overnight bus trip to New York City for 3 days, followed by an 18-hour, overnight bus ride home.
Dear God, what had I done?!?
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