The Ultimate Whistleblower: A Guest Blog
I blew the whistle long and hard, and in seconds, 200 pairs of eyes looked my way. A scrum of hot, sweaty, red-faced children began lining up, some fighting to be first in line, others slowly straggling in.As usual, some of the older students stood defiant, doing their best to ignore me. After all, I’m the playground monitor, and in the pecking order of authority, I’m somewhere between the lunch lady and the janitor in the minds of most school children. Or so they thought.
I accepted the job 20 years ago because I thought it would be a fun way to see my children and experience a typical day at an elementary school in Dallas, TX. And for the first week or two, that’s exactly what it was.
But after a month of watching hundreds of children test the limits, my calm, steady personae took a hard right turn toward authoritarianism. Whistle ready and not afraid to use it, I quickly learned that I was the absolute arbiter of all social behavior on the playground and needed to draw a line in the sandbox of control.
Children, in their free-thinking exuberance, look at objects entirely differently from the adults who created them. Kindergarteners will gleefully run up the slide, rather than down, or belly flop on a swing intended for their backside. Perfect whistle-worthy moments!
Later, several forceful blows from my trusty whistle and a fierce middle-age glare will convince several 5th graders to cease their game of kicking the soccer ball over the school fence. Recognizing the error of their ways, they give up the game…for today anyway.
As every parent knows: children are nonstop energy. And when they only have 30 minutes of unstructured time on the playground, their vitality goes into hyper speed.
Later, several forceful blows from my trusty whistle and a fierce middle-age glare will convince several 5th graders to cease their game of kicking the soccer ball over the school fence. Recognizing the error of their ways, they give up the game…for today anyway.
As every parent knows: children are nonstop energy. And when they only have 30 minutes of unstructured time on the playground, their vitality goes into hyper speed.
Balls, jump ropes, chalk, and other toys are grabbed up and carted off with a frenzy usually reserved for Black Friday sales. Constant motion, thunderous shouting, and occasional bullying are all being monitored by just a few parents and teachers, who often exhibit a Zen-master ability to handle stress.
With my trusty whistle, I could stop a bully in his/her tracks, determine which group got the soccer ball, and prevent an errant child from climbing the downspout to the roof.
Often, middle-school soccer games were the most trying moments. A flying ball, swinging legs, groups of running boys and goalies on either end with no padding…what could possibly go wrong? I was responsible that no teeth were knocked out or body parts broken. It was often a daunting responsibility, and one that I never took for granted, being a mother myself.
With my trusty whistle, I could stop a bully in his/her tracks, determine which group got the soccer ball, and prevent an errant child from climbing the downspout to the roof.
Often, middle-school soccer games were the most trying moments. A flying ball, swinging legs, groups of running boys and goalies on either end with no padding…what could possibly go wrong? I was responsible that no teeth were knocked out or body parts broken. It was often a daunting responsibility, and one that I never took for granted, being a mother myself.
Sometimes I think back on those days and wonder if we all wouldn’t be better off with a playground monitor in our heads. Thinking about running that red light? The squeal of a whistle will get you to stop. Pulling into a designated handicap parking spot without a proper tag? The piercing tone in your ear will get you to move on. Texting while driving? Get the bullhorn out for this one!
All of us should live as if our conscience holds a whistle, and even the thought of a misdeed will bring the shrill sound of shame bearing down on our behavior.
I look back on those days with fond memories. No broken bones, chipped teeth or lost children on my watch--just a sense of pride in a job well done. And of course, I still have my trusty whistle.
All of us should live as if our conscience holds a whistle, and even the thought of a misdeed will bring the shrill sound of shame bearing down on our behavior.
I look back on those days with fond memories. No broken bones, chipped teeth or lost children on my watch--just a sense of pride in a job well done. And of course, I still have my trusty whistle.
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