Warning: the contents of this blog might be offensive to some. In that it might make you conjure up images of snot, mucous, throw-up, broken arms and the like. Consider yourself trigger warned. Last weekend’s Globe and Mail had an article in its Focus section about trigger alerts. Essentially, trigger alerts are advance warnings that might alert one to potentially harmful, anxiety-inducing, adverse information found in course material, books, public and private settings and environments, writing and other venues of transmitting influential stuff that might need censoring. In other words, someone could be bothered at the very least- offended at the most, by what they encounter. According to the article, university professors are being asked to provide trigger warnings in advance of their course readings- to the extreme that any sort of ill-affect, including panic attacks and anxiety disorders, might be provoked by the influence of the potential literature and the like, and could thus be avoided through use of such an advance cautioning system. That is, through using a trigger warning. Essentially, trigger warning are kind of like car horns: they alert you. Or kind of like children screaming downstairs when you are locked in the bathroom sitting on the toilet upstairs. You get the idea. Which gave me pause to consider the trigger warnings that I should offer to all those incoming students of mine who are going to be attending my upcoming K classes in the fall. The four years-olds, that is. If I was to provide a trigger warning for them, here’s what it would look like: Be aware, ye Four and Five Year Old Riffer-Raffers/Prospective Clients of the Public School System. Entering the school system and thus attending kindergarten classes might bring on the following adverse, unpleasant affects: 1. Sickness, after you come into contact with every cold and flu virus known to humankind, which incidentally must FIRST cross the threshold of the school doorways before filtering out into the world at large. 2. Dirty, filthy clothing, as you wear said ‘virus’ proudly like a badge (because I can guarantee: you will be wiping your nose all over those super-adorable little shirts and dresses that looked spick and span when you left home in the morning but look like a compost dispenser by the end of the day). 3. All manner of cuts and bruises, as you manage to find every dangerous corner, table, wall and other sharp object or the like inside every classroom, hallway, music room, gym and secretary’s office within the school. And yes, quite possibly even the bus. 4. All manner of broken body parts, (yes again, I said that right), as you experiment with gravity on the outdoor playground equipment. Or school banister railings. 5. Writer’s cramp, as you are reminded for the bazillionth time to hold your pencil with proper, standardized pencil grip. 6. Discriminating taste buds, as you realize halfway through the month of September that you still have twelve years ahead of you eating Flakes of Ham sandwiches. 7. Joy at discovering that mom has no idea what happens to said ‘sandwich’ when Teacher turns her head to read out the lunch menu. For that matter, neither does Teacher. 8. Cold, wet feet, upon discovering that playing soccer in mud puddles a foot deep causes one’s clothing from the hip down to become completely soaked. And then some. 9. A propensity to needing bandages, as you discover that sticky, adhesive substances are quite fun to apply to the body. And then rip off two seconds later. 10. A paranoid sense of personal space as your teacher patiently explains to you why standing one cm from a person’s mouth is not far enough away. These are merely the top ten. I could write more. So much, much more. The author of the Globe article goes on to cite a recent Atlantic Monthly critique on the topic of micromanaged kids and their helicopter parents, who organize every second of their children’s day, and he does so as to say the following: “Kids are no longer left alone to find their way, invent spontaneous and sometimes risky forms of play, to confront and overcome unknowns, to do things themselves, and to fall, fail and then get back up again.” To which I say, au contraire. Where there is a will, there is a way. I was on duty Friday, and I can assure this good man: children are still testing the waters of safety, running towards the road, hiding beneath trees, escaping the confines of their boundaries, sitting on the top of the monkey bars, sliding down the slide backwards, hitting one another over the head with branches and possibly rocks (oh my nerves) and banging into each other when playing. Falling down. And then getting back up again. And while I see that there is still an influence of helicopter parenting over the children whom I interact, by and large, most kids are running around full-tilt, as if their life depended on it. And loving every, single minute of it. At least, that’s my experience here in western P.E.I. Does that mean I turn a blind eye to the safety of my tiny clientele? Look. I have two eyes in front of my head and two behind. I am a teacher, remember? I am looking around with four raving eyes as if I were Robo Cop on wheels when I am out there on duty. But watching eighty 5, 6 and 7 year olds all at once is a mighty hard task. Even for someone with eyes in the back of her head. While I am as vigilant as the next guy (think security guard meets SuperWoman), I am also realistic. Kids are going to be kids. They are going to play, and they are going to get hurt. Nuff said. After all people, we were once kids too. And look how healthy, safety-conscious we all turned out to be. Right Mom?
Posted on: Sun, 13 Apr 2014 21:47:03 +0000
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