Olympic Diary: 29 Hours with 26 Kids, 10 'Rents, and a Singular Teacher

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

8:27 am: Drop Simon off at school on morning of big overnight field trip to Olympia: culmination of months-long civics study including class government, mock budget hearings, etc. I am chaperoning, but driving separately. Realize I have forgotten a) raincoat for me and b) sack lunches for both of us. Kiss boy, return home. Discover loaf of sandwich bread has gone moldy. 

8:53 am: Stop in Columbia City for cash, coffee, lunches. Bakery sandwich offerings not calculated to appeal to ten-year-olds; decide to rely on kindness of Logan's dad, who said he'd brought a couple extra PB and Js. Barista wants to know if Josie is available for babysitting. (Answer: She's generally pretty busy, but she loves to when she can.) Head south toward highway.

10:01 am: Pass school bus on freeway, see back of son's head through eighth row window. Consider honking, decide against it.

10:13 am: Arrive Capitol campus, grab last parking space in convenient lot on Columbia St. Walk across soggy lawn to meet kids, who are being disgorged from school bus in front of Insurance Building.  Laura has assigned us all to groups: mine has eight kids, three adults. Schedules are distributed, cell phone numbers exchanged. Everyone excited to see some governmental action!

10:32 am: Shepherd group up capitol steps, across rotunda, up to gallery overlooking Senate. Whispered review of expectations re: noise levels, kinetic restrictions, general deportment, etc., before slowly opening heavy oak doors. Eight children, silent as deacons, file into balcony, where they discover... Forty-nine empty desks arrayed below them. Guard explains: the Senate is in caucus. Head across to House of Representatives: same deal. No Reps in sight, unless that one guy with a laptop is one? Simon takes a picture, just in case. 

 

Another class of ten-year-olds is here, getting an official tour. Tour guide greets us, invites us to listen in. She is cheery and knowledgeable, and the kids are intrigued by her story about a fourth grade class from Seattle that had an idea for a bill back in 1997. "They wrote to their Senators and they wrote to their Representatives, and the bill was introduced in the House and the Senate, and it passed unanimously in both chambers, and then the governor signed the bill into law -- and so even though those kids weren't even old enough to vote, they got their idea made into a law!

Kid raises hand: "What was the bill about?"

Tour guide: "Well, you know how we have a state tree, and a state bird, and a state flower? Those kids thought we should have a state insect too. And now we do! It's the Green Darner Dragon Fly."

I watch our kids' eyebrows go up. A state insect? You gotta be kidding me, lady. This class has been grappling with the state's $5 billion deficit, balancing UW tuition hikes against cuts to Basic Health. They have discussed an income tax and debated the wisdom of closing corporate tax loop-holes. They have been closely following a bill about human trafficking, for heaven's sake. I see the wheels turning in their heads and wonder if our Senators and Representatives might soon be fielding a slightly more substantive legislative suggestion from the pre-tween set.

11:03 am: Self-guided, slightly soggy tour of war memorials. Sobered by depiction of "Winged Victory," dedicated "to the memory of the citizens of the State of Washington who lost their lives in the service of the United States during the World War" (emphasis mine -- because when they put this thing up, they hadn't had to start numbering them yet).  Curious also about symbolism of wrought iron wheat stalks at World War Two memorial -- are they meant to evoke thousands of young men mowed down in their prime? Not clear, but as we discovered, they make a fine noise when you sproing them.

11:28 am: Slight disappointment re: lack of action witnessed so far (except for some very interesting guys in uniform rehearsing a rifle drill in the rotunda -- more on them later). Rendezvous with rest of class for walk to Capitol Lake, which, we are told, is suffering from a snail infestation.

11:37 am: Brief pause to imagine sci-fi summer blockbuster "Invasion of the Alien Snails!" -- lots of terrifying, oozing, slow-motion chase scenes.

Photo by Paul Berkelhammer

12:18 pm: We trudge back up gravel switchbacks from Lake, motivated by promise of sack lunches awaiting us at the top.

1:15 pm: Fed and watered (thanks again for the PB and J, Dale!), we split up to attend some committee meetings. This is where the real stuff happens, right? -- testimony, debate, grappling with the issues. Moment of dismay when Environment Committee meeting is called to order, then immediately adjourns for a caucus. Fortunately, the caucus consists of brief, whispered conversation at the front of the room -- then the legislators are back, discussing a bill that would ban fertilizers with phosphorus in them. Some of the children met a lobbyist earlier who has been working on this issue;  they listen attentively as an amendment -- allowing retailers to sell old fertilizer already in stock -- is introduced. Another amendment grants a waiver to an organic fertilizer company whose product contains phosphates that are bound to the organic matter and thus likely to leach into the soil more slowly (and which employs 40 people at better-than-average wages, according to the amendment's sponsor). Both amendments are approved. In barely fifteen minutes the bill is passed out of committee with a clear majority, the one dissenter delivering his "Nay" vote with stentorian vigor.

There you have it, kids: an actual bill, modified to accommodate various people who will be affected by it, pushed one step further along its legislative journey. Kent explains that the outcome of the vote was probably determined beforehand -- after hearings with testimony from fertilizer companies and farmers and environmentalists, along with many discussions behind the scenes -- and that what we just witnessed was more of a formality than a real discussion of the issues. Simon: "Why did that guy bother to vote no so loudly if he knew it was going to pass?"

Paul's group (second row) at an Education Committee hearing.

1:58 pm: Back to rotunda for ceremonial swearing in of new class of state troopers. The place is packed to the rafters with kith and kin of the new graduates, all dressed up and beaming with pride -- along with regular folks like us, who are mostly here for the rifle drills (and maybe a glimpse of the Governor).

Photo by Paul Berkelhammer

That's the Gov in the red blazer! Photo by Simon

The ceremony does not disappoint: from the soaring "Star Spangled Banner" solo to the spinning rifle drills, from the swearing in by Chief Justice Madsen to the gracious speech by Governor Gregoire, the whole spectacle leaves us all absolutely assured that these people have graduated. I am stuck at the back of the crowd with only slivers of view, but Simon is able to worm his way forward with the camera:



3:33 pm: After a quick foray across the road to check out the Supreme Court ("Come back in the morning," says the guard, "the first hearing starts at nine!") we arrive at a Career Fair in the basement of the Legislative building just as everyone is packing up, including -- tragically -- the manicurists who have apparently been offering free services throughout the day. Someone from a culinary school hands out the last of his canapés. We're all ready for a little down time: the kids practice kung fu moves on one another in the now-empty room, or sprawl on the floor working on their gimp lanyards. I calculate the hours until bedtime and quickly duck across the hall for a much-needed caffeine infusion.

4:08 pm: Somewhat refreshed, we assemble at the sun dial to consume satsumas and argue about whether you can tell time in the rain.

4:15 pm: Meeting with Senator Adam Kline. The Senator quickly realizes these kids don't need to hear the whole "How a Bill Becomes a Law" spiel, and instead fields tough questions about health care, income taxes, and bonuses for National Board certified teachers (a topic close to home for Kent's students, who have watched him go through the National Board certification process this year).

Adam Kline has always struck me as a good guy, dedicated to the right stuff. He doesn't always take leadership on my top issue (school funding, for those of you just joining us) but he's supportive and responsive, always fighting the good fight. Watching him explain over and over how the Legislature is cutting this, and slashing that, and how it's definitely going to hurt kids, and poor people, and all of us... hearing him acknowledge reluctantly that they won't be restoring any of this funding any time soon, I feel for him. His newsletters always used to start out with the declaration, "I love this job!" -- but it can't be much fun these days.

Finally someone lobs him an easy question. "I know this is off-topic," she says shyly, "but can I take your picture?"

5:14 pm: Our workday officially over, the group sets out on foot for the First United Methodist Church, where we'll spend the night. I peel off and drive the mile and a half to the church, arriving in time to join the small cadre parents who have spent the afternoon negotiating space and noise constraints with the church people,  making pizza in the church kitchen, and running out for last-minute supplies (including a paper bag containing a number of promising-looking bottles). I stash my gear in the Sunday School classroom with the rest of the sleeping bags, and help set the tables for dinner. This is a huge, active church: this evening it will host a meditation class, a Lenten Bible study group, two committee meetings, and a Boy Scout Merit Badge Event, in addition to our sleepover group.

5:30 pm: The kids arrive, and they are hungry! Dinner is delicious and plentiful (many thanks to the heroic parents who planned, shopped, and cooked!). When it's over we retire to the Sunday School classrooms so as to be out of the way of the Boy Scouts, who are using the Great Hall until 9 pm -- when we will finally be able to get in there and set up our bedrolls.

6:12 pm: A few kids have settled into playing Uno. A small group has arranged a game of carpet hockey in one of the rooms. Most of the others can't think of anything to do that doesn't involve hurling frisbees. When a disc sails across the room and knocks a glass off the counter, I volunteer to take a group out to the playfield across the street. We gather up our jackets and wend our way past clusters of Boy Scouts working on knots, maps, and other intriguing tasks.

6:33 pm: The playfield is pretty wet, but there's a swingset and a covered basketball court. Five moms and twelve kids last nearly an hour out there in the fading light. A woman with a dog called Jasper stops to chat; she fills us in on the grim nuclear news out of Japan. We discuss the likelihood of radiation reaching us; she tells us the U.S. government refuses to release any of the readings it has taken on the West Coast. "All the potassium iodide around here has been snatched up by now," she says. "I'm ordering mine from the East Coast." We nod slowly, glad the kids are out of earshot.

7:21 pm: Back at the church, Kent gathers the children together for a discussion about a rally that's happening tomorrow on the capitol steps. The event is sponsored by a coalition of groups that want to end corporate tax breaks in order raise revenue for education and health care -- all the stuff Adam Kline said they had to cut this year. Kent is careful to make it clear the kids are not required to attend, but they are welcome to participate if they want. Slightly punchy conversation about tax incentives and their effect on the economy -- "What if Microsoft moves to Chicago like Boeing did -- would we still be able to buy a Kinect?" -- is interrupted by an urgent announcement: the ice cream is melting, and it's time for the movie. ("The Fantastic Mr. Fox," with its creative, audacious trickster hero, strikes me as a terrific cinematic choice for a group of students who have spent the day steeped in cautious, deliberative, incremental legislative "action.")

9:18 pm: Hopeful parental inquiries about whether the (carpeted) classrooms might be a preferable sleeping venue have been overridden by Kent: he wants all the kids in the Great Hall, sleeping bags in a circle, heads in, feet out. Cold floor aside, it's clear that this arrangement fosters a feeling of community and inclusion, minimizes cliquey sub-groups, and channels peer pressure toward the maintenance of silence rather than the endless shrieking I have often struggled to quelch at Camp Indianola.

I unroll my Therm-a-rest alongside Simon's, and lie next to him while he gets settled. Slowly the muffled giggles around us turn to yawns, the flashlights dancing on the ceiling are extinguished one by one, the final bathroom visits peter out, and the cries of "Shush!" turn to gentle snores.

10:03: When the room is (mostly) quiet, I join the adults in the Sunday School classroom for red wine and relaxed conversation. I haven't been able to spend much time at school this year, and it's nice to hang out with the other parents, and Kent too. These are such good folks, I am reminded. I'm grateful my boy gets to spend all day with their children.

11:20 pm: I pick my way around the darkened circle to my empty bag and snuggle down. Simon is out cold on my right. They all are; for heaven's sake, it's been a long day!

11:28 pm: I'm on my stomach, propped up on my elbows, trying to figure out how to stow my phone and glasses safely for the night, when the boy on my left sighs loudly and scoots closer. Totally unconscious, he gradually settles his head on the small of my back. I drift off feeling its comfortable weight through my sleeping bag, my ears attuned to the oceanic rhythm of twenty-six children breathing.

Thursday, March 17th

My first instinct when the upswelling of whispers, giggles, rustles and pitter-pattering feet rises to a dull roar all around me is to silence everyone as brutally as possible and burrow back into my sleeping bag as far as I can go. Then I fumble for my phone and realize it is...

7:00 am: Time to get up! Decampment is remarkably smooth -- thanks to Jeff for bringing plenty of coffee! Somehow 26 kids and 11 adults manage to pack up their stuff, have breakfast, make sack lunches to eat later, compose signs for the rally, and clean up, all in two hours. Dale's "pre-Orca" photographs of the Sunday School rooms are particularly useful in getting the place put back together. By 9:15 we are headed back to the capitol.

9:37 am: Before everyone else arrives, I scope out the Supreme Court. It's a formidable room full of extremely serious people in imposing leather chairs, so silent you could hear a pin drop. I sit and listen to a case about a land use permit retroactively rendered worthless by new legislation, and decide I would not want to march twenty-six kids in here en masse. If they really want to witness Justice in action -- and I know some of them do, especially the ones who have served in their classroom's Judiciary Branch -- we could probably bring them in five or six at a time. I tiptoe back outside to confer with the group.

9:52 am: Thoroughly impressed with the need for absolute silence, a small group of children enters the courtroom during a break in the action and settles uneasily onto a leather bench. A woman at the front of the room comes over and whispers something to the parent accompanying them; a moment later the whole group is on their feet, heading quickly for the door. "She says the next case involves the sexual abuse of children," explains the parent. Ah.

The children, of course, are dying to go back in. "We can handle it!" they cry. A long and serious discussion ensues. We all watch a little bit of the hearing on the TV out in the lobby: it's about whether prior convictions should be admissible as evidence in sexual abuse cases. In other criminal cases they are not, of course -- "Would it be fair if I said, 'Oh, you were the one who broke the pencil sharpener last time, so you're probably guilty this time too,'?" Kent asks the kids. But, he goes on, people who hurt kids often do have a pattern of behavior that might be relevant, so maybe in this particular kind of case, the prosecutor should be allowed to bring up the defendant's criminal history at the trial. "That's what they're talking about in there," he says.

It's pretty clear nothing graphic is being discussed... But still, none of the adults are entirely comfortable taking other people's kids in for an up close view of this particular hearing. The fact that we'd be walking into a silent, formidable room where forty serious people in imposing leather chairs will turn around and look at us when we go in, and look again when we get up to leave, doesn't make the prospect much more appealing. In the end the kids and adults agree: Not worth it.

Simon and Sarkis console themselves by taking some pictures:

Who knew the Supreme Court was made of Legos? Photo by Simon

10:20 am: Back to the Legislature for some more committee meetings. When our group files into a Transportation hearing, a man in a red tie nudges his companion and says, "Look, the place is becoming a zoo." Excuse me, sir? Are you referring to these upstanding young citizens? 

The kids sit quietly, listening to bills being introduced, explained, and discussed. They have absorbed enough of the formal atmosphere to be amused when someone violates it -- in one case by displaying excessive enthusiasm about increasing the number of tractor trucks that can legally be hooked together for transport, and in another by being overly blunt in her lack of enthusiasm for the idea.

11:15: We have an appointment with a pair of lobbyists from the Children's Alliance. Jon, who has his adorable two year old with him, further endears himself to some of us by explaining that he's not wearing green for St. Patrick's Day because he's wearing Carolina Blue in honor of March Madness. (This prompts a brief discussion about whether all the other men walking around in light blue shirts are also Tarheels fans, however subconsciously, and whether his sartorial loyalty would be as strong if his team's color was, say, chartreuse.)

Jon and his colleague Lauren explain what lobbyists do, and why. "Democracy is not a spectator sport!" they say. "If we all just sit back and watch it happen, the decisions that get made aren't as good! It only works if we all participate." How can we participate? Easy: "Call, write, and visit your legislators. Tell them what matters to you. It's their job to listen to their constituents."

Photo by Paul Berkelhammer

11:52 am: We eat our sack lunches on the steps inside the Capitol. Then it's time for the rally. The steps outside are full of people with signs and banners. Across the way a giant display contrasts the rights of "We the People" with those of "We the Corporations." In between, there's a podium with a microphone.

Photo by Paul Berkelhammer

Fired-up speakers deliver rousing oratory and lead the crowd in familiar chants. The kids, brought up on annual Martin Luther King Marches at school, know exactly what to do.

12:21 pm: Another speaker is introduced: a student at Orca High School. "Hey!" says one of our kids, "They stole our name!" But then a familiar voice corrects the announcer, "No, it's actually Orca K-8." I turn around -- and there is Josie's friend Josefina, standing at the podium! She's urging our legislators to tax corporations, because we need money for schools and other important things. "Si se puede!" she cries at the end, and the crowd bellows back: "Si se puede!"

12:58 pm: A small group of protesters heads inside to deliver their demands to the Governor and the Legislature, and the crowd begins to disperse. Our class gathers at the top of the steps, out of the rain, to wait for the bus. Kent, a low-key guy not prone to effusive outbursts, looks positively triumphant. 

1:03 pm: The school bus pulls up, ready to take the kids back to Seattle. I stick around long enough to be sure everyone's accounted for, then head to my car.

2:31 pm: Kids and gear delivered safely back to school. Whew! What a trip!

Many, many, MANY thanks to the amazing parents who made it such a success -- most especially Laura and Dale, but also Kate, Susie, Devin, Tiana, Jeff, Paul, Abbey, Michelle, Shawna, and the many others whose behind-the-scenes contributions I'm sure I missed. Thanks also to the First United Methodist Church for putting us up, and to Adam Kline and the Children's Alliance lobbyists for meeting with us and answering our questions.

And of course, kudos to Kent for dreaming up the whole project! And for carefully laying the groundwork in the classroom that made the trip both an unforgettable educational experience and a community-building adventure. You rock!