The energy was palpable as my fourth-grade class and I boarded the bus for our annual pilgrimage to the John W. Engeman Theater in Northport. We departed our Mount Sinai campus for the musical “Matilda,” adapted from the children’s novel by Roald Dahl.
For the students, this meant freedom from the confines of the classroom, and were they ever amped up! Outnumbering me 26-1, they had me right where they wanted me. I patrolled the bus aisle, ensuring each seat belt was securely fastened for their safety and my sanity. Having learned a long time ago that limiting mobility limits shenanigans, I settled in for the rambunctious ride.
Leaving the comfort of the Mount Sinai Elementary School walls results in a loss of control and ensuing anxiety. In school, with students seated at their assigned desks, I need not worry about anyone succumbing to motion sickness. The prospect of losing a student is nonexistent. But after arriving, we would be 40 minutes from campus if anything went wrong.
And we arrived not a moment too soon, as the bouncing ride of the school bus had me feeling nauseated. Meanwhile, the unfazed students were ushered inside, and the show began.
Once again, the theatrical performance did not disappoint, and the students and I were left in awe by the talent.
Boarding the bus for the final leg of our adventure home, I conducted a quick head count. Everyone accounted for, and off we went.
The students, excited by the sights and sounds they just witnessed, were busy with chatter. I proceeded to calm my mind with the challenge of “What can I spot?” Many hours of my youth were spent peering through the car windows as my parents drove us here and there. I’d search the roadsides for rabbits, woodchucks, deer, hawks and soaring vultures. Over the years, I’d trained my eyes to notice the slightest movement or oddity of outline and shape. I derived much…
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