I’m Not a Creep. I’m a Pre-School Volunteer, and I’ve Got the Badge to Prove It.

My daughter attends pre-school five half-days weekly.
It's a fantastic institution. I talk about it in the manner with which all parents talk about their kids' fantastic institutions: energetic teachers, engaged curriculum, provides my daughter with fulfillment and education she might not otherwise blah, blah, blah.
It's a good school.

Part of the programme includes each parent spending one day monthly with the kids as a teacher's assistant – we call it our "duty day".
The Duty Day is a fantastic opportunity to be connected and involved in our child's development, participate in their emotional and intellectual growth, and give them a sense of pride which comes from a parent being present in…yadda, yadda, yadda. You understand the drill.

For the third time since we registered her in pre-school in September of 2010, I had a free morning, and was able to spend it as the Duty Parent.
As a logical security measure, Duty Parents are obliged to wear a badge hung from a chord around their necks. This badge identifies them as a "Special Volunteer".
My duties as a Special Volunteer necessitate my occasionally leaving the classroom: to fetch a bucket of water from the teachers' lounge, to be the caboose of the  train of children as we walk to and from the gymnasium, to escort the little students to the washroom. The Special Volunteer is not allowed into the washroom with the children, but is expected to wait just outside the entrance and escort them back to class (after listening from the hallway for hand-washing as well as the tell-tale sounds of reams upon reams of paper towel being wasted for the drying process).

Here's the rub:
I get dirty looks from certain teachers with whom I come face-to-face during my hallway jaunts.
Most of them are smiling, gracious, and engage me in small talk about the little bees buzzing about this grade-school hive. But, there are two or three who seem to regard me as creepy. I'm a man, who is not an employee of the school, wandering among the children. I might be a weirdo. One way to deal with weirdoes is to stare at them weirdly. Glower at them. Suspect. Analyze. Be wary of.
Although my badge identifies me as a Special Volunteer (the thing hangs from my neck to my navel, as visible as a scarlet letter), perhaps I obtained it through illegal means…perhaps I used a color photocopier and a laminate machine from my local video store. (Perhaps if I told them my local video store is now a bankrupt Blockbuster, I would be one step closer to grade-school hallway acceptance).
Perhaps it is my menacing gait caused by the heavy bucket of warm soapy water I'm trudging with to the classroom. Maybe they mistake the 5-year-old holding my hand, hopping by my side, and telling me a story as one desperate to escape the clutches of this vile Special Volunteer.

Maybe I'm paranoid, but just because I'm paranoid doesn't mean they're not out to get me:)
I'd like to compare Duty Day experiences among the fathers and mothers.

These are the conflicted messages fathers receive.
We are told repeatedly that participation in our children's education is vital to their well-being, yet a dad in a pre-school hallway is to be carefully regarded.
As hard as it is being a working mom, being a working dad has similar challenges.
Those challenges are exacerbated when three hours as a Special Volunteer is slightly soured by the wandering eyes of the Special Forces in the hallway.

*****

Only-slightly-related-to-topic thought of the day:
The pre-school programme is anywhere from 2.5 to 3.5 hours, five times weekly.
One of the funnier sights is watching parents run/jog back to their cars after drop-off.
Naturally most of them have work to get to, other children to care for, and chores to complete.
But I wonder how many of them, like me this morning, jog back to their cars hoping to squeeze an extra sip of coffee, and an extra eighteen seconds of quiet into this short period during which there is no one to care for but yourself.