Safety Patrol
Candidate for the Patrol
What was designed to be an honor turned into a month of anxiety producing hiding. It was in fifth grade when I was chosen to be a safety patrol member in training.
In the quiet neighborhood where I lived, most children walked to and from school. Safety Patrol members held the lofty position of protecting students as they crossed the two busiest intersections near the school. These honored sixth graders wore badges that read, ‘Junior Safety Patrol,” on strapped belts across their chests and around their waists.
In the spring of my fifth grade year, my teacher announced that it was time to choose potential safety patrol members for the following year. The top two candidates in all of fifth grade would begin training and join the patrol for the month of May. They would then become squad captains the following year. She asked any interested students to raise their hands.
I shot my hand straight into the air and waved my arm in earnest. Almost every other student did as I did. Each candidate's name went on the chalkboard. The other fifth grade classes had similar lists. With so many students interested, I assumed I would never be chosen and promptly forgot about the possibility.
No Joy at Being Chosen
In late April, the fifth grade teachers appeared together in our room. They were pleased to announce the boy and girl chosen for the coveted safety patrol leadership roles. The teachers grinned, looked over to me, and announced my name as the girl leader.
I was shocked. Kids cheered. My heart sank. What should have been a joyous moment of celebration was instead filled with dread. I hadn’t asked my parents’ permission to participate.
I walked home, planning how I might ask my mother so I had the best chance of receiving consent. She told me flatly that I wasn’t to do it. For the role, I needed to arrive at school early each morning and stay late in the afternoon and she didn’t have a car to drive me.
I didn’t know what to do. The entire fifth grade knew I had been chosen. My teacher spoke of her pride in having a student in her classroom selected for the honor. The other children envied the badge and belt I received.
I felt trapped in a no-win scenario. If I obeyed my mother and didn’t become a member of the safety patrol, I would let my teacher down and have to deal with questions from friends and fellow students. If I joined, I would need to hide the role from my mother.
A Flawed Strategy
After a sleepless night, I schemed that I could wake up at my normal time every morning, run to school and arrive in time to stand at my appointed post. I could dash home at the end of the day after my tasks at the intersection finished. My mother would never know and I could fulfill my duties without question. This seemed the best possible solution. I set out to do it.
I lived a little less than a mile from the school. Every school day in May, I ran to and from school, hiding my rolled up belt and badge in my coat pocket. If my mother knew, she never spoke of it. I fulfilled my responsibilities at the intersection. But I was miserable.
Racing to and from school in a constant state of anxiety about being late or being found out robbed the whole experience of its glory. Frequent tardy arrival to my post resulted in being chided by the sixth grade patrol members. I often looked over my shoulder to see if one of my siblings might walk in the direction of my intersection.
I found myself putting on a false front to friends who envied my role. “You are so lucky to be chosen for the safety patrol. Don’t you love it?” I forced a smile and said how great it was. I lied. I couldn’t wait for the month to end. I couldn’t be happy while I hid. Others didn’t know what I hid but it didn’t matter. I knew. I found little pleasure in the charade.
The Downside of Hiding
Hiding what we fear others will discover never works to keep us safe. It only keeps the secret from being exposed for a time. Though I don’t think my mother ever found out, the sixth grade patrol members knew something was up. They looked at me with suspicious eyes. They could tell my heart wasn’t in it.
What I wish I had the maturity to do at the time was to have gone to my fifth grade teacher and explain my predicament. She may have been angry or disappointed in me but I would have survived it. The dread of her or my mother’s response motivated my hiding. I didn’t know how to deal with their disappointment or anger. Hiding created an illusion of safety because I could avoid their responses. Instead it hurt me and rendered me untrustworthy.
Whenever I am tempted to hide because I fear the response of another, I must tell myself the truth. Hiding won’t fix anything. Even if I manage to keep a secret hidden for a season, God knows. God understands the foolish destruction of hiding and invites us to live in truth, knowing that it will set us free.
At the end of May, the sixth grade teachers began talking to me about my role the following year as a captain of the Safety Patrol. They thought I would be excited about it. I gathered the courage to tell them they would need to find someone else. I didn’t want to do it. They were surprised, but accepted my decision. I saw their disappointment. I had been awarded a coveted opportunity and I gave it up.
Seeing their faces and hearing the tone in their voices stung a bit, but telling the truth released me from duplicity. My shoulders relaxed. I turned in my badge and belt and walked home in freedom.
Psalm 51:6 “Behold, you delight in truth in the inward being, and you teach me wisdom in the secret heart.”
Questions to ponder:
How have you thought hiding might help you? In the end, how did it affect you?