Rules by Taylor Hubbard

In summers I work at the “Rally” program in a school near my home. Don’t bother yourself about what “Rally” stands for, I don’t even know. It’s a sort of, “put your kids here parents if you don’t have the time to take care of them” kind of thing. It’s like an extension of school. During the school year Rally runs from about two to six, but it’s an all day affair during summer. When I accepted the job I had to answer some questions about “whether or not I would be alright with enforcing policy I didn’t agree with personally.” Of course my personal policy is to lie on those sorts of questions. Most child related policies are ridiculous. A child’s life is hedged in by rules. They confront them at every turn. Now, this has been the case for almost all children— ever. But even within my short lifespan I’ve seen the rules (and, more importantly, their punishments) multiply in a horrifying fashion.
I remember a time when my group and were sent to the principals office for playing a certain game. In retrospect, it does sound like a pretty horrible game. It was called “sacrifice” and involved one player clinging to the edge of the “big toy” (you all know what I mean) while the others tried to push him off. Trust me, it sounds a lot worse than it was. Anyway, somebody noticed and we were all sent to the principal’s office. No big deal. But the same incident would not blow over so easily in today’s schools.
Neither would the gigantic Gastineau Fight. I’ll probably never see the like again. I’m not exactly sure how it started, but somehow a large disturbance, which you might call a brawl, broke out between about sixty or seventy fourth to fifth grade students. Dust and gravel flew in every vector. For once the “duty-aides” were powerless. It sounds like a disaster, but it was great fun. We weren’t trying to kill each other or anything, although some got hurt. I acquitted myself well as I recall, until lardsome Daniel Anderson jumped on me. It was a great story among us for a long time, but can you imagine the consequences of such a thing today? Counseling and suspension probably; maybe expulsion for the ringleaders.
Then there was the time my brother was almost suspended— without even moving. His offense? He had a couple spent .22 caliber bullet casings in his pocket. He was in the third grade, what a dire threat to society.
I’ve worked in schools, and seen many a quite normal child banished to the happy-faces remedial counseling sessions or what have you— mostly for trifling little things. They hadn’t kept rocks in the door and snuck into school over break, they hadn’t been in a serious fight, they hadn’t “rescued” their peers from the principals office (Incidentally, I don’t recommend that, it doesn’t work too well), they hadn’t brought a pocket knife to school, hadn’t trampled and dented the roof, often enough they hadn’t really done anything. If recall, one spirited youngster was drug off for “disrespectfully” leaning on the wall.
Now, these are things I experienced, they didn’t happen very long ago. I’ve heard my dad tell much better stories. Tales of sneaking through air vents, pouring water on teachers from above, spying on the girls locker room by the same token, chemical mayhem in chemistry class, legends of the shining Archie Lo and his paddling of the principal, and the hijacking of the school intercom. And what did his peers receive for their mischief? Very little grief, I can tell you that. Bear in mind though, these things happened in a time when children were still allowed to throw snowballs.
In our day however, children are not allowed to throw snowballs. An entirely useless rule, if I do say so myself. Why? Because that law, and its brethren never actually prevent these acts from occurring. Everyone is going to throw snowballs no matter what. In effect, the rule exists only to dole out unneeded punishment. And that’s why when I’m in charge, I usually let the kids off.
Some rules simply create misery for teachers and students alike. In particular I’m thinking of a rule at Gastineau about “the hill.” The hill is a middling size terraformed hill with trees and paths etc etc. It was installed about fifteen years ago, and it’s been a great success. However, to the dismay of Gastineau staff, there is a stream that runs through the hill— a stream that unofficially determines where school grounds become public territory. For this reason, students are forbidden to cross the stream, except when I’m around. Tell me, which makes more sense: running up and down a large stretch of water trying to keep kids from hopping to the other side and back, or watching them and making sure they don’t go any further? I’m no Sisyphus.
The Rally children are, moreover, forbidden from picking up sticks. Maybe the policy makers up top have never met young boys (or girls) before, or maybe they’re just idiots. Kids will pick up sticks. And they’ll have swordfights with them. And nobody will get hurt. The way I see it, rules are supposed to reduce the need for teachers to correct kids individually on everything. Theoretically this would be a sound concept. Keyword: theoretically. In real life, you just end up sermonizing to each child individually, explaining why their failure to keep their feet dry has no doubt sealed their fate in a dead end job at Micky D’s. If everyone would cut down the rules, and spend that same effort keeping a watchful eye out for the kids, everything would be much better. I know this because this is how I operate. None of the other employees ever want to supervise the hill, because they’re afraid of the sticks and the stream.
Of course, this tactic is a double edged sword. The kids love me. They tell me, “you should be the principal,” and many similar things. But, things can go wrong, a bit.
You should all know, if you weren’t deprived as a child, how to twist up a rag and snap it at stuff. One day I was wiping off the lunch tables, and a couple little girls had stayed behind to give me a helping hand. Their idea of helping involved a good deal more mess-making than I would’ve liked. Anyway, I found myself in the presence of some wet towels and, not being able to help myself, snapped a couple volleys at the gym wall. Of course this astounded Bella and Anna, who desired to learn the ways of troublemaking. So, I taught them (even though they were terrible). And all in involved were pleased, until one of my one-up fellow workers dropped by. “What are you girls doing!,” she said. They were ineffectively slapping the wall with wet towels. Not answering the question, they continued to complicate my job with their happy reply, “Taylor taught us!” Shelly wasn’t too happy.
However, I’ve never been concerned with the overall happiness of Shelly. She’s also the woman who makes kids stay out of the water at the beach, won’t let them jump off the swing, won’t let them jump off the toy, and forbids them to take off their shoes at any time. This is at the beach mind you. She attempts to achieve compliance by showcasing a giant bucket of glass to the kids before every beach excursion. “See this?” she asks, “I found this all in one day at the beach!” This of course is a lie. I go to that beach all the time, glass is scarce. I’ve lived all my life and never seen, or heard, of anyone getting cut there. In my experience, fear is not the best way to keep children in line. That’s why while Shelly is resting her lazy ass in the shelter, and I’m the one watching the beach, kids get to do more or less what they want. But perhaps the other staff don’t know any differently. After all, they basically enforce these rules for fear of the consequences.
I’m sure that by now I’ve accumulated a great deal of disagreement in the proverbial stands, so before I go, I’ll tell you the results of my little experiment. The results were far greater than my expectations. They told me back in the day “don’t try to be friends with the kids, or they won’t listen to you,” and there’s truth to that. But I did try to be someone they would admire and feel comfortable with, and it worked. Beyond petitions for my assumption of the title of “principal” (a title which doesn’t exist at Rally, but is the highest position of authority kids are accustomed too), children would actually listen to me when I told them things. Without pretending to listen I might add. And to my astonishment, I heard many kids complaining that the other “teachers” were only yelling at them, that they didn’t like it, and that I was better. The head Rally honcho would ask children to tell her “if there was anything wrong,” but they never did. Instead they told me how they thought “somebody” should tell her.
People forget that kids are people too, even though they’re smaller. It’s like when people pretend to be astounded, “Wow! Fish can feel pain? Who knew!”, or “Breaking News: Dogs may feel jealously!” Any being higher on the chain than pond scum should already know these things. And it’s willful ignorance, or negligence, to ignore these obvious truths. Now, I haven’t compiled this evidence to make myself look good. No, I’ve compiled it to make the higher ups look bad. Why are children relying more on a rule-busting first timer instead of the experience caretakers? Something’s gone awry.