My Civic Duty: We learned in Kindergarten

There’s a lot of sitting quietly, waiting patiently, and then responding quickly when your name is called.

One of the People in Charge just said to her group, in a most harsh and condescending tone:

“This is like kindie-garden. You need to turn on your listening ears, and know who your partner is as we travel through the hallways. We are all adults here, people.”

Wowsers.

First of all, as a former kindergarten teacher, please don’t call it kindie-anything.

Second, that last statement sums it up. We are all adults.

Now if you’ll just direct me to my partner, my place in line, and the fingerpaints.

My Civic Duty: Black Ink Only

She complimented me on my green pen, and then she asked me to put it away.

Yes, your honor, jury commissioner.

The questionnaire asks:

What is your occupation?
Author. Just ask amazon.

What does your spouse do?
Many things I envy on a daily basis.

How do you keep up on the news:
Facebook.

What music do you listen to?
Sara Bareilles.

What tv do you watch?
Parenthood.

***

Just kidding. I didn’t answer that way. But wouldn’t it have been great if I had?

My Civic Duty: Live blogging as a Juror

First of all, I promise to be totally legal in what I write. So feel no need to call the authorities to say I am writing some underground coup against the justice system.

No need. Just a girl who’s watching people and serving her country with wisdom and discernment.

So far, I passed the search process. But it was a close one, since I almost
Forgot to take my gloves out of my pocket. We all caught that infraction just in time.

All of this is a couple steps above the airport, since they let me wear my shoes. (I chose them wisely: camel colored heels in a distressed leather that communicates discernment and wisdom and justice.)

I stood in the standing tube that’s very similar to the airport, where I must raise my hands above my head and pretend like it’s all natural for me to be frisked by an x-ray machine.

There is a sign that reads:

DO NOT MOVE.
SIN MOVER!

I do realize that second sentence is Spanish, loosely translated (based on tenth grade Spanish 2 with Mr. Bendekgey) without to move.

I prefer to believe they have called me, as a potential juror, a Sin Mover.

That is henceforth what I will call myself.

“My name is Tricia. I am here to serve my country and thereby move sin.”

Okay, maybe not Never.

“Mommy!  I have been looking everywhere for you, and I thought you left me!”

He was on the verge of tears as he found me in the Target aisle.  I was not far, I had my eye on him, and he had been safe.  He just didn’t know those three things were true.

I got down on his level, the only way to truly make eye contact and a direct point.  “Buddy, listen to me.  I will never, ever, ever leave you.  When you go anywhere with me, you can know for sure that I will bring you back home with me.  I will never leave you.”

His brother tapped me on my shoulder.  He leaned in close, whispering in my ear, “Mommy, I do have to tell you: I’m planning to go to college.”