I am not a field trip parent
Making peace with who I am--and am not
I am not a field trip parent. When the chaperone signups go out via email, I notice how quickly the spots fill up, and I never am one of the parents racing to take a slot. My children have noticed this. “Why don’t you go on our field trips?" they ask. I blame it on work, but I know that is not entirely fair. I have enough flexibility built into my schedule where I could probably swing taking the time off with enough advance notice. Frankly, I must admit that it just does not feel like a valuable use of my time.
Now, I will say that my children are part of a school system with highly involved parents, so the school is never wanting for volunteers. If anything, usually there are not enough volunteer spaces for parents who are interested. I understand wanting to volunteer at school functions—it is interesting to see how children behave out of their home environments. You can glean so much from observing peer interactions and being in the background. I would love to have this insight, but I do not love rearranging my schedule when there are already plenty of other volunteers, and I feel like I am standing around. I realize that this means that I do not know many of my kids’ peers’ parents well, and I feel some sadness about that. I also do not want my kids to absorb the message that they are not important.
Yet, when I root around my conflicted feelings about not being a field trip parent and dig a bit deeper, I really do think it’s okay.
I almost feel guilty for not feeling guilty…How is that even a thing? As I write that statement down and try to achieve some objective distance, I see how ridiculous societal expectations are on parents’ (read: still primarily mothers’) time. I am supposed to be crushing it at work so that I set an example of professional ambition to my children but also ready to drop everything to be there the second my child or the school needs me. That just does not always work.
There are plenty of ways that I support the school: I always send money and supplies when they are requested. I prioritize reading with my kids every night to reinforce what they have learned and try to prevent the summer slide. I read the weekly teacher emails and review homework. But I can only take on so much.
It’s funny: when I talk to most of my friends, I discover we have landed in different places. Many of my friends are the field trip parents, and they love the school trips to the zoo or historical village. They know all of their kids’ classmates’ names.
There is real value to be had in volunteering that cannot be fostered through Venmo or writing a check. I know this from my church and community work. I do not want to be that person who simply asks “Where do I send the money?” Except in this case, I am that person. And it is okay.
How often do I focus on my deficits instead of my strengths? Where I am not showing instead of where I am?
No, I am not a field trip parent, but I am a parent who cooks a nutritious dinner almost every night. I am a parent who still reads with her almost-13-year-old (and said preteen still likes it). I am a parent who plays board games and watches family movies on weekends. I am a parent who takes walks with the dogs and kids and husband after dinner most evenings.
I bet I am not the only one who succumbs to fixating on what I do not do. I believe there is a place for self-criticism; noticing where we fall short or what bothers us can lead to important reflection and spark intentional change. The negativity bias is real, though: I notice what I do not do much more than what I do. So maybe I do not need to offer paragraphs of explanatory notes about why I am not a field trip parent. Maybe I can just say, “No, I don’t do field trips,” and leave it at that. Maybe I'm actually doing just fine.
I am not a field trip parent. Full stop. No apology needed. The school will survive without me corralling third-graders through the butterfly exhibit. My kids will survive too—perhaps with slightly fewer memories of me looking harried while counting heads on a school bus, but with plenty of memories of me being fully present when it mattered most to them.
And if anyone asks why I'm not on the field trip? I'll just tell them I'm saving my energy for the next rousing family game night.
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