Crossing Guards

Here is an interesting memory that I do not recall remembering before.

When I was a young boy my older sisters or at least one of them, by virtue of higher grades, whiter teeth or least smelly pre-pubescent armpits was honored with the status of Midnapore Elementary School crossing guard. As I remember it this status accorded them a reflective vest or sash or something. I am unsure if I ever voiced my opinion of this honor to them or not. I do remember eye-rolls and snorts of derision being a part of my response when I learned of these extra-curricular activities. This reaction was certainly a result of jealousy on my part. Not until this week did I realize just how jealous I had been.

I was in my favorite part of PT on Thursday...That's right, the part near the end. We had finished the awful mat-room portion. We had run around three miles of our run. Never in my life would I have guessed that I would enjoy that portion of the workout. But I married a wonderful woman.

I struggle with PT a lot. I don't like getting yelled at. It hurts me...Right in the feelings. The feelings hurt worse than the arms, legs, groin, feet, hands, neck, head, ear-lobes, teeth and hair follicles. However, the instructors are the worst to those who fall behind on the run.
It is these times when I find myself up in the front of the formation along side the standard bearers and section leaders that I love my better third more than ever before. She reaches across hundreds of miles and shields me from the instructors' sharp feeling-rending insults and curses. How does she do this? She taught me to run. I credit her entirely for this (dare-I-say) blissful half hour of PT when I am working hard and hurting, but my feelings are just fine.

But what does this have to do with crossing guards? Friday, in PT the instructor stepped it up a bit towards the middle and again in the last third. My stalwart companions began to fall out and I worked my way to the third place in the formation. There were only about 5 or 6 of us in what could still be called a formation. We slowed and circled to allow the rest of the class to catch up, however briefly, and we continued on. When marching in formation the section leader or instructor will call for "road guards" to run forward and block the traffic. (Men marching or running in formation always have the right of way on base) Usually this job is done by the last rank, but when the formation is running the second rank takes this responsibility(cuz the back of the column is a half a mile behind). Friday because I was right up front, that was me. I sprinted forward with pride and stalwartly assumed the proper position. This means spreading my bulging(and slightly trembling) legs in a firm and ready stance, stretching one hand straight out in front of me, as if to hold back the inbound tons of steel and rubber by main force alone, and as a show of my invincibility, I fold my off hand calmly in the small of my back. I only need one hand to stop you puny mortal contraptions.

After the entire class, including those riding the med-shed gator, had passed I got to sprint again to regain my place at the front. I then realized...I like being a crossing guard. I was reeeaally really jealous of my sisters and their prestige. I coveted their position so much that I subconsciously chose a profession that is essentially just that of a glorified international crossing guard. Granted, there are some subtle differences. My stop sign says stop on both sides. I get to search passing students for drugs and weapons. My sisters got sweet sashes and vests. I get a camel back, a badge, a wonderful assortment of weapons, and this...Lisa prefers the pose with the smile. My instructors seem partial to the other one. Either way, It will look a lot more impressive with the real pistol instead of the red rubber training pistol you see there, and lets not forget the shiny gold badge that Lisa will pin on me in less than 4 months when I graduate.