My eleven-year-old son went to Nashville yesterday. It’s a pretty monumental field trip for fifth graders at his school. Ideally, this is to give him and his friends some level of interest in civics by visiting the Capitol and seeing how government works at the state level in Tennessee. The reality? It’s a long-ass day for parents and one that usually marks the first time we’re in a different time zone from our spawn.

Let me set a bit up for you folks before I continue. The school year is essentially over. The boy and his friends graduate on Monday. Summer starts next Thursday. They are all eleven-year-old boys ready to stop studying for sixth grade and start playing during summer.

Despite this, I and many other parents were handed a two-page sheet of “behavioral expectations” prior to our children going on this trip. Here is a list of those expectations:

• Children must sit in one seat and remain in said seat on the bus to and from Nashville.
• No loud talking when speakers are giving speeches or government is in session.
• Only use the restroom when necessary so it remains open for emergencies.
• No Nee-Doh, slime, or other items that can pop.
• All food and drink trash must be cleaned up.

In short, my son and his friends are expected to behave better than the elected officials who occupy the Capitol during special sessions. Go figure.

Anyway, the day started with him waking at 5 am to get dressed and eat breakfast. We had a hard report to school window of 6:00-6:15 and I was not going to let him miss this trip. The boy made waffles while I fed the dog.

Fortunately, Dr. S. didn’t have to be anywhere this particular morning so my daughter got to sleep in extra late. That was nice. Both my kids shouldn’t have to pay for one needing to be up at the ass crack of dawn.*

While we made the short drive to his school, I tried to keep myself awake by singing along to stuff on the radio. It’s not ideal, but I’m trying to cut back on caffeine consumption so it has to do. As I’m doing my level best Carpool Karaoke version of Dire Straits’ “Money For Nothing,” my son asks me the following:

“Daddy, can you sing that song “Far, Far Away?”
“I’m not familiar with it, son.”
“That’s okay, Daddy. If you’ll get out of the car and start walking I’ll let you know when to start.”

I took that as my cue to shut up.

We said goodbye at the school’s lower level parking lot so as to not block the buses from leaving. I then proceeded to work for the day.

The teachers have this app the school system paid millions for called ParentSquare. It’s basically a text message app. That the school system paid millions for. I wish I could come up with a way to get people to pay millions for text messages they send daily. That would be nice.

Anyway, I expected to get some photos or at least a few more personalized updates during the day. I was unfortunately denied. We did get a text message of what bus our kid was on and when they left Nashville proper.

At least we didn’t have to provide snacks or lunch. All that was provided if we asked for it on the permission forms. That was at least nice.

He finally got home around 6:15. Tired and needing to turn the day around in short order, I asked the boy if he wanted to forgo dinner and eat ice cream instead.

The boy accepted my proposal. That’s how I know he’s my son, among other reasons.

See y’all next time!

*Ed. Note: Sit down. I have something to tell you about the “ass crack of dawn,” and it’s going to make you sad.