Dateline: Westminster, SC: Once upon another life I was a name brand elementary school teacher in the upper regions of this, the greatest state in the union. Just as the crocuses bloom, a rite of spring in any South Carolina third grade is the field trip to Columbia.  Students memorize the pledge to the state flag, the state symbols, and the state dance. There are some wild variations of the shag that wrap around the feet of an eight year-old.

Before our adventure began, I prepared a Field Trip Scavenger Hunt on paper to keep the students “engaged in meaningful learning pursuits,” (quoted by principals everywhere.)  The children witnessed sightseeing marvels as we left town, Uncle Claude’s red pickup and William’s All Night Super Suds Washerette.  The further we traveled the more complex the items became:  the left hand rest area on I-385, The Wal Mart Distribution Center, and Malfunction Junction, a highway maze in Columbia designed by an engineer sleepwalking through a drug laced nightmare.

My rookie year on the trip found me with a Spanish-speaking bus driver.  This was a rare privilege, but Juan spoke no English.  Despite sending a child through college to become a Spanish teacher, the only part of the language I know is, “Hola.” After our first, “Holas,” Juan, through gestures, let me know that he didn’t know the way to the State Museum.  I knew we were in trouble; my wild sign language wasn’t accurate enough to point him in the right direction.

Thirty minutes behind schedule we parked at the State Museum.  The director of tour guides gave me a look as cold as a reindeer’s bath in the Arctic Ocean.  The head docent with her black bun placed us in the back of the tour line and the bathroom line.  Suffering from the boredom of a dry history lecture and squeezed within one hundred people, I rebelled.

I whispered to each of my parents, “take your group and tour this place with your map.”  The long-winded tour guide never knew we left.

Perhaps I paid for my rebellion as I walked outside on the cobbled sidewalk.  Losing my balance, I turned my ankle. I grabbed one of my little boys by the neck, using it as a cane. I shrieked in pain and the poor kid cried out in fear.  He imagined that he was being punished and his whole life passed before him.  Later, I thanked him for “sticking his neck out” for me.

In a miserable state of pain, I turned the class over to a parent. We lunched at Riverbanks Zoo and I spent the afternoon “on ice” at the elephant exhibit. The upside of this experience was that I vowed to restart my diet after being forced to look at this overweight zoo attraction for two hours. The ankle also provided entertainment for the bus trip home.  The children constantly passed by to view “the swelling ankle exhibit.”

Juan and I parted great friends.  He taught me the phrase, “hasta luego”, and we laughed at our misadventures. We were forever bonded by the experience of navigating that foreign territory, Columbia, South Carolina.