Taking Care of Those Who are Not Your Own
A lady met me at the door welcoming me to the group’s monthly meeting. After a quick exchange of pleasantries, she must have noticed my eyes pass by and then return to the table near the door. On it were piles of greenish-yellow neon vests, signs on sticks, and skinny, orange wands. She answered swiftly before I even asked.
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“We’re school crossing guard people,” she said, as if it were a sticky label they had peeled the paper from the back of and smacked to their left chests.
Of course they were—or are. Theirs is a century-old organization which commits itself to the kinds of things that make the world a better place while simultaneously keeping our growing city of over 100,000 feeling like a town. The categorical alignment caught me, though. “School crossing guard people.” I loved the way it sounded in the air, all matter of fact.
A good bit of the room was filled with walkers of their own respective back-nines—long timers who had ‘been there and done that’ and yet wouldn’t be anywhere else on the third Thursday of the month at 7:00 a.m. But just as many in attendance were in the throes of deadlines and projects and days that do not end at 5:00 p.m. regardless of when they begin. A quick glance would not reveal a through line. The room was a mixed bag of age and gender who stood in unison to salute the flag, pray the prayer, sing the songs, and recite the Four-Way Test. It was peppered with disparate people who together had formed a tribe.
They are “school crossing guard people.” A subset of a subset that both tells me what they do and who they are.
These are people who show up. And own it. Whatever it might be.
As I made my way past the serve-yourself pot of coffee and box full of breakfast burritos rolled up in foil, I could feel the sturdiness of the room. Not the walls or the roof of the building, but the foundation and character of the people who had simply decided to take on ownership of guiding little people from home to school and back again. I admired their gusto and their pragmatic affiliation. Such sureness isn’t all that common anymore. Rarely do people display such sexy pride in doing unsexy things. I knew a lot about them without knowing much at all.
These were people who had clearly moved from the doing of a thing to the importance of getting it done.
There’s a hefty difference between those who sign up to serve at crosswalks and those who consider themselves “school crossing guard people.” I wondered, that morning in the midst of the ritual of “happy dollars” and paper tablecloths, about the jello-y space that separates the two.
The civic meeting adjourned as punctually as it had begun, fundamentally formal and yet somehow neither stuffy nor absurd. Ironically, crossing guard responsibilities had not been on the agenda. The only mention came in the form of a by-the-way cry that coincided with the “BAM” of the gavel. “Don’t forget—school’s about to start!” The prompt came intermingled with the scooting of metal chairs. Evidently, though, this group didn’t need a reminder. I noticed when making my way to the door that the table earlier covered by crossing guard paraphernalia had been wiped completely clean. The get-ups had all been taken by those who had committed to serve.
These people know who they are. They do not need persuading and they neither balk nor drag.
“School crossing guard people” are not an ordinary lot. They’re more than volunteers who agree to sign up for a slot. They’re heroes dressed in neon who draw hard lines and hold hands softly while wearing humility and courage in layers to be revealed as needed, depending on the day. They are business men and women, retired veterans, grandparents and new parents, singles and widowers, and couples who sign up together to shore up both sides of the street. They are people who assume risks and accept responsibilities. They don’t need to be told to be early and they don’t have to be asked to stay late.
They are those who have made a commitment to take care of those who are not their own.
That’s not just a job you sign up for. That’s a way you choose to live.
I drove away that morning with Luke Combs on the radio and this special breed of servants on my mind. “School crossing guard people” embrace the dual existence. They know they are inconsequential and invaluable both at the very same time. These are the kind of people who can see themselves simultaneously as a speck of dust in the world and a necessary contributing cog—one crossing at a time.