Well, I won't go into the excrutiating details that I know about this topic, but I will tell you why this is even on my mind. For one of our core classes, "Health Program Planning" we are meant to learn about planning and executing different interventions and programs through fieldwork. We were given a list of assignments to perform this fieldwork and I ended up working on the Playground Safety Assessment project. Not my first choice, but we have to roll with the punches. So for the past 2-3 months my "team" has been learning about playground safety, how to assess it, teaching others how to do so, and presenting our findings. Again, not my first choice.
I'm not necessarily what you would call "mechanically inclined". I am very blessed to have a great father and a wonderful boyfriend who are extremely helpful when it comes to using heavy duty tools (like rulers and such). I am actually somewhat intimidated by tools and measurements and things. I was going to take some kind of research methods class last spring, but when the professor emailed me the syllabus and on the list of supplies we needed graph paper and a compass and protractor, I dropped it (the class). Just not for me.
So anyway, the idea of me wearing a toolbelt and walking around playgrounds with a tape measurer and a clipboard is kind of silly. And that is exactly how I have felt for 2-3 months as I did this. I wasn't sure if this project would even have an impact on people, but luckily I sprained my ankle about a month into the project and was able to use that as a scare tactic by telling parents, "This happened on an unsafe playground. Is this what you want to happen to...your...children?!" Cut the judgment, I told them the truth eventually.
But yesterday we went to present about playground safety at some conference at the request of our professor. When we got there they started to tell us we had to register as members of their organization (paying $30 in addition to the $20 we had already paid just to register for the conference--have I mentioned we are poor graduate students?). We explained to the [extremely rude] registration table that we were just helping with a presentation, would only be there for an hour, and weren't even attending any other sessions. They agreed to "hold" our forms and discuss it with the head honcho of this "conference".
So we presented and we were witty and charming, naturally, did a wonderful job, and amazed the crowd... Or something similar. But as we made our triumphant way out of the room and down the hall, a rather large, burly, intimidating...woman... stepped up to us and she literally said, "I need you three to come with me." I suddenly developed that knot in my stomach that you used to get when you were like 7 years old and your parents got home and you had been dressing up your little, 2 year old sister as clown and putting all kinds of crazy makeup and junk all over her without anyone's permission and she was crying her eyes out. Okay maybe that wasn't you, maybe it was just my older sister (I'll see if I can find and scan in the photo for your amusement). Point being that when the burly woman ambushed us, I had that panicked, "Crap, I'm in trouble" feeling.
So she led us over to Mrs. In Charge and Mrs. In Charge proceeded to lecture us about professionalism and how she didn't know if it was our micommunication or our professor's, but you don't just go help present at a conference without registering to be a member of that organization (not necessarily true...we are students) and told us that she would be sending us the forms by email and we could send them the forms (and money). For the time that we were there. So that would be $20+ for registration plus $30 for membership so $50+. That would be for a total of 1 hour. From the entire conference. Assisting our professor. Did I mention that we are poor graduate students? I thought so. Because we are.
Sorry, there were a lot of fragments there. But really? I found great irony in being lectured about professionalism while surrounded by 500 people in wind- and sweatsuits. But I'm not naming names!
The moral of the story is that playground safety only leads to trouble.
I have to disagree here...Yes, I dressed you up as a clown. Yes, I put a wig on your head and made you wear an old dance costume. Yes, I used all kinds of fabulous makeup that mom bought us FROM THE CIRCUS! But NO, you were not crying. And, just for the record, mom thought we were so cute as we climbed up on the piano so that she could take her picture. So HA!
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