The Field Trip

In school, field trips were frequent, but none of them focused an entire day on the great outdoors. In the spring of 1968 my seventh grade teacher announced that we were going on a field trip to Forest Park for a botany excursion. It was to be an all day trip so the most of us had geared up for it the night before. Serious things needed to be planned: I had to have enough chips in my lunch, and a can of Shasta Wild Cherry or Tiki Punch, (plus extra candy bars for energy and endurance).

I’d never been to Forest Park; Described to us, it offered an excellent collection of plant life and other specimens worth close study. I envisioned it with great detail, complete with leopards, quicksand and dense jungle to machete my way through. I would chop vines with one hand and hold a Nestlé’s Crunch bar in the other. Though leopards and quicksand were in short supply, there was plenty of Oregon forest. Knowing that mom would never let me bring along a machete, (or even possess one), I had to settle for extra candy bars.

1968 was still a time of relative innocence; being without the techno-gadgetry and maturity that most kids today have, we were still, in a word, kids. Though high school loomed in my not-so-distant future, I was still a boy in grade school. Like many of the kids in my class, I still enjoyed my youth, and was in no particular hurry to grow up. “Batman” was one of the most-watched television shows. We listened to the best music on KISN our local station, and riding our bikes never grew tiresome.

Considering that this field trip was to be an entire day without classes or homework, it would be more of a vacation than anything. We were only supposed to study the plant life and natural resources. Translated, “study” meant have fun all day in the forest and play, or hang out with your friends. What a great outing this would be where I could just basically disappear with a few friends, goof off, and maybe check out a leaf or two.

Wrong.

What I didn't know was that the entire class—my friends included—harbored a hidden agenda: the field trip was to be a girl-and-guy "pairing up". The guys and girls in the class who actually liked each other had been plotting for the entire week before. Where was I when all of this was happening? How could I have not had a clue as to what was happening behind my back? In some instances, this would have been considered treason.

Girls; No, no, no, no, no! The guys pair up, have fun, goof off, and the girls do their things! No inter-mingling!

Such clandestine behavior among my fellow classmates was, as Sylvester the cat might say, "de- thhpicable!" It was a covert operation disguised as a class study field trip when in fact, it was nothing more than a major 'hand-holding" adventure. Every guy in class had a female counterpart either already assigned, or planned. When had all this happened? Under my very nose my best friends had defected to the other side, and conspired with the enemy.

This is what I had learned so far: guys, being devout bachelors at heart, were weakening in battle; guys, as tough as three-inch steel, were giving in to the opposite sex. Granted, the pony tails had been replaced by flip hairdos and window shade eyelashes, and I recognized that shorter skirts weren’t entirely a bad idea. Nevertheless, where were my comrades when I needed them? We were about to descend into the wilds of Oregon with living breathing and giggling girls on our sleeves!

Worse yet, the girls for the most part, acted as if they were doing us the favor! Can you imagine such an ordeal? My fellow troopers had really let me down. How easily swayed we men were! If this was possible, what other malady could fall upon our sturdy shoulders? I had a plethora of questions without answers. Upon interrogating my friends profusely, they looked at me as if to say “what, are you kidding? This is our chance!”

So, after a bit of consideration, I realized that I was basically alone in this matter. Considering the rule of “to get along, you go along”, I really had no choice but to “pair up” with someone. The nagging problem now was who that someone would be. There were still available girls in the class, but not the prettiest, or most exciting ones. As was then as it is today, the most popular hung girls wanted the most popular guys. The most daunting notion of all was that this was it; the time for growing up had arrived. The field trip was rooted in evil.

Weighing the pluses and minuses, this wasn't entirely a bad idea. In fact, with the proper attitude, it could be interesting. I had to admit to myself that I had a few—though remote— attractions to a girl in class. I had definite “dream on” attractions to some, but they were well above my classroom status. The most ravishing girl in class was already spoken for by a guy with Ricky Nelson looks who was also the top athlete in our class.

When the time came for me to ask a girl, I clumsily asked a dark haired classmate named Cheryl if she would like to “go with me” on the trip. I was amazed that she said yes. I hadn’t considered for a moment that any girl would say yes to me. Further, I hadn’t considered that a girl in my class would ever be faced with the same problem of fellowship mutiny that I had faced. Perhaps she had likewise felt abandoned, and was not ready to face the less than complicated world of boys.

I don’t think I slept very well the night before. As we boarded the yellow bus that morning and motored off toward the “forest of enlightenment”, I sat next to Cheryl. Both of us, armed with lunchboxes and notebooks, were fairly quiet during the trip. Occasional snippets of Q & A took place, but with very little intel from either of us. There were no amazing boy-girl revelations, and little came of our mutual questions. I was proud of myself for initiating the conversation.

“What do you like to do?”
“I like to read and listen to music and hang out with my friends.”
“That’s nice.” (not really).
“What do you like to do?” she asked.
“I like to ride bikes, watch TV and hang out with the guys.”
“Hmmm,” she replied.

So much for round one; what a long bus ride this was so far. Upon our arrival at Forest Park, we were dispersed to go out and observe nature. Armed with notebooks, we were to report on plant life, natural resources, and whatever animal life we saw. It was springtime, but bleak and gray. Intermittent bouts of rain had soaked the forest. Emerald leaves were daubed with streaks of water and luminescent drops. The air was a bit chilled, but not terribly cold. There was no sun, only a curtain of gray that provided only muted light in the forest. Darker clouds above passed by threatening more rain. A few showers forced our hoods up, but for the most part, it was a pleasant afternoon.

As I walked along a trail with Cheryl, I saw many of our classmates holding hands with their “partners”. I didn’t ask her permission, I just made the move; I reached down and took her hand. She didn’t seem surprised, nor did she object. Cheryl’s hand felt soft, a bit moist in mine, and much smaller. We walked, talked further, studied things, and for the most part, actually had a good time. I don’t know when, why, or how it happened, but I suddenly realized I had no idea, or concern about where everybody else was. As it turned out, I had a much better time than I ever dreamed I would. This covert pairing up with girls wasn’t a bad idea at all! In fact, it turned out to be a great idea, and the field trip was great.

We let go of hands long enough to pick a leaf or two, study our surroundings, and make a few notes. Surprisingly, Cheryl was the first one to resume the hand-holding. All of a sudden, seventh grade was more interesting. What I feared would be a miserable and ultimately frightening adventure, was quite the opposite, and I enjoyed the trip tremendously. By the day’s end, none of us were the same people that had boarded the bus that morning. All of us were changed, and pleasantly so. I often think back on this field trip, and consider what a great adventure it was; the only nature that was studied was that of ourselves, and we, like the forest, evolved into something beautiful. Cheryl and I were much better friends after that trip. Though we still lived among our elite clans at school, there was a special knowing, more than anything any class or any teacher could have taught us. My days had more meaning after that, and as our world, our music, and we kids changed, it felt good to have had this experience. I often wonder now if that wasn’t the real objective of the field trip.