The Red Badge

THE RED BADGE

"badge /băj/

noun

1. A device or emblem worn as an insignia of rank, office, or membership in an organization.

2. An emblem given as an award or honor.

3. A characteristic mark or indicative trait."*

I think it was a red badge that set me on my actual life path. It was simply because red was my favorite color ever. When school started and I got my first official CRAYOLA crayons, I went right to red and felt a kinship with that color and will forever. I mean it was, after all, the color of Dorothy’s shoes, the loudest color of the rainbow, the color of the Valentine heart and Elmo, the color that has sometimes been your friend by signaling danger ahead.

It was in the seventh grade that I knew I had this affinity for, love affair with, no, OBSESSION over RED. As I think back over my wardrobes, there was always a splash of red on a garment or when I could find it, an entire dress in that color. I felt empowered, in charge, alluring—think of any other adjective that lets you know you are who you were meant to be.

Why the seventh grade? It was then that we all became members of the Safety Patrol for the school. We had belts and badges and were sworn to protect the safety of students in our charge. It was the big time, we were being recognized as being responsible, helpful, a person who was willing to serve. I think everyone served through the year. But as I think back something amazing comes to mind. We voted on who would fill the hierarchical positions, each person wearing a badge on their white safety belt that bore their title and the color associated with that status.

I decided I NEVER wanted to be the CAPTAIN, and it had nothing to do with responsibility. The Captain’s badge had a blue background and the word CAPTAIN emblazoned for all to see. Well, I was never overly fond of blue. But the Lieutenant slot, ah, that was a horse of a different color, so to speak. That badge was RED. The Sergeants wore a green badge and those who were general members sported a plain silver badge. Truth be told we all had the responsibility of the same job of protecting those who needed our care—little ones, inattentive ones who might wander into harm’s way. We all took this very seriously, we were sworn in officially by either the school principal or perhaps even an officer from the local police force. And we had arrived, guardians of those who needed our help.

Destiny took a hand here, or I willed it or my guardian angel rigged, uh, guided the election process and I was voted in as a Lieutenant. The die was cast, the Rubicon was crossed and I was and remain to this day a lieutenant in almost every job I have ever held.

Again, I must vow to you that it is not entirely the responsibility that would bother me about job descriptions, it was the level of interaction. If you were a boss, you were like an iceberg—official, cool under fire, and living in a sort of rarefied atmosphere, only divulging part of your work self. You were charged with being official, setting and following the rules and guidelines, and “being the boss” of everyone under your command.

Lieutenants? Well, lieutenants are sort of like a supply officer in the Navy. Probably like the ones we have read about or seen in movies. Lieutenants were sort of forced by circumstances to act on their own recognizance, often making decisions on the fly and being willing to accept that mid-level responsibility. Lieutenants were, as in the military, the go-between of boss and worker bees.

Well, for every job I ever held they might as well have resurrected my old Lieutenant’s badge and pinned it right on me from the start. And I have to say I would have loved that. I was the intermediary person, the relay gal of messages from and to the higher ups. Often I held responsibility over projects and a few other employees, but never wore the crown. You see, the crown in my mind was “blue” and I was clearly a woman made to wear “the red.”

Who is to say what really caused this penchant for being a middle woman. I only know that in such times and jobs I was myself, wheeling and dealing and getting the job done. I knew people’s names and their children’s names and personal details about them, even considered them good friends. I spent most of my 25 years in my various positions being a lieutenant, and I relished it. When I walked the halls, I could call out to folks by name, and when I retired I felt I had some good years “under my belt” by serving those people and daily helping them as my duties directed.

How does one know where he or she belongs in a hierarchy? I truly don’t know for sure. Some of it is your very own personality—do you like people and want to mingle among them daily or do you like time alone in your office? In the Myers Briggs personality world are you an ENFP like me or are you introverted and precise and data-oriented? I guess lieutenants like me could be seen as misfits, not the leader, but not the worker bee exactly. Lieutenants function in a people-oriented, loosey-goosey kind of way that is in a category for those who want to be “line officers.”

It’s incumbent upon me to say that none of these categories can exist without the others. It does take a village to get the work done. It’s just that in my village I always wore the red badge and that suited me. I’m glad that Fate chose me to be the handmaiden, the middle gal, the one that got to mingle a bit. I wouldn’t change a thing, especially my badge color.

*American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language, 5th Edition