What struck me so profoundly was the fact that so little has changed. The football players rush the pre-polished gymnasium floor. They strut and stick out their chests and heaven forbid their arms actually swing or (gasp!) touch the sides of their bodies. As the captains glower about at their adoring fans, the crowd goes WILD, screaming in pure exhaltation. It's all enough to send you into a frenzy. Soon the band begins to play Zoot Zoot Riot [riot!] and I can't hold it off any longer, this feeling of suddenly being fourteen years old again, furtively glancing about, hoping to catch the eye of one particular crush of the week. I have to take a few deep breaths and steady my gaze, reminding myself that no, I am not in the throngs of high-school angst, but twenty two years old, and a teacher at that. I am calm and controlled. These escapades are for the young and the foolhearted, not someone like me: older, mature, settled.
This, of course, is a fantasy as well. I am no more settled than Christopher Columbus as he sailed his ocean blue. When was that, 1492? Punk bastard. Ugh. Ok, maybe I'm selling myself a little short.
Either way, here I am. Actually, I don't think I've mentioned that yet: I am in Blowing Rock, at my aunt's Condo. The view is absolutely breathtaking and I am soaking in as much serenity and relaxation as possible before the coming weeks. There are hummingbirds everywhere, hovering incessantly, as if torn between two worlds: the treetops and the sweet succulence of the feeders. Or perhaps they are just saying hi. I say hi back, naturally, and somehow, all feels right in the world. Is it the hummingbird? the mountains? or is it something deeper, something within myself? Or are all of these one in the same? I like to think the latter.
2 comments:
Wow. I think I know the feeling. Except, for me, its the memory of standing in the bleachers holding up a banner that said "baah! baah! You are all sheep!" Being condescending, thinking that it somehow made me special, while the girl I'd fallen in love with (and who, incidentally, made the banner) walked 10 miles to Walmart to work and I didn't even realize it. Not my proudest memory, but one that can still stop me in my tracks.
The same feeling hits me when I'm coaching debate tournaments now, a flood of memories that make me feel both old and foolish. Its probably why I have such a soft spot for teenagers - such energy, enthusiasm. Have no trouble thinking of ways to change the world. And then I think of another kid I knew named Chris Lowry, who dropped out the semester before he graduated and no one knew why, or all the 16 year old girls in community theater with 24 year old local boyfriends. Also a time when people begin falling through the cracks.
Somehow it falls to us to guide both of them. Yet, we're not all that removed from high school ourselves - 4 years (hah.) through a program that is supposed to make us capable of teaching them. If four years of rushed homework and hasty career decisions and experimental living can prepare you to guide a classroom full of minds. In some capacities, but not others.
Back to the thesis...thanks for the reverie, you're a good writer.
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