one reason why I left teaching: "Kids Gone Wild"

The New York Times Week in Review has a great article that examines some of the reasons for kids' bad behavior. I often felt like I was the first adult ever to have said "No" to some of the students I taught.

giving thanks

I'm at my parents' house taking a break from dinner prep. I spent an hour or so prepping 1.5 pounds of brussel sprouts. There were some weird things growing on the leaves, so I think I pulled about half of the outer layers off. We will be having a traditional turkey dinner with family, a few of my parents' friends, and a couple of Korean grad students who are studying at a local institution.

It's been a tough year for me, but I have plenty to be thankful for, including the following:

• my family - I am lucky to have a large extended family.


• my friends - I don't get to see many of them very often, but they are always in my thoughts. (Come on, people! Hurry up and get a Mac and an iSight already! I need more friends on my buddy list.)


• my job - I am fortunate to work on interesting projects in a place with people whom I respect and like.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

wake up call from my APC

This morning, I was woken up by my APC, the device that keeps my computers safe and happy during power surges and outages. I guess the power was coming in and out because the APC would turn on for one second intervals periodically. It's kind of spooking me out, but maybe if I ignore it, it'll go away. ;-)

I am embarrassed to report that I am going to be about two weeks late turning in my final essay. I missed the final class because of a business trip. In the last 2.5 weeks, I've been out of town 12 days. I am just now getting to revising my last draft. My final draft looks like it's going to be significantly different from the previous drafts; I feel like I'm writing a whole new essay.

I have a couple of blog posts that I haven't finished writing. One is about the people I met during my trip back home from Washington, DC. I plan to catch up over the holiday.

discombobulated

My internal clock is confused and has responded to jet lag in the wrong direction. I am in Virginia for a conference, and last night I fell asleep at 9pm. This morning I woke up at 4:30am, and I don't think I'll be able to go back to sleep. My body seems to be 3 hours ahead of itself instead of 3 hours behind, which is the way eastward jet lag usually works.

I need to work on my personal essay. It is going to undergo serious revamping. My writing teacher gave me some great ideas to play around with last week. I am sad that I will miss the last class because of this conference.

personal essay - version 4

Sudden death overtime. What a shocking image: sudden death. Both teams play until one scores and terminates the game. For some, it marks the end of a collegiate career. For me, it was the death of a part of me that I’m still trying to find a replacement for. As with many games, it all comes down to a single moment. All the preparation and hard work and training boil down to a single moment…and regardless of the outcome, it is etched into my memory.

I had never imagined that I’d play varsity sports in college. I had been a valued member of my high school teams, but I knew my limitations. In the early nineties, my high school was the kind of place where a kid with no previous experience in a sport could try out for the JV team and play. With hard work and dedication, one could make up for the lack of summer sports camps and private lessons. I was neither the fastest nor the strongest player on my teams, but I played with the passion and intensity of an Olympian.

One thing I remember clearly from my first day of field hockey try-outs is watching a senior, varsity player pushing the ball across the grass field. This was just part of a warm-up routine. But as she pushed the ball with eyes looking forward, arms holding the stick in perfect position, and legs moving at top speed, it seemed as though the ball were accelerating along a fixed track. Coming from the West Coast, where field hockey is virtually non-existent, I had never witnessed anyone control the ball the way that these players did. My own attempts at ball handling looked clumsy by comparison. If I didn’t keep my eyes glued to the ball, I’d overrun it and have to backtrack to retrieve it. I gave my best effort during the training drills, and the words of praise that one of the juniors gave me during a defensive drill offered me hope. Running to the top of the 16-yard circle from the end line when it was my turn to go out, watching the offense develop and come towards me, going in for the tackle, and then getting back in line when the play was over…. The focus and energy that were required during these drills grounded me in something familiar from my past life. For at least two hours a day, I knew exactly what I was supposed to do, and that was comforting.

At the end of the second day of tryouts, I was walking back to the field house with the varsity goalkeeper. I don’t remember how the subject came up, but I ended up telling her about my experience playing 30 minutes of a game as the goalkeeper for my high school team when the regular goalie, who was a boarding student, took off at halftime to catch a plane home. Next thing I knew, the varsity goalie looked over to the head coach, started waving one arm in the air, and yelled, “Hey, Chris! This one’s played goal before!” I didn’t know it then, but that moment marked the beginning of the most formative experience of my college years.

Memories of my first weeks as the JV goalie return to me as snapshots – many of them comic as I fumbled with my new position. Getting my goalie equipment on and off was a challenge in and of itself, at first. There were so many buckles, and one day my teammate used the opportunity to sneak up behind me and empty a water bottle over my head after practice. She escaped easily as I sat on the ground struggling to free myself from a legguard so I could go after her.

My first real instruction in goalkeeping began the week before our first away game – about three weeks into the season. The varsity goalie was going to have to miss the game because of the law school admissions test. Williams and Trinity were big rivals in field hockey, and our varsity coach’s attempts to reschedule the game had failed. The varsity goalie worked with me and a volunteer from the varsity team in the days leading up to the contest. I remember two important lessons from that week. First, when trying to close the gap between me and an approaching attacker, move in baby steps. Second, and more important, field hockey goalies hold their stick in their right hand. (Having watched more ice hockey than field hockey, I thought that I was supposed to hold the stick in my left hand. I never questioned the deep purple bruises that I had developed from stopping shots with my unpadded right glove instead of the inch-thick left.)

If the walk up the hill on the second day of tryouts marked the beginning, then the Trinity game created the identity that I would develop over my college career. I was giddy with excitement at going on my very first collegiate road trip – and as an athlete, no less. The morning bus ride through the Berkshire mountains at the peak of the fall foliage season was every leaf-peeper’s dream. When we arrived at Trinity, I could not stop grinning as we walked past the expertly manicured fields bordered by brick buildings whose age was given away by the thick carpet of ivy growing up the sides.

The varsity coach had not decided who she was going to put in the goal. Later in my career, she would tell me that she and the assistant coach, who actually warmed us up for that game, decided that I looked more comfortable than the varsity player who had also suited up, so they went with me. During that warm-up, the former First Team All-American assistant coach drove the ball straight into my shin, leaving me momentarily on the ground clenching my teeth and clutching my right leg. How that ball always managed to find the gap between my pads baffled me.

In the final team huddle before the start of the game, the coach told me that I would be starting. I remember thinking, “Oh my God.” Minutes into the start of the game, a questionable call by the referee gave Trinity a corner (similar to a corner kick in soccer), and they got off a quick shot on goal. I did the splits in an attempt to make the save, but the ball was just out of my reach. Fortunately, the senior sweeper was in perfect position to stop the shot on the goal line. As her brother would say after the game, the expression on her face resembled “a squirrel who had just found a nut.”

The score remained tied at 0-0 for most of the game until one of our juniors scored. We had the lead 1-0 and the sweeper ran over, grabbed the bars of my face mask, looked me straight in the eye and said, “Jane, we are not going to lose this game.”

We did not lose that game to Trinity. The score ended 1-0, and the post-game celebration was a blur of cheering and hugging that left me dazed and high on adrenaline and endorphins. In a single athletic contest, I had acquired an instant identity and an instant family.

I finished my inaugural season playing JV games and accompanying the varsity team as their backup goalie. The next season, I beat out the first-year recruit and started for the varsity team, but I felt far from confident. What did I really know about being a varsity goalie? The Trinity game could have been a fluke. Now, it was trial by fire on a daily basis. Luck can play and does play and important role in what happens in sports, but discipline and training are what sports are all about.

As I settled into my new role, I developed a routine. I arrived at the field before any of my teammates did and took a warm-up lap or two. Then I’d stretch. Then I’d start putting my gear on. Right shinguard, left shinguard. Right kicker, left kicker. Right legguard, left legguard. And so on from bottom up until I put on my helmet and gloves. It was very important for me to go through my pre-game ritual. The solitude gave me the opportunity to center my thoughts and focus on the game or practice ahead. It was my job to protect our goal during games. I took that responsibility seriously, and this meant that in practices, it was not only my job to develop my own goaltending skills, but it was also my duty to help my teammates hone their offensive and defensive skills by making it extremely difficult for them to score on me. I forced them to earn every point that they got. I made them better, and they, in turn, made me better. This is the meaning of teamwork.

Between the Trinity game and my final collegiate game, my teams enjoyed an undefeated regular season and three straight appearances in the NCAA Division III tournament. I devoted my heart and soul to my team, and I was rewarded with close friendships with my coach and teammates and recognition for my accomplishments on the field. Although much of what happened was the result of luck as much of effort and I should be thankful, I’m still left with a profound sense of loss.

In my final collegiate game against Lebanon Valley College in the 1996 NCAA quarterfinals, four years of training and preparation came down to a single decision. After regulation, we were tied 1-1, so we went into 7-on-7 sudden death overtime. Only seven players per side were allowed on the field, so the field was more open and the gameplay faster. A Lebanon Valley player managed to get open and take a shot from the right side of the circle. I saw the shot and made the split-second decision to do the splits instead of diving for the ball. My left leg lunged out to meet the ball, but it sailed past the tip of my toes. The sound of the ball striking the metal baseboard of the goalcage signaled the end of my season and career.