When I was in High School we had four Houses that competed against each other (yes, just like Harry Potter :P) in the annual Athletics and Swimming competitions. Somehow (don't ask me, I don't know how) I was actually elected House Captain two years running. Actually I think I know how: because nobody else was stupid enough to accept the nomination.
Being House Captain meant I had to inspire the troops, so to speak, which really meant when people were asked if they wanted to run the 100m, or the 200m, or do the High Jump, the Shot Putt, the Discus, etc, and nobody was willing to volunteer, I had to do it. There were a few people who actually volunteered to compete in all of the events, but they were the athletic-types who were actually good at doing that sort of thing. Such as one of the 100m Sprinters who turned up with his Track Spikes, then made the starting official (one of the teachers) wait while he hammered down his starting blocks for when he Took His Mark! and Got Set!
During the Swimming competition when there was again a lack of volunteers, I was once more called on to take part in just about every swimming event, including the diving. My diving repertoire consisted of a pike (which I screwed up trying to do a full tuck), a back somersault, and a forward somersault. Lucky we only got three dives or I'd have been out of tricks. Actually I have one more dive in my stable but it wouldn't have scored very highly.
Bone, I agree, if I were on the Dive Team in the Olympics, and if I knew I was totally out of the running, I would absolutely consider doing a Cannonball, but with my own special twist that I call The Stomper. It starts out just like a Cannonball, but just before entry you straighten out and stomp the surface of the water as hard as you can. Apparently it creates a very loud splatting sound and generates a lot more splash than a standard Cannonball. It never seemed that impressive when my friends did it, then again, everyone else said nobody did The Stomper quite like me...credit probably goes to my big feet :P
So I did the Diving for my House and messed up with the Pike. I think I came fourth out of about 10 competitors. I also did the butterfly, breaststroke, freestyle, and backstroke events, as well as the backstroke leg of the 4x50 relay for my House. During either the Butterfly or Breaststroke both myself and several other competitors were DQ'd for kicking the wrong way, and I think only two swimmers had legitimate finishes. So I botched the diving, and the butterfly or breaststroke, but my unsung hero moment came during the 4x50 relay.
Just as we'd had a Ringer turn up at the Athletic competition with Track Spikes and Starting Blocks, we had a couple of Ringers at the Swimming competition, too. They looked impressive, in their Speedos with matching caps & goggles, and I had the honor of starting against one of them for the opening Backstroke leg of the 4x50 relay. We were neck and neck down the pool, until I gave it everything I had and pulled just a tiny bit ahead to tap the wall ahead of my opponent. I'm not saying I beat him decisively, but I hit the wall first and he hit it second, and he knew it.
Some of our greatest accomplishments in life receive no recognition, no ribbons or medals. We know what we've done, and sometimes that's enough.
"Someone beat me," said my opponent, as he clambered out of the pool. "Someone beat me! Who beat me?"
(Sometimes other people know what we've done, too.)
Amused by his shock and disbelief I remained quiet, and nobody else volunteered my name. If anything, everyone seemed puzzled that he was making such a big deal out of not hitting the wall first. It would be nice to think my opponent learned a lesson in humility, a lesson which he carries with him to this very day, one which has helped him achieve success in the rest of his life.
Never underestimate your opponent, even if he is wearing knee-length baggy, board shorts. He just might kick your arse ;)
Showing posts with label School Days. Show all posts
Showing posts with label School Days. Show all posts
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Friday, August 01, 2008
Who's in your Facebook?
What does it say about your school days when you're a fan of Facebook and finding old friends, but that you'd rather not look up your old classmates? Or if you do find them, that you'd rather not send them a Friend request.
Yeah, there's a handful of people that I still (sort of) keep in touch with from decades gone by, and there's probably a few others that I'd consider sending a Friend request if I found them, but when I think back on my school days, and think of my classmates of yesteryear, most of them can pretty much go fuck themselves.
It occurs to me that I'm letting my son down, perhaps, by not being the father to him that my father was to me. Then again, my son is growing up in a far different world than that in which I grew up.
I don't recall when or how it started but my father taught me how to fight from a very early age. We'd wrestle on the living room floor and I'd try my hardest to beat him. Picture a 6 y/old using all his strength against a grown man. I learned how to slip holds, apply arm bars and hammer locks, how to endure pain (& lack of oxygen) while working out an escape plan. That was one of the lessons my father taught me.
Later when I went to school I joined the kids on the playground in the mock battles that kids in schools in most countries around the world probably hold. Picture an 8 y/old well versed in wrestling, and used to using every last ounce of his strength in an effort to overcome a much larger, far stronger opponent, suddenly taking on kids his own size. In my naivety I had no idea that I was one of the toughest kids in school. If my school had had a wrestling team, I'd have probably kicked arse.
I had a blast wrestling with all of the other boys, but apparently they didn't have as much fun wrestling with me. I was devastated the day one of my friends stopped me from joining one of our battles, telling me I was too rough, that the other kids didn't want me to take part. Thinking back, I'm surprised I never seriously hurt anyone. I never actually became The Toughest Kid in School because while I love wrestling, I hate fighting. I'd talk my way out of most fights if I could, and if I couldn't, rather than fight back I'd just try to stop my opponent from hurting me.
I recall during one Physical Education (Gym) class we were playing a game of baseball. I was one of the basemen. One of the more athletic guys (who was considered one of the toughest kids in school) made a good hit and rounded the bases, stopping at mine. He then tried to be intimidating and shove me off the base. I resisted so he threw a mock punch at my face. I caught his fist and twisting it, applied a standing Arm Bar, then used that leverage to drive him face first (literally) into the ground. Then I let go.
He jumped up and called out to the P.E. Teacher, "Did you see that?"
The P.E. Teacher had seen it, as did probably everyone present, because he was umpiring the game and so watching the action very closely. So not only had our Teacher seen me drive this guy into the ground, he'd seen him shove me first, then throw a punch at my face. I forget exactly what he said but he clearly felt my schoolmate got exactly what he deserved.
One time I was given Out in a game of Cricket when I accidentally played the ball back onto my own wicket. Given the budget of our public school we just used one-piece, solid metal wickets with the bails welded on top, instead of the 5-piece wooden wickets used in most games. After I struck it, the ball slowly rolled backwards along the ground and tapped the metal wickets behind me. The guy playing Keeper appealed and our Teacher declared me Out. I was a bit ticked at this, and let out an incredulous yell "What?!" because I didn't believe the ball had struck the wickets hard enough to dislodge the bails. Yes, they were one-piece metal wickets, so the bails couldn't be dislodged, but my opinion is that had the wickets been made of wood, the bails would have remained atop the wickets.
My classmates were quite amused by my yelped "What?!" and most likely mistook it for confusion on my part, thus implying ignorance of the rules of Cricket. School kids love to make fun of kids who aren't as smart as them, so I was the brunt of much teasing in the locker room after the game. I sat there in raging silence, getting madder and madder as my schoolmates kept up their incessant teasing, and eventually I felt my top lip begin to quiver and curl up in an unmistakable snarl. I tried to stop it but with my schoolmates relentless teasing that was impossible.
When my schoolmates saw my lip begin quivering it then became the focus of the teasing, until they realized it was not the quivering lip of someone almost in tears but the snarling lip of someone trying very, very hard not to kill someone. And so they stopped teasing me, all but the one kid who'd been the Keeper, so everyone literally piled onto him to make him shut up. Which is kind of funny, now that I think about it. They were having lots of fun teasing me, but when they realized how far they'd gone, and that I was desperately trying to hold back the green machine they quickly shut up, and were equally quick to shut down the one guy who didn't want to stop.
They had no qualms with teasing me to the point of what they thought were tears, but when it became obvious that I was actually getting really pissed off, they stopped. Some of who were considered the toughest kids in school were willing to tease me up until it looked like I was going to fight back, and then they stopped. Looking back on this, I think I probably had a reputation as someone who wouldn't fight back (in fact I lost the fights I did get into because I wouldn't fight back), but I think everyone also remembered that I was the one who'd been asked not to take part in the playground battles. It's possible that everyone was a little bit scared of me, of what I could do if I ever got really mad and fought back. They were more than happy to tease me, and tease me they did, but only up to a certain point.
Years later, while I was working on the Census, I ran into one of the guys who'd teased me that day. He invited me into his apartment and offered me a cold drink and we sat down and chatted and reminisced about the old days. He was living with one of his oldest friends and the two of them worked shift-work at the local Mill. They hadn't seen any of the old gang for 10 years or more. Come to think of it, at that time, neither had I.
I was born and raised in a small country town in rural Victoria, Australia. We were just like the kids in most small country towns here in the U.S., most of us wanted to graduate High School and get into college so we could get the hell out of town and never have to go back except to visit our parents. We've moved on, created a new life for ourselves, made new friends. And only occasionally do we ever think back on the people we grew up with, and wonder where they are and what they're doing now. But usually we don't waste too much time on those thoughts, and in some cases we conclude that look back at our childhood days with the simple thought, "Fuck 'em!"
Yeah, there's a handful of people that I still (sort of) keep in touch with from decades gone by, and there's probably a few others that I'd consider sending a Friend request if I found them, but when I think back on my school days, and think of my classmates of yesteryear, most of them can pretty much go fuck themselves.
It occurs to me that I'm letting my son down, perhaps, by not being the father to him that my father was to me. Then again, my son is growing up in a far different world than that in which I grew up.
I don't recall when or how it started but my father taught me how to fight from a very early age. We'd wrestle on the living room floor and I'd try my hardest to beat him. Picture a 6 y/old using all his strength against a grown man. I learned how to slip holds, apply arm bars and hammer locks, how to endure pain (& lack of oxygen) while working out an escape plan. That was one of the lessons my father taught me.
Later when I went to school I joined the kids on the playground in the mock battles that kids in schools in most countries around the world probably hold. Picture an 8 y/old well versed in wrestling, and used to using every last ounce of his strength in an effort to overcome a much larger, far stronger opponent, suddenly taking on kids his own size. In my naivety I had no idea that I was one of the toughest kids in school. If my school had had a wrestling team, I'd have probably kicked arse.
I had a blast wrestling with all of the other boys, but apparently they didn't have as much fun wrestling with me. I was devastated the day one of my friends stopped me from joining one of our battles, telling me I was too rough, that the other kids didn't want me to take part. Thinking back, I'm surprised I never seriously hurt anyone. I never actually became The Toughest Kid in School because while I love wrestling, I hate fighting. I'd talk my way out of most fights if I could, and if I couldn't, rather than fight back I'd just try to stop my opponent from hurting me.
I recall during one Physical Education (Gym) class we were playing a game of baseball. I was one of the basemen. One of the more athletic guys (who was considered one of the toughest kids in school) made a good hit and rounded the bases, stopping at mine. He then tried to be intimidating and shove me off the base. I resisted so he threw a mock punch at my face. I caught his fist and twisting it, applied a standing Arm Bar, then used that leverage to drive him face first (literally) into the ground. Then I let go.
He jumped up and called out to the P.E. Teacher, "Did you see that?"
The P.E. Teacher had seen it, as did probably everyone present, because he was umpiring the game and so watching the action very closely. So not only had our Teacher seen me drive this guy into the ground, he'd seen him shove me first, then throw a punch at my face. I forget exactly what he said but he clearly felt my schoolmate got exactly what he deserved.
One time I was given Out in a game of Cricket when I accidentally played the ball back onto my own wicket. Given the budget of our public school we just used one-piece, solid metal wickets with the bails welded on top, instead of the 5-piece wooden wickets used in most games. After I struck it, the ball slowly rolled backwards along the ground and tapped the metal wickets behind me. The guy playing Keeper appealed and our Teacher declared me Out. I was a bit ticked at this, and let out an incredulous yell "What?!" because I didn't believe the ball had struck the wickets hard enough to dislodge the bails. Yes, they were one-piece metal wickets, so the bails couldn't be dislodged, but my opinion is that had the wickets been made of wood, the bails would have remained atop the wickets.
My classmates were quite amused by my yelped "What?!" and most likely mistook it for confusion on my part, thus implying ignorance of the rules of Cricket. School kids love to make fun of kids who aren't as smart as them, so I was the brunt of much teasing in the locker room after the game. I sat there in raging silence, getting madder and madder as my schoolmates kept up their incessant teasing, and eventually I felt my top lip begin to quiver and curl up in an unmistakable snarl. I tried to stop it but with my schoolmates relentless teasing that was impossible.
When my schoolmates saw my lip begin quivering it then became the focus of the teasing, until they realized it was not the quivering lip of someone almost in tears but the snarling lip of someone trying very, very hard not to kill someone. And so they stopped teasing me, all but the one kid who'd been the Keeper, so everyone literally piled onto him to make him shut up. Which is kind of funny, now that I think about it. They were having lots of fun teasing me, but when they realized how far they'd gone, and that I was desperately trying to hold back the green machine they quickly shut up, and were equally quick to shut down the one guy who didn't want to stop.
They had no qualms with teasing me to the point of what they thought were tears, but when it became obvious that I was actually getting really pissed off, they stopped. Some of who were considered the toughest kids in school were willing to tease me up until it looked like I was going to fight back, and then they stopped. Looking back on this, I think I probably had a reputation as someone who wouldn't fight back (in fact I lost the fights I did get into because I wouldn't fight back), but I think everyone also remembered that I was the one who'd been asked not to take part in the playground battles. It's possible that everyone was a little bit scared of me, of what I could do if I ever got really mad and fought back. They were more than happy to tease me, and tease me they did, but only up to a certain point.
Years later, while I was working on the Census, I ran into one of the guys who'd teased me that day. He invited me into his apartment and offered me a cold drink and we sat down and chatted and reminisced about the old days. He was living with one of his oldest friends and the two of them worked shift-work at the local Mill. They hadn't seen any of the old gang for 10 years or more. Come to think of it, at that time, neither had I.
I was born and raised in a small country town in rural Victoria, Australia. We were just like the kids in most small country towns here in the U.S., most of us wanted to graduate High School and get into college so we could get the hell out of town and never have to go back except to visit our parents. We've moved on, created a new life for ourselves, made new friends. And only occasionally do we ever think back on the people we grew up with, and wonder where they are and what they're doing now. But usually we don't waste too much time on those thoughts, and in some cases we conclude that look back at our childhood days with the simple thought, "Fuck 'em!"
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