Tuesday, September 11, 2007

Cleo

I was browsing through my Documents folder last night, and came across this piece of writing I did about 5 years ago that I have never shared with anyone. I thought it would be fun to post it ... it captures a lot of what being a teacher means for me. And it is a true story! I didn't do any editing, just left it as it was written originally.

Cleo
May 1, 2002
Today I got a small piece of revenge on a world that humiliated me as a little girl and damaged my confidence in my athletic ability in a way that still affects me to this day.
I was subbing in a sixth grade core class and the last period of the day was PE. The game for the day was baseball. When the teacher told me that this was their first time playing it as a class, an alarm went off in my head and I asked her if everyone in the class knew how to play. She said she was pretty sure they did....I mean, everyone in America knows how to play baseball right?
Well, when I was young, I didn't know how to play, and when my third grade teacher announced that we would be playing baseball, I froze up inside. I had never played nor watched a second of baseball in my life--I knew there was a bat and a ball, but that's about it. As we walked out to the field I had my friend explain the game to me, but let's face it--baseball is complicated! I had a vague idea of what to do, but I was still terrified. I figured out my strategy really quick - I hid in the outfield, slowly taking steps backwards and praying the ball would not come to me. I'm sure it did at some point, and I probably fumbled with it and tossed it to the closest person while my classmates screamed different things about what to do with it, but I think I blocked that part out. What I do remember, clear as if it was yesterday, was what happened when I went to bat. I think I was holding the bat somewhere around my waist and standing on top of home plate, and several of the boys in the class rushed to my aid to show me the right way to stand. I literally felt about 2 inches tall. I wish I could end the story by saying that I miraculously hit the ball and made it to base, but I didn't. I struck out badly, and again the next time I was up. Ever since then, I have dreaded playing baseball, and avoid it whenever possible. I even faked an injury once to get out of playing at a picnic. True story.
So as I started class today, I told a short version of that story to the kids and asked if there was anyone who had never played before. Everyone said they had, and we headed out to the field. As we were walking, a girl came up to me and told me she had never played. She was just like I had been--literally didn't know the first thing about it. Suddenly, I became my friend in the third grade, trying to explain a complicated game in 2 minutes, telling her it was simple while knowing otherwise!
Her name was Cleo, and I could tell she was the outcast of the class. She was stumpy with glasses and fluffy short hair, and I only saw her talk to one other student the whole time. In spite of this, I could tell she had a great amount of confidence somewhere inside her that had been beat back by the shallow cruelties of middle school. She is the type of student who breaks my heart. She seemed eager to play the game and was trying hard not to let her nervousness show.
When her team was in the outfield, Cleo boldly took her place in right field. When the ball came to her for the first time, she knew exactly where to throw it, even though she wasn’t able to get in there in time. That’s ok, I though, she tried. When her team was up to bat, I heard her make a comment to no one in particular that she wanted to know when her turn was. Then I saw that she had taken her place in the line-up, determined to get her chance at hitting the ball. But they got three outs right before it was her turn.
When the other team was up, I realized that all the boys were crowding in the front of the dugout arguing over who got to hit, while every single girl on the team sat on the bench looking nervous. So I said that I would love to see some female representation at the plate and asked if any of the girls would like to hit. They all kind of shook their heads with terror in their eyes, and my heart sunk. But just as I was about to give up, one girl spoke up and said she would hit. I asked her, just in case, if she had hit before, and she replied, “Yes, I played softball.” I was floored by this. To me, it speaks volumes about how gender functions in middle school (and society)—here was a girl who played softball on a team, and she still allowed the boys in her class to dominate the game.
After her turn at bat (a good hitter by the way), every girl in the class stepped up to the plate without my encouragement. Some were terrible at it, but they did it. And most of them hit pretty well!
So when Cleo’s turn came up, I saw her stride confidently towards the plate and pick up the bat. You can imagine how thrilled I was—maybe her confidence could be saved after all! When I saw her stand right on top of the plate at the wrong angle, I cringed and kicked myself for not taking a moment to show her this part (I have managed to figure it out since third grade). Of course, one of the boys ran over to help her.
So this was the big moment. There she was, still standing wrong, all eyes of the class right on her. Her swing was slow and clumsy, and I knew exactly what was going through her head. Watching her, I was right back on the field of my old school, praying to a God that I did not really believe in to just let me hit the ball. . .just this once. . .
And on her third try, she did! The ball popped right up over the shortstop and I swear it was coming down in slow motion, right into the open hands of another student. . . who dropped it. Cleo made it to first base. I had gotten my victory. I had single-handedly saved the self confidence of this one girl and protected her from a life lived in fear of baseball!
Until, of course, the next batter was up. It was a foul ball, which I hadn’t had the chance to explain to Cleo, and as soon as she saw it hit, she took off at full speed and made it halfway to third base before she finally heard her classmates yelling for her to stop. Crap, this was something I hadn’t thought about, because I had never made it that far in my first game! I had gotten her as far as I could, and now she was on her own out there.
To make a long story short, the next two hits were a mess of confusion for her, as she ran back and forth between the bases, trying to watch the ball, remember what I had told her and listen to the frantic directions of 15 screaming sixth graders. Eventually she was tagged out at second, which would not have even been a big deal if it was not for all the confusion she had suffered through right before. She stormed back to the dugout with her head down, and said to me “That’s the last time I do that.” I reassured her that confusion was totally normal your first time playing because the rules take a few games to figure out.
When Cleo's team was in the outfield, I discreetly spoke to two girls in the class who seemed like leaders, told them it had been her first time playing and asked them if they would tell her later that she had done a great job. They smiled and nodded, and I noticed that two of the more sensitive boys in the class had overheard, and were also nodding along with completely sincere looks on their faces. I only hope they remember to do it.
As the class walked off the field, I talked to Cleo again, asking her what she thought of her first game. She replied that she never wanted to play baseball again. She was clearly still humiliated and wouldn’t even look me in the eye. I told her she had done great and that I was totally proud of her for it. She didn’t seem to comforted though, and I was devastated. I had my chance, and I failed.
But then again, maybe I didn’t. By telling her my story and assuring her that it was ok to do bad in your first game, maybe I had given her some sort of validation. Maybe my message had gotten through, and she understands that it’s perfectly all right not to know how to play baseball. Maybe her classmates will remember what I asked them and tell her she did fine for her first time, and even help her out next time. Maybe her teacher will even talk to her about it (I left a note explaining it to her). I honestly believe now that if my teacher had taken the time to help me learn baseball and assure me that my mistakes were perfectly OK, I may not have been so convinced of my inability to play the game to this day.
One of the things I mentioned in my note to the teacher was to be careful about assuming that everyone in a group knows how to do something. We all know what happens when we assume, right? You make an ass out of U and Me. Or in this case, you risk humiliating that one student who does not know how to do what everyone else does. Because in every group of students, there is a Cleo.

5 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

you are amazing !!......................pa

Wednesday, September 12, 2007

 
Blogger SpacemanMike said...

That is a fantastic story!

Have you thought about recording it and submitting it to NPR? I think that it would make a nice little sound portrait.

Wednesday, September 12, 2007

 
Blogger Jeremy & 여보 said...

ㅠ.ㅠ

Thursday, September 13, 2007

 
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Love the story, & look what a confident, amazing person you turned out to be...auntie pk

Thursday, September 13, 2007

 
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Daniel sayS:

Yeah I didn't particularly enjoy school sports either. At least Cleo hit the ball! I played some bad mitton in high school and ran track....no real sense of competitiveness. I wish I could play in little league now, cause I would kick some ass! Sorry, i meant "booty"

Monday, September 24, 2007

 

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