December 1, 2015 – Call Me Coach
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| Four generations at Thanksgiving |
Yes, this post is about Thanksgiving. But first...
Anyone who knew me in high school can attest to the fact
that I was not a jock. I dreaded gym
class (memories of those one-piece blue gym suits still make me cringe) and I’d
use any excuse to avoid it. For example,
I claimed that I had severe menstrual cramps that lasted from September through
June. Not surprisingly, I didn’t
participate in any college sports, and during my four years at the University
of Wisconsin, I never attended a single sporting event. If Wisconsin had a winning football or basketball
team during that time, I was totally oblivious to the fact. In my twenties, I made a short-lived attempt
to learn the game of tennis. I could
volley reasonably well but never mastered the serve. In my thirties, my athletic activities
consisted of climbing the hills of Fayence and chasing after toddlers. I blossomed as an athlete at a relatively
advanced age, learning to ice skate when I was in my forties. Alas, for the past twenty years, my skates
have been hiding at the back of the closet.
So you may be surprised to hear that I readily agreed to sub
for a PE teacher at Annandale High School last Wednesday, the day before
Thanksgiving. I’m not even sure myself
why I accepted the job. True, I’ve been
trying to work more, but the day before Thanksgiving? What was I thinking? I guess I just wanted a new experience.
I discovered that a lot has changed about PE since my high
school days. First of all, these are
coed gym classes. When I was a teenager,
it was bad enough being in a girls-only gym class. I can’t imagine the psychological trauma of
having PE with the opposite sex. A
second difference was the gym uniforms, which were identical for boys and girls
– red shorts and white t-shirts with a red Annandale logo. These were marginally more attractive than
the vintage blue gym suits.
On the day I subbed, I was determined to get into character
and I chose my outfit with care: gray
jeans, gray sweatshirt jacket, and a purple top to match the purple shoelaces
of my black athletic shoes. I brought
along my sunglasses, of course, thinking we would spend the day outside. The one accessory that I forgot was a
whistle, which would have come in extremely handy since I don’t have a booming
coach-like voice.
Last Wednesday was a bright sunny day, with relatively mild
temperatures, so I was quite disappointed to find that my first period PE 10
class would be staying in the gym to play something called KanJam. KanJam??? I remember being subjected to basketball,
volleyball, softball, and an excruciating form of torture known as tumbling,
but I don’t recall a game called KanJam.
Fortunately, the students were quite helpful and didn’t require any
guidance from me. Although I don’t understand
all the rules, here’s what I observed: in
the middle of the gym floor, Team A, comprised of 3 students, stands in back of
a “kan” (a piece of plastic that’s rolled into the shape of a cylinder). Opposite them, Team B stands in back of an
identical kan. The two kans are
separated by about 15 or 20 feet. A Team
A player tosses a Frisbee toward Team B.
The Team B players try to knock the Frisbee into the kan. If it goes in, Team B gets a point. Then a Team B player tosses the Frisbee
towards Team A. Team A players to try to
knock it into the kan. Exciting,
huh? Each game lasts five minutes. And since the game involves only six players,
the remaining twenty-something students are supposed to participate by cheering
on the sidelines. A few resourceful
students started shooting baskets. The
majority just stood around talking. And
this is supposed to keep the younger generation physically fit.
For the next two periods, I was in a classroom teaching health
classes. I showed a movie about a youth
soccer team whose members wore green uniforms.
I think they won the game in the final seconds. I also had to do a binder check, making sure
students had all the handouts on male and female anatomy, alcohol use, and
sexual behavior. The curriculum was
impressive, but many of the students in these classes were still in the ESOL
program and didn’t have the English language skills to comprehend the
material.
Overall, my first day as a jock was an extremely enjoyable experience.
Would I sub in PE again? Absolutely, and next time I’d bring a whistle
for those exciting KanJam games.
As soon as I left school (it was an early release day), I had
a pre-Thanksgiving lunch date with Matt and Elisa. For nostalgia’s sake, they had decided to go
to the local Pizza Hut for the pizza buffet.
This tradition goes back to the time they were in elementary school,
when Matt would get a certificate for a free personal pan pizza for reading a
certain number of books. I agreed to
join them because I wanted to see if the pizza was as awful as I
remembered. It was. Ditto for the salad bar. Despite the food, we all had a great
time. Of course, Sylvie accompanied
us. I wonder if she was confused because
the Pizza Hut pizza doesn’t look at all like the New York pizza she’s
accustomed to.
And then there was Thanksgiving. Actually, it seemed like most of the past
couple of weeks was devoted to Thanksgiving.
Before the actual holiday, so many days revolved around menu planning,
house cleaning, coordinating with guests, and grocery shopping. There was the last minute news that Elisa’s
in-laws would be driving up from Yorktown for lunch on Tuesday, our Baltimore
relatives would be joining us for an early festive meal on Thursday, and that
Elisa, Christian and Sylvie would be arriving the Sunday before Thanksgiving
day. Many years of experience have
helped me learn to cope with this kind of stress. The key is advance planning and
organization. I make lists of daily
tasks leading up to the big day and I focus on one activity at a time.
Having Elisa here for several days before Thanksgiving was a
big help. She stepped in
enthusiastically to assist in any way she could. Of course, having Sylvie in the house meant
extra work for everyone, but it was such as joy to be with her that we were
willing to overlook our exhaustion. I made
sure to fit in some form of exercise everyday.
Since the weather was delightful, we took long walks in the neighborhood
with Sylvie in the stroller. I also took
my favorite walk through the woods on a couple of occasions. I realize how important it is for me to have
time outdoors. Just 20 or 30 minutes of fresh
air everyday keeps me happy.
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| Elisa and Sylvie helped make the cranberry relish. |
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| Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme for the turkey |
We had two seatings for Thanksgiving dinner – one at noon,
the other at our regular dinnertime – with different guest lists. The meal turned out very well. The turkey with parsley, sage, rosemary and
thyme was, well, turkey. I find the side
dishes much more exciting. The mashed
potatoes with herbed goat cheese were creamy delicious. My new recipe for whole grain honey cornbread
muffins was a big hit. Everyone loved
the roasted Brussels sprouts with pomegranate balsamic glaze. The fresh cranberry relish is always a
winner. True, I was overly ambitious and
prepared too many different dishes. So while
we were at the table, I did an informal survey, asking everyone for his or her
favorite part of the Thanksgiving meal.
Now the trick will be to get each person to prepare and bring that dish
next year!
Elliott was marvelous throughout the days of
entertaining. He remained in good
spirits even though he experienced intermittent episodes of severe pain. He was an adoring grandfather with Miss Sylvie,
eagerly holding her and talking to her.
He and I even babysat for a few hours last Friday afternoon while Elisa
and Christian went out to the movies (their first movie date since Sylvie’s
birth). It took a little while to get
Sylvie to stop fussing. I walked and
sang as I held her and she eventually quieted down and fell asleep in my
arms. Then I was afraid she’d wake up if
I stopped walking. Finally I took the
risk of sitting down in the rocking chair.
Fortunately, she didn’t open her eyes, but for the next hour I was a
virtual prisoner. However, I’m hardly
complaining. The surge of love and
protectiveness Elliott and I felt when we cared for Sylvie transported us back
to our time as new parents after Elisa was born.
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