1969 and Winning

No more UFOs were seen, fortunately or unfortunately.  They were a diversion, and God knew, I surely needed one that senior year.

Not-a-real-diploma

The year 1969 brought graduation from high school.  Thank you, God. 

The senior year had been one of hard work, very hard work.  My whole college life depended on the sacred "win" of a scholarship.  Long story there, but anxiety level was such that I developed an ulcer and lost twenty pounds.

My GPA before senior year had been a miserable 3.5; it could not, would not “win” me much.  The word “win” was confusing then and is now.  One could not “win” anything as precious as a scholarship.  One could claw up the mountain of hope and perhaps make it to the top, holding that gold medal scholarship high.

End of school and graduation--- a memory I will never forget.  I was one of four valedictorians.  Our high school had a policy that if the GPAs were so close by the middle of May, there would be three or four valedictorians.  This “win” required me to speak at graduation. 

A scholarship was soundly mine.  A selected college accepted my application. I had a speech written and then re-written in my head.  The other two and I practiced our speeches in an empty gym, where our words sounded hollow. The fourth declined speaking at the commencement, so shy.

I “won” the position of the final speaker, the one who would introduce the specially invited speaker.  Even though I knew each word, each nuance, something changed as I looked out at the other graduates, knowing each one, suspecting their dreams and hopes. 

Some boys, too many boys would be heading to Vietnam.  A few pregnant girls would be getting married in a few days, since the district’s policy forbid married students from attending school.  College, farming, marriage, vocational schools, and just moving somewhere were the rest of the tasseled hats.

What did I say?  Tell you in two days.

This post is dedicated to Joanne Noragon who asked an important question after my three UFO posts: I'll enjoy seeing how college changed your outlook and furthered your education. What was the big letdown?

Who Blinks First...

He who blinks first, loses.

This is what I learned as a child when facing down a brother or another aggressive boy on the playground. Hold your ground. Invade personal space. Close in for the kill. AND never blink first. 

This is important:  He who blinks first, loses.

courtesy of Bing.com

The skills honed in the fires of sibling conflict and playground battles have carried me through many rough situations. Okay—not necessarily rough, but definitely confrontational. 

As a young mother, I learned the importance of holding my position on naps (everyone takes one in the afternoon, including me) until my oldest child was almost 9 years old.  Having three stair-step children, I bent over and drew my eyes level with theirs.

 “You will take a nap today. A good long nap.” They blinked. I didn’t. The nap wars fought and won, because I didn’t blink first.

When teaching, the teacher must hold the line on so many discipline issues:  raising the hands to speak, asking permission, respecting another student’s right to exist, etc. Staring down thirty + children requires practice and experience. It must be done with firmness and, most of all, with kindness.

Do you understand???

There was always one student who challenged the blink contest “You will not steal anyone's pencils. Do you understand, mister?”  Blink, blink, “Yes’m.”

That was when all the skills in the first paragraph had to go into the game. The teacher has to win this—the rest of the class has to know that the standards of behavior are listed on the wall for a reason.

Yes'm.

When not playing poker for big bucks, or trying to convince a three-year old that he will stay out of the flour canister, blinking is fine. Blink away to your heart’s content. 

In your face.

But, when one absolutely must win a situation, keep those eyes open, piercing into the other eyes with deadly aim, and impose your will.  Good luck, soldier.