Gladiators: Observations of the Bee (Part 1 of 2)

Coliseum--Gladiators line up waiting to battle the unspoken foes. Hours spent honing their skills. They feel the onlookers. Family and friends in the audience. Their competitions’ family and friends are also in the background. Their voices ring out. Tension is in the air. Their voices drop and rise as they walk to center stage.

Lining Up

Their handler up front directs participants right or left. Victors are guided right and Fallen go to the left. Watchers let a collective sigh as these children warriors step up the stand. Periodically, you see parent rise as their children walk up front to their teachers and leaders. Children are panel-ized. They stand in front of the Panel Three. Each judge gives the thumbs up and thumbs down at the tiny gladiator’s performance.

I wonder if the little ones knows that this is a marathon. Some are spent before they even get up there. You can hear it in their voice. Others you can tell they are enjoying this moment. The sound of their voice rings throughout the auditorium.

Tension is in the air. Parents waiting for the kids to come up. The speaker makes announcements of special guests to the event. Little 3^rd, 4^th, and 5^th graders—Gladiators—all of them. Parents with camcorders and cell phone cameras are making mini-movies. The arena is a grade school cafeteria.

All the kids are lined up walking up to the mic. Each saying their name in hurried, gaspy breaths. Tension in the air chokes the child’s voice. Not even the first mile in this marathon. Some will burn out in the flutter. Some will take flight and soar.

Voices

“My name is Jonathon. My name is Noel. My name is. . .” The parade of children stand and speak into the mic. Ready to battle in the Bee. Hope they know that the battle is within themselves. It is the battle of mastering that word. It is not against each other.  It is battle of confidence. A battle of knowledge. A battle of nerves.

“There will be winners and losers. . .” the principal says.

Yikes. Funny, we are marketed that participating is key. Here these kids are given a wake-up call. A tough life lesson of the bell curve. Some are exceptional. Some are special ed. All are of worth. If we can only remember, that at times the strong are not as strong. Sometimes the weak are not as weak. This is why we play the game.

It Is What It Is

Perhaps this Bee—this competition—is a crucible? We can whittle away all the unnecessariness, all the fluff. We can learn who we are and who we chose to be.

Personally, never was the top 1 percent. On the fringe of being honorable mention. Actually, elite. Not super elite, but I had game. Learned at an early age that I liked to compete and train. Preparing myself for the arena. Knew that my skill was not the brightest, strongest, the fastest. Learned my strength was perseverance. Learned how to manage my strengths and weakness.

Like an actor to perform on stage, I enjoyed when my heart raced. My vision gets narrow and wide at the same time. Feeling of winning was addicting.  Enjoyed conquering this wave that is outside and inside of me.

Alas, this stage if for the younger children. Some will stand. Some will falter. Its just the Bell Curve in effect. One may think “Not Everyone is Extraordinary.”

Trouble is everyone is. Everyone is extraordinary. Everyone is unique. Everyone is special. Caveat needs to be said. Not everyone is extraordinary in this task. Not extraordinary skill. Only 0.03 percent of high school kids will be in the NBA.  Not all win the Nobel.

The First speller stands. The announcer gives the word. “C-H-A-M-P-I-O-N-S-H-I-P” first child speaks.  A collective sigh is exhaled. Tension relieved. Claps unconsciously  rise. This despite a very clear directions to hold all applause until after the rounds are completed.

First round is a funny sight. Midway some fall. Some shout and wakes up the entire audience. Ah, tension is relieved.  

“M-A-G-N-E-T-I-Z-E, magnetize” She is directed right. Next speller, M-E-M-O-R-Y, memory. He, too, is directed right.

A la Gauche

Audience is so quiet. So scary. Each parent looks at each other wondering if the child spelled it right

“T-R-A-G-I-C. . .”  the happy parent smiles. “. . .K, tragic.”  Parent’s smile disappears. Child is a First Rounder Goner. Sucks.  Fitting word. It’s I-R-O-N-I-C-A-L. Okay, I go to the left.
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