Gladiators: Observation at the Bee (Part 2 of 2)

(Cont from Gladiators-observations-of-bee-part-1-of-2)

French Revolution

When you pan the audience, one sees Non-spelling parents yawn. Parents that are spelling one can see them mouth the words in confidence. They shake their heads as they hear their child spell it wrong.  Then that surprised look as they realize that their children are better spellers than they are.

Each row of kids come up to mic. They sway to the left and right waiting for their turn. Heart is racing as the walk up to the mic. I understand that this how the aristocrats felt at the French revolution as they met the invention of Dr. Joseph-Ignace Guillotin. 

I Love This Guy--He Takes A Fall, But He Gets Back Up

Personally, I am waiting for one to get light-headed under the pressure and take a header.Words from the Mike Meyers movie, "So I Married An Axe Murderer"--"We got a Speller Down. Speller Is Down" I can still see that spelling bee kid on ESPN. If you don’t know, here it is. I love this guy. He takes a fall and gets back up.

Wouldn't You Like To See This?

Maybe someday, we’ll see a speller, a 4^th grader with the ‘Nads’ to spell an impossible word like, “quixotic”. “Can I get a definition? Can I get that used in a sentence? Can you give me the language of origin?  “quixotic, Q-U-I-X, ummmm, I-D-O-N-‘-T-K-N-O-W-T-H-I-S-I-M-P-O-S-S-I-B-L-E-W-O-R-D-B-U-T-I –W-I-L-L-U-S-E-T-H-I-S-T-I-M-E-T-O-M-A-K-E-U-P-A-N-E-W-W-O-R-D, quixotic.”

I keep hearing Maximus words, “Are you not satisfied? Have I not entertained you?”

Life Lesson About Oneself

Oh well. A lesson that one must learn. It is something to know. Do you enjoy the competition? Some people thrive. Some others just survive. Some just decide to throw in the towel. Love them all.

Not All Are Superstores

Children are all different. Some love the heart racing. Some enjoy the thrill of victory. We need heroes to look up. Some just want to be an honorable mention. Just being part of the game, part of the competition. Guess, it is like being on a high school football or basketball team, but not good enough to be a starter.

Michael Jordan did not make the squad. He didn't turn out so bad. It's times like this day that we fail and decide to get back up. If we can remember what is important to us, and decide to do or not do anything about it.

Success is transient. It is also a habit. I applaud that those decide not play. We as a society try to fight and compete. Working long and late hours, being absent to their kids for the almighty buck.  They must choose to work extra hours to keep the roof overhead and food on the table versus being home attending those with needs. Health goes the way of diabetes and obesity. Yet, this is no subscription for quitting. This simply is a prescription to be who we decide to be and subscription to be okay with that.

Worth the Price? That's Personal

Families longing for that feeling of family-ness. Community’s  feeling communal. It is no wonder why children cocoon themselves in WII and the internet. Pay attention to children, Mom and Dad, and, then the child will pay in kind.

Being a latchkey kid, I understand learning to be my own keeper. TV was my babysitter. Library and parks my friends. Video games and comic books were my escape. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t think I would want to have it any other way.

I've failed over. . .and over and over in my life. This is why I succeed
Lucky for me, I had a knack for school and a voracious hunger for learning. Being introspected was my default position. Plus, I had been prideful. When I didn't succeed, it became a mission to conquer this. Not always great trait, but it drove me to prove people wrong. It was this feeling inside these Spelling Bee-ers are facing today.  Some will take the time to learn who they are and where they want to play. I take solace is in a fellow Feb 17'er's commercial. 

Tension in the air is waning. Each parent is secretly and silently wishing that the other children will falter so they can go home sooner. Climbing that ladder of winner-dom. Learning Center is glorified arena for future lessons to learn.

Lessons to Learn: Applaud Them All. Love Them All

We are not even out of the first round. Disappointed parents are waiting to shuttle their children home. Some parents wait and silently hope the other children will have a mental hiccup. Tension fills the silence.

First round is almost over. Straight faced parent gather things. Child didn’t even get past the first round. Anger is inside them. I can see the tight lipped face. I hope they don’t follow the angry coach’s credo.” Why did you do this?” a parent says in an accusatory tone. Ouch. I hope these parents remember that the child got invited to the dance. Many weren’t.

Alas, these children will never forget how to spell his or her missed word.

Under Pressure

Almost two hours in and we are not even out of the second round. Glad I brought the laptop. Tension is unbearable at times. Sorry kids. Pressure crushes graphite and also makes diamonds. We need graphite to write. Diamonds look pretty. Both graphite and diamonds have value. Kids do, too. Show them Love.

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.
gladiators-observation-at-bee-part-1 continued 

Musical Chairs: Parking Lot Observations

Got to Gym It
Eyes are heavy. Suns not so bright. Got an hour of gym time and two hours of routine. I hear the stereo of the corolla in back. He’s looking for a parking space. Like a shark, circling the ocean looking for its next meal. Lights blinking. Looks like Corolla found one. A couple walks past. One arm lifts. I hear a chirp. Another car awaits. He’s behind the Corolla. A white Echo, I think. Its red lights are on waiting to pass. The car ahead is waiting for the very scarce parking space to open up. Night lights come on as the rain subsides. Little sprinkles dot my windshield. 

He's Got No Game
A lady in black opens her car door. A boy bounces his basketball. Hoodie on and blue cap juts out. Skinny legs with green tube socks. Probably not that good. His handles are weak. Bounces the ball like a 2^nd grader. I doubt he’s got game. Right hand dribble. He bounces too high. Not a guard. Certainly no white chocolate. Jason Williams if you don't know. Not the guy going to jail. The one with the dragon tattoo. A spot opens. Lady in black leaves. A car races and makes an odd turn. Parking spaces is angles down ward and he’s heading upward. Sprinkle, sprinkle. The rain hits harder. 

Kangols and Thongs: Uuh, Okay?
Grey Taurus this time. She is African American wearing a golfers hat. Kangol, I think. Her jeans ride up her mid-waist. She has green top and mid jacket. No fashion sense at all. Probably getting a ship today. Membership that is. She's wearing jeans and no gym bag. Walking in as if she has an appointment. Her red thong in back stands out. Unfortunate me. 

One In, One Out
The Mercedes in front of me leaves. Filipino, I think. CL something. I see the cars race. Person backs up and angles awkward like the gray corolla. Parking downward and driving upward. All they need to do is drive forward some and back into the space. This way they don’t have to stop and turn and re-adjust for turning in so close. He walks away. Grey Carolla guy has a black backpack. Glasses. He has a dial lock on his side. Big Man. Big Belly. Best Buy Blue shirt. Didn’t see a ring. He drives a black accord. Car looks clean. No mess inside from across the way. He has a carpet dashboard cover. He must be neat.

It’s close to six and I haven’t gotten my nap yet and I still don’t have much time to write. Accident. That was close. White Ford Tundra driving down and down the aisle. Maroon Corolla backing up. Another space is coming open. Man in gray beanie has an empty water bottle in his mouth. Driving a mini car. Wearing a white t-shirt and gray sweats. Former wanna-be gangsta, newly reformed. Maybe found religion. What kind of car? Kia, I think.

Black Camarro rumbles in takes white Kia’s place. Hispanic man. Glasses I see. Short hair.  Dark brown-suede leather jacket. Walks a little confident. Military maybe or ex-police. Short cut, military cut. He doesn’t walk confidently. Probably military.

Not AVC
Grey corolla lady is back. She has paper in hand with a plastic covering for her new membership card. I'm a good guesser. Thong, blast out. I'm blinded. She needs a ship, too. Some people should not wear anal floss. Her pants are too tight. Or ass is too big. Some people like back. I'm not one. Either way my stomach feels uneasy. She has a student sticker. Doesn’t look AVC. Long Beach, perhaps. I don’t get that CSUN feel.


Body Language Messages: Can't Drive or I Should've Known Better
Oops!!! She doesn’t look as she peals back in a hurry. She almost hit the Black Camarro man. He points two fingers to his face, specifically his eyes. It means, “Bitch, Pay Attention.” A grey Ford Tundra waits for her too leave.

Ford Tundra is smart he's backing into the open space. Maybe, not so smart. Grey corolla thong lady not very confident backing up. Almost hits grey Ford Tundra, too. His windows are tinted. I can still sense he is giving her, "Bitch, Pay Attention gesture." No, I'm sorry. Its the smack to his head, "I'm so stupid. I just realized this Bitch Can't drive" gesture. I get these confused. They start the same way. Hand motion to the head gets me all the time. Oh, well.

Gray Hoodie
Grey Ford Tundra is smart guy. A gym rat, I suspect. Former high school athlete, I'm guessing. Football, not QB. Maybe tight end, maybe receiver. He's Caucasian so I am guess fair speed. Runs a forty in 4.7 or 4.85 seconds. Definitely a starter. Good hands, I'm guessing. Hoodie on and Dasani in hand. His truck is raised. Obscenely high. Maybe, he's got redneck in him. Looks clean. No visible tatts. No red neck stickers in back. Probably a Quartz Hilly or Antelope Acre guy. Highland High perhaps. Certainly not AV. Doubt he's from East side. Bet he’s got fam bam in Simi or the OC. Definitely the Santa Clarita/ Valencia. 

Class Mats or Class Mates?
Another maroon Benz with a spoiler drives by. Looked like a lady was sharking around. No, sharking is more of a pool term. It is when the opponent intentionally causes commotion to mess with the other sticker as they stroke it. A white Benz is circling, too. Green Escalade is in back. I hear his rumbling of his engine. Its close to six on a Monday night. Maybe its yoga or kickboxing now. Don’t think it is Zumba. Mostly ladies would be in the parking lot. They jockey for positions in front of the aerobic studio so they can get mirror space. Usually close to the instructor. They usually are aerobic veterans with their core of aerobic friends that are soccer moms looking to escape parenthood for a short 60 minutes while their kids play in the jungle gym of kids club. Its getting darker now. Clouds are moving slower.

I hear a shout. 

Stop. . .In the Name of Love
A mom shouts at her 3 year old that was racing outside to kids club. Escalade has done another circle. Kid was not even paying attention. Could have been ugly. Cars are driving up and down the lanes looking for precious parking space before class starts. It's like scoring a touchdown or winning the lottery. Not the Big Spin win. Just $10 winner. I hear a car engine start. Its red lights come on. Like blood in the oceans. Cars pick up speed to the empty space.

I Like Raisenettes
A short-haired African woman walks up the aisle towards the gym. She is wearing a purple dashiki. Maybe its for lent. Maybe she wants attention. She looks like the California Raisin mascot. Lights for the 24 hour sign come on. I bet all my cardio equipment is filled. There’s six recumbent and six normal life cycle. Another Ford tundra halts. Red light comes on. Someone must be leaving. Its almost six. Class starts in a minute. The jostling hordes are already in the aerobic door. I can just feel them a couple hundred feet away. I look around no parking space. Ah. I hear a car start. It’s a gray Dodge Caravan. Cars are racing up and down the aisle looking for space.  Almost accident. Left blinker comes on. Its green Toyota guy that wins this round. You have bested me this time, young Skywalker. Its like Musical Chairs. They keep circling and circling until a spots opens up. Then all these cars race.

Chirp here. Honk there. Ladies from the 5 o’clock classes are leaving. Betting yoga. They have their green and blue mats wrapped up. Black Corolla is backing up. A trunk opens. Nissan Yukon rumbles by. Engine sounds angry. Must have driven up and down this aisle four times now.

Freshman 15 Walks By
A group of college walk by. Two couples. All with their freshman fifteen. One has her white towel around her neck. Like Sly Stallone's Rocky. Another was a football player. Lineman probably. Don’t think he’s at his playing weight. I bet he’s still eating as if he were playing in high school. They are all wearing clothes from high school. Its snug, too snug.

Making Claims
My blackberry humms. Email or Facebook alert. I don’t answer. Almost 1000 words and I haven’t said much. Well, these are the going-ons of the 24 Hour Super Sport parking lot Monday night at 5:45 pm. Another almost accident.  Angry cars still are circling by. Got to make claim to the recumbent.