It's the last Saturday in October and I'm not on a school bus bound for Neosho for the first time since I was 22. I just woke up with that stark realization. The irony is that, rather than roll over and return to the slumber of which I was so oft deprived as a school-bus-dwelling debate coach, I am wide-eyed with the memories of those brutal mornings and the great relief that I am now spared such brutality. But I also remember how much fun I had in the midst of the exhaustion; and how my heart thumped a little louder knowing that behind me in green pleather seats sat the bleary-eyed brand new debaters who were beginning careers of ass-kicking. They didn't know what was to come, but I did.
This tournament was the annual all-debate, all-novice extravaganza. It "wetted the feet" of the little darlings who were brand new to the activity. If I remember correctly, it was also the first tournament to which I ever took students by myself. Even when it became old hat, the worry that something would go wrong remained from that first solo trip to my very last, nearly two decades later.
Pulling in to a school parking lot in the dark early morning with the fervent prayer that the parking lights of a bus would await me is a colon-twisting feeling that is wildly ironic: it is sad and hopeful and a sensation that I will probably never shake. Being an adult praying to see a school bus is among the more pathetic of my pleas to Jesus...but it was real. The hell that would break loose had I been standing curbside without transportation for myself and thirty+ adolescents made such desperation and consequent prayers quite fervent.
I also remember the powerful anticipation of "bus driver Russian Roulette" I was about to play as I walked from my car to the bus. Which driver would greet me? Friendly and quiet with a general knowledge of the rules of the road? Angry and desperate for a sense of power but no real sense of direction? Perhaps a nice male chauvinist who despised the fact that a girl in her twenties was allegedly in charge? Or a talker: the driver who liked chit chat, homespun tales, and who didn't recognize my earphones and lack of eye contact as a clear signal that I did NOT like chit chat and homespun charm shared in a rearview mirror over the deafening roar of the cantankerous public school bus engine.
After I navigated the excitement of meeting my new best friend behind the wheel, I then got to spread good morning greetings to my dear debaters. I took some pleasure in adopting the persona of a stewardess on crack, extolling the wonders of the great gift we all shared by way of a trip to Neosho at 6am. Since my normal daily presentation was equally intense but less cartoonish and more cynical, this show tended to startle the youngins just enough for my amusement. I saved the devil in me for those poor stragglers who deigned to board even a minute late. I am proud to report that the fear of encountering the angry "you kept us waiting" me served as a powerful tool and was also a bit of theatre for those who made it on time.
To be continued...
