Every spring, Athens College holds what is called the 'Panagyiri,' which is this immense fundraising event that lasts for three days on campus. It's a sort of festival to show off whatever the kids have been working on all year as well as being chock full of games, food, prizes, raffles, etc. I must say it was pretty cool. Definitely the kind of thing that I would have devoured as a high schooler.
There were lots of shows, dancing, etc., and all my little Junior Forensics kids got to show off what they'd been learning and practicing! I was very excited.
My duet acting and oral interpretation students were fantastic. They didn't win overall, but they all said that they simply had the best time doing it and were reeling on a performance high for the entire day. I thought they were outstanding, and they clearly enjoyed themselves, so there's not much more a coach could really ask for.
The big story of the day, however, was little Christina.
Christina is a student I've been working with since the fall. I function as the "speech teacher" for her English section. That is, the teacher calls me in once every couple of weeks to assign a new speech topic to the kids. We spend a class period or two working on speaking techniques and refining the content of the speeches, and then they present them to me in the following days. I must say, I have been blow away by these kids. They were good to begin with, and their improvements have been remarkable. It was during the very first speech assignment that I noticed Christina's obvious talent. The girl had a strong voice, perfect English (her dad is from Boston), and insightful and intelligent things to say. But she looked as if she might cry, throw-up, run away (or any combination of these), or simply die during the entire duration of her speech. They say that for some people public speaking instills more fear than a venomous snake, and this seemed to be true for Christina.
After that first class, I held her back for a few minutes to talk to her. I told her that her speech was amazing and that she had a lovely talent and that for what it's worth she shouldn't be nervous or so hard on herself (easier said than done, to be sure). She acknowledged this by saying how much she loves English and how she thinks it is so much fun to speak and how she has so much that she wants to say, and she wants to say it in English; but she just gets too scared. I suggested she come to forensics. She could get practice speaking in a low-pressure environment, and then maybe that would help her gain confidence in her abilities. To my great surprise, she actually came! And consistently. She was at almost every meeting... but she would never participate. She would help diligently during prep time and research and practice, but when the time actually came to start the mock debate, she would immediately retreat and just sit and watch.
Her dad started coming to practices and got involved as a debate coach and judge, as well. Christina would sometimes get frustrated when her dad would try to give her notes and things, but she clearly felt a little more empowered with him around. She started to open up more, one step at a time.
After all was said and done, Christina functioned as the Opposition Whip in the debate tournament at the Panagyri. Since we debate using British Parliamentary style, the OW is the final speaker for the team and is the "artistic" debating position. It requires a summary and then flourish. It's a difficult job and definitely a position that not every debater can fill. Having previously been afraid even to say her name in front of an audience, Christina was now voluntarily assuming this dramatic position. And may I just say, she nailed it. Totally killed it. And I'm not alone in my judgement. Little Christina was awarded the title of Best Overall Speaker for the Panagyri Tournament. She was beside herself. Her parents were beaming! I couldn't have been prouder. It was delightful to see her growth and the way she found something inside her to set all of her potential into motion. Bravo!
Forensics has been, at times, a tiring addition to my job, but I am very grateful to have done it. The nature of my job here is sort of like a guest speaker on a never ending lecture circuit. We get called from class to class at whim and asked to explain things, give presentations, administer tests, teach specific units, and practically tap dance while juggling, but it is all very sporadic. There are some kids and classes that I see more than others and therefore have stronger relationships with, but for the most part it's difficult to get to know the kids as much as I would like. But by being a forensics coach, I have been able to really get to know these kids, and that is something that I will treasure forever. They've all been fantastic, and I couldn't be happier to have worked with them this year.
They gave me a t-shirt at the tournament. It says, "Debate is life," which, if you know me, you know that it is relatively hilarious that I now own a shirt that says, "Debate is life." I shrink at confrontation and have never engaged in a formal debate in my life (save for class activities in the 8th grade or something). The kids also tried to convince me to stay at Athens College and continue on as their coach, which was touching and adorable. Two of the duet acting girls who were so sure they would come in last place (They won.) were begging me to be their coach for next year since they didn't work with one this year. I told them that I had to get back to the States, if for nothing else than the fact that my visa would expire eventually, and I did not want the Greek police deporting me or hauling me to prison or whatever it is they do here. To this, one of the girls, Antigoni, dryly replied, "Miss. Trust me. No one would ever notice. I think you are overestimating our government."
That may be true, Antigoni. That may be true. But I'd prefer to keep my distance from the teenage cops from now on.
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