We've begun yet another season of soccer. We managed to get the Boy with the same coach he had last season, which made his day; several of the same boys rejoined the team as well, which made his day even more.
Spring 2024 Soccer Season
the boy
Monday Thoughts
School Thoughts
We received a new student on our team today: a fifteen-year-old boy from Central America who doesn't speak a word of English and has not been in school since the first grade.
I have reservations.
I'm not fussing about any extra work entailed by having such a kid in my classroom. I've already got two complete-non-speakers and a fourth kid who barely speaks English. My reservations are about how effectively I can really help these kids. They are, of course, in my lowest level classes, which means there are a lot of behavior issues in those classes. I'm supposed to create a new curriculum for these boys because they're so low with their English that modified materials don't do anything for them in my class. In science, yes. In math, certainly. In social studies, a qualified yes. In English class, though? It's impossible just to modify the curriculum. This newest student is illiterate in his first language: I can't modify my curriculum that includes standards like "Determine one or more themes and analyze the development and relationships to character, setting, and plot over the course of a text; provide an objective summary" and "Determine the figurative and connotative meanings of words and phrases as they are used in text; analyze the impact of specific word choices on meaning and tone, including analogies texts." You can't do this with pictures. Besides, I struggle teaching the native speakers these things because of their low motivation -- teaching a non-English-speaking student with the aid of pictures? Not going to happen. So I'll have to invent a curriculum for these boys.
Is that type of teaching really in these boys' best interest? Wouldn't a part-time immersion with classes like gym and art coupled with a couple of direct English instruction courses be more effective? The people at the district office downtown will say, "No, the data don't support that." But I think that's bullshit. I know from my own experience in Poland that dumping me into an environment where I didn't speak the language without any direct language instruction would have only frustrated me, and that's with me being 22 years old at that time. If I were only 14 in such a situation -- forget it.
Parenting Thoughts
The Boy's church league basketball team had their last game this evening, which sadly they lost 22-30. It was a tough season: they went 1-8. But it wasn't the losing that bothered the Boy so much; it was the unsportsmanlike conduct so many of the players on the other teams exhibited. Tonight, for example, there was one boy who screamed at every shot attempt our team made in an effort to distract our boys.
I had some choice words to say in texts to K about this kid's behavior.
"Just keep your cool," she gently reminded me.
"Of course -- he's just a kid," I replied. But that type of behavior doesn't come from nowhere. Either his parents never tried to correct him because they saw nothing wrong with it, or they actively encouraged and/or taught him to behave like that.
Were I to coach such a kid, I'd tell him and his parents, "Look, if you do that, I bench you for the quarter. You do it again, it's for the rest of the game. And every time after that, it's for the rest of the game."
The Boy's inherently empathetic outlook on things means such behavior would never enter his mind. Was that something we had to teach him? I guess we did, but I don't remember doing so, and I suspect his empathy would lead him not to do that even if we didn't explicitly teach him that.
Hearts
From Babia
Today’s Only Picture
One of the things we accomplished this weekend was getting a new computer for the Boy. The Girl needs one, too, but we still don't know the specs she'll need for what programs she might be running in college. So today I got the computer set up and snapped a picture to text to E. He was at his friend's house having some needed buddy time. However, he'd left his phone at home. So it was for naught. But I got a picture for the day out of it...
Win
The Boy's team finally got their first win of the season today, and the Boy scored.
Returning Slowly
Things are returning to normal. The Girl's GI issues seem to be slowly diminishing, and the Boy seems in better spirits.
Babcia is, as always, Babcia: always (almost) happy and smiling (until she gets to talking about Polish politics -- don't get her talking about politics).
After a good breakfast, L and I headed to Rock Hill for the second day of the weekend's tournament. The Girl helped out with warmups and was the biggest cheerleader on the bench.
Their team made it to the final in the gold bracket -- meaning in essence, the final for the whole tournament for their age bracket -- and it was against another team from the same volleyball club. Since it, too, has a strong religious foundation (like last year's team, but this club seems to be less interested in meddling in the private lives of the coaches like last year's team, which fired the Girl's team's coaches -- in the middle of the season -- because they were living together out of wedlock -- the shame!), the two teams circled up and prayed before the game.
This team has beaten the Girl's team badly once this year, but they were confident. Still, they're kind of a family, I think: instead of simply giving each other low fives under the net, they popped onto the same side as our girls and there were hugs all around.
Our girls jumped out to an early lead in the first set and won it 25-21. The second set was a different story. They trailed by two for most of the set, but suddenly, it was 13-17. Then 13-18. And then 13-19. In the end, the lost 16-25.
The third and deciding set (which is only to 15) they were neck and neck until it was 8-8. Then three quick mistakes and they were down 8-11. Then 8-12. I was pretty sure it was over, the they rallied and evened the score at 13. They were up 14-13 when one of the other team's hitters blasted a shot that was initially called out. Our girls celebrated; the parents were screaming. And then the call was reversed: there had been a touch on the block. 14-14. And how did it end? The girls rallied again and won 16-14:
And afterward -- a group picture with both teams.
K, the Boy, and Babcia, meanwhile, were having a fine day as well.
After church, they went to a relatively new cafe: Old Europe Cafe. The consensus among the Polish community: a nice cafe with a real Krakow-cafe feel.
Afterward, a walk in our lovely Falls Park.
In the evening, the Boy and I played cars a while -- again. Just like old times.
Dealing with the Christmas Tree
Basketball
The Boy's team is in the midst running drills when I walk in. They're going one-on-one from the top of the key. When it's his turn to take the offensive drill, he dribbles in, picks up the ball quite far from the basket, and tries to lob it over the defender. An air ball. And I can see the disappointment and disgust in his face.
He heads back to the backcourt line (I think that's what it's called) and stands in line for his next turn, but he seems to let anyone in front of him who wants to take an earlier turn. And there are plenty who want to.
Eventually, he drifts into the background as others excitedly take their turns, and he ends up leaning against the wall and watching the others. He pulls on his hoodie and sits down.
Later, when they're scrimmaging, he does the best he can with the knowledge he has, but the truth is, we never watch basketball so he’s got nothing to imitate. And I really know very little about the sport, so I'm of little help to him. He does his best, but it's clear the other boys have had lots of experience playing basketball in their neighborhood.
“I never get passes,” he'll say later in the car. "Because I'm just not as good as they are." All he sees are his deficits, and the lack of inclusion from other boys confirms it in his mind. When he does get a pass, it’s like he wants to get it out of his hands as fast as possible.
It's tough to watch: I can certainly relate. I was never that confident when I found myself playing basketball, and I hated playing with those who were much better. I, too, felt I was out of my comfort zone.
But the Boy soldiers through, going to each practice, giving it his best show.
"I admire you for that, buddy," I tell him on the way home.
"Thank you," he says, then adds after a moment, "I don't think basketball is for me."
Tuesday Back
The Girl went back to school today for the first time since Friday before last, as in January 5. It's been a tough ten days, and we still have issues ahead of us, but at least we're to a point where something of a normal life can return. I never missed ten days for an illness, but I missed significant time in the first semester because of having to go to the Feast of Tabernacles every year (along with the Feast of Trumpets and Atonement, which meant missing more school days). If I'd been as worried about my grades as L is about hers, that probably would have caused me more stress than it did. But then, the founder of our little sect died (38 years ago today, in fact), the new leader made a few changes, and the FOT (as we called it) became a thing of the past. Something the Girl doesn't have to worry about.
The Boy is still frustrated with his schedule this semester, particularly that he doesn't have PE anymore. In middle school, I hated PE. In the mid-eighties in Virginia (maybe not the whole state, but at least in our area), there was none of this "you can only fail once before high school" mentality that's the standard here. (There are benefits to that, to be sure, but I've had kids tell me, "I've already failed once. There's nothing you can do to me," and then promptly do nothing the entire year.) But we didn't have that, so kids could fail two or three times before getting to high school, which is why when I was in seventh grade (it was a junior high, with only two grades), there were two sixteen-year-old eighth graders. Dodgeball, which we played with those stinging rubber kickball balls, was utter hell. Those kids were strong. But fortunately, E doesn't have that worry, so he consequently loves PE.
Two ways my childhood was so very different from our children's.