In fourth grade, at 9 my life changed. My teacher, Mr. V. was the Vice Principal, a big black man who used to mete out corporal punishment and was infamous for it. Our classroom would get timid knocks on the glass, to have this GIANT (to a 7-9 year old) Black man open it and stare down growling “Why are you here?” equals total terror. Other teachers used to send bad students to knock on his classroom door as punishment, though only a few even in our class knew that he didn’t give out corporal punishment, just really stern looks. I was one of those.
Mr. V. was a man who managed to channel his passion for teaching into driving his students to a level of perfection that was unusual (probably as unusual as our third grade teacher reading us the Hobbit, and Lord of the Rings). Every Friday was multiplication day. When math time came around, the papers were handed out (the times tables from 1X1 to 1X12 and 12X1 to 12X12) and EVERYONE had to do it in less than two minutes. Or we did it again, and again, and then next week, and next week - we had a year, until we got it. It was timed so that first we learned the times tables, then we memorized them, then we did them so fast that we didn’t even think. To this day, I know what seven times seven, or 9 times 6 or 12 times 8 is before I can even get the words out. I don’t think it, I know it, and every student he had knows it, without ever thinking.
He and I used to play chess during lunch. My father had been playing chess with me, no holds, since I was four, and three years after fourth grade I finally won my first game against my father, then two more years until I would win again, consistantly. So I played Mr. V and lost. I don’t think Mr. V was used to a fourth grader who wanted to play chess 200 straight days in a row and lose every day. I chastised him if I thought he was taking it easy on me, in the way children do when they don't know that they shouldn't chastise 'fearful Mr. V.' - I think I amused him.
He gave me a book, an old book he owned, rebound and kept together with black binding, literally nameless. It was the tales of 11th century knights. It became my standard, because I knew after reading that book what a ‘standard bearer’ was. Because that is how Roland became the Page of Oliver (one of the 12 elite knights of Charlemange), taking the job because the standard bearer had riden from the field of battle in fear. This left Oliver alone and without a rally point. Roland, a fatherless peasant but childhood friend of Oliver stripped the standard bearer and rode out in armor, carrying the banner of Oliver, saving his life several times. As my grandfather used to say, “People either eat the broccoli or the dessert first”. That means that some people choose the hardest first, leaving the easy for later, while other take the fun stuff first and leave the hard for last.
Roland taught me that fear is faced, not run from. I was inside playing chess because as an often sick and fragile child, the playground was a little TOO violent for me. But Roland is the knight of lost causes. Because he was in charge of the 20,000 rearguard of Charlemange when faced with overwhelming odds (the tales put it at 400,000). He had been given Oliphant, the horn which no mortal could blow, by Oliver, if he was in need of help, he was to blow it.
This is where interpretation differs, as Roland refused to put into peril Charlemange and the Army. As his 20,000 knights became 1,000, they begged him to blow Oliphant, but he refused. Even with a circle of 100 knights, he continued to refuse. Only with a few knights left, and wounded did he blow Oliphant, the strain causing blood to pour from his nose and mouth and into his brain. In some versions, Roland is seen as the reckless knight who wanted too much glory, and in one version even being killed at the end by Oliver for his foolishness of these deaths.
The book was very unusual, in that it had one theme, that of individuals who, regardless of exile, of the orders of those with greed or other motivations remained ‘true’. And to be true means to take full meaning of the task given you, the ‘spirit’ of the word. Roland did not blow the horn Oliphant because that was his job. He was to ensure the security of army of Charlemange and guard it, not save himself, so he only blew Oliphant to make sure the Army knew of the threat.
Roland WAS a real person who really DID die as the man in charge of the rearguard in Charlemange army’s exit of Spain, recorded in annals of the time. Another REAL person in the book was El Cid, the undefeatable.
El Cid, living in a Spain tat was being taken over by the moors, served the king of Castile, and grew up fighting the strongholds of the moors. He was no great nobleman, his mother was a minor aristocrat and his father not so he was the hero of the peasants, a man who rose to greatness due to wit and valor. At the Battle of Cabra, El Cid rallied the troops under him, turning the battle and routing the Emir of Granada back to his city. For this ‘unauthorized’ action, he was exiled. He continued with his troop now as a mercenary, until Alfonzo, the king of Castile suffered a huge defeat eight years later and recalled El Cid. The name is a combo of spanish and arabic, meaning ‘The Master’ or ‘Master of Military Arts’ or as he was known, “The Champion”. The title was used during his lifetime.
With an alliance of both Moorish and Christian soldier, El Cid led and gained cities, territories around the great city Valencia (on the Mediterrian side of Spain) creating in Valencia and territories a place where Christians and Moors lived together in peace. The Army and the civil and army administrators were both Christian and Moorish. He died in 1099, right at the end of the 11th Century, and his wife ruled after his death but three years later, the city besieged, the tale is that El Cid, embalmed, tied to his horse, led the great march out of the city, bringing citizens to safety, through those surrounding the city as none dared to attack. So even dead, El Cid, in saving the city citizens, gained one of his greatest victories. El Cid is not a myth but also was a real person, in fact his sword, tested and shown to be 11th century was bought by Castile and is in the Museum of Burgos. The book showed that a name was created by being true to yourself, and resisting influence. And that, despite or indeed because of your attempts you may be hated, for years even, but in the end, the impossible, a safe territory for both Moor and Christian existed, because of El Cid. It really happened, here is his signature. I remember thinking that this was a rather odd book since I put off reading a month or two because I didn’t want the battles and feats of valour, but reading this, all the ‘Heroes’ turn out dead and the ‘valour’ they held was often mixed with exile, hatred, and death.
El Cid was undefeated due to his extreme and unusual tactics for the times, which included ‘brainstorming’ session with aides, then using unusual tactics which included what we know today as ‘psychological warfare’ planning how to create the greatest terror in the troops right before he attacked them. He also used ‘lightning attacks’ on paralyzed troops as well as independent trained troops, and small groups to attack in odd places in order to distract the enemy (sort of like SAS or the like). He also took suggestions from his troops themselves. There was no barrier to victory. For him, in collecting and inspiring those around him, he had no prejudice, accepting moor and christian alike.
I still have that book, and it still has no title. If a peasant can sacrifice himself for honor unknown under the armor, why not a woman? If El Cid was disliked for being successful, and for not being influenced by bribe or corruption, then so too could I. Another 100 chess games and I left Mr. V. classroom, my parents transferred me to a private school and I think every teacher except the Vice Principal at that school soon hated me.
I think it was because I DID things, I tried and failed, and faced the teachers and openly admitted it.
That is the one thing I miss, DOING. Today, even resting in bed I pass out, and the care worker was able to eventually bring me around. I spent a day working on and finally freeing a pill swallowed into my lung, which had festered (oh, finally!), and I bleed from my nose. Not exactly getting out and DOING, not ACTING is it? I may be alive when statistically I should not, but so what?
Yeah the night is long. I would like to say I don’t why I told you about 4th grade except I do. I want to be part of a world where I am burned at the stake or strapped to a horse dead to DO things, rather than literally rotting in parts. Too bad I missed that world by around 1000 years (and not a lot of female commanders…..that we KNOW about).
The battles, the things to be overcome now are different, but there is still work, and the unimaginable to be accomplished. There are a few places now where men and women work together equally in admin, and where people are viewed on their merit and potential, not by skin color, gender, disability, religion, or other issues. But that isn’t HERE yet. And I will fight for that, when I can. Until then I will try to get out of the house, then I will try to get back to boxing, showing women that the stereotypes are untrue, it is a thinking puzzle game that is kind of fun. And I will use it for my own risk: life and my sweat glands, with 10 minutes on the heavy bag at two hits a second.
I leave you with a narrative of red haired Sora and blonde Layla from Kaleido Star, both who shared despise and failure, but refuses to give up. That is the point, not to ‘refused’ to give up, but to keep refusing, no matter how bad it gets. In order to do what all others see as ‘cannot be done’ it takes years of discipline and hard work (and yes, pain) but it is right there in front you. Your dream is ALWAYS in front of you, waiting to be dreamed and sought. Why do you wait?
I have run thousands of miles for races or ultramarathons I never was able to compete it. So what? I failed. The injuries healed and I ran again. I did compete, I did run. If I got a medicine right now that could cure my orthostatic hypotention, I would run a 10K and then a marathon using a walker. And if you don’t understand that, leg braces and all, then you don’t really understand me. It isn’t about walking and running, it is about DOING, about TRYING. One day I will find the right words for explaining it, since I know someone right now who is doing it, risk, and a life changed.
The greatest risk? It isn’t doing something that might cause you loss of function, or damage your body forever, but instead being paralyzed BY risk. You may not believe this but a calculated risk is all we get in life, and if you never choose to take one, then all you have done is given in to a fear of the unknown. Except it isn't unknown, because for the rest of your life you will know what you achieved: Nothing. Because you choose to do NOTHING. What are you risking? Failure? It is an honor to try and fail compared to not try at all. No, not honor from the people around you, but within you, knowing who you are.
Linda says I talk about the dead a lot now. Maybe I can just finally understand what it means to be near helpless to the crush of a disease sitting on you. I hope that like Roland, at the end I can sound that I held to the end, and finished my charge.
I could tell you that I have been resting and pondering since the last post (I have 'pondered'). And decided that I need to set strong boundaries which include resting and accepting limitations, like maybe not doing everything all the time. But that would be a lie.
I took a shower and wheeled up to the Y to rejoin. Yes, in the manual. And was told they had ‘changed policy’ and I needed to come back the next day. And that they did not accommodate ‘power chairs’ (the next day power that be wanted to know who said that, but didn’t say one way or another). BUT, I am NOW a member of the YMCA-YWCA and have my Recreation Integration Card and am getting ready to take flight.
The shower and going up to the Y in the heat turned out not so great as I wasn’t good on the breathing by bedtime and at one point breathed unassisted between 5-7 times over 25-35 minutes. I don’t think Linda was amused, since she was the one with the ambi-bag. The next day, after waiting for the person to get my membership for an hour in a hot, unventilated room, and then on the way home, I passed out and had to be brought inside and hooked up to oxygen by the people I was talking to. Then did the, “Look MA! I don't breathe!” trick again that night too. BUT I did accomplish what I set out to. I am however firmly grounded for now, and will be sitting still for a little while. But just you wait; I am going to fly. Not anymore because I think people won’t like me if I don’t or demand it but because I can. Because I want to, and because I want to show anyone, and everyone that what is possible is only limited to what can be dreamt, desired and the willingness to try even if you fail.
This is where you come in. Oh, like you thought you were getting out of this? Cheryl, three weeks ago, after the Moss Street Artist Display complained that she was so sore from the going up and down the hill and the distance. I said, “well, better keep doing a couple kilometers or miles a week so you are ready for the five kilometer events we enter into. Having a pit crew is nice, but having a fellow PARTICIPANT would be better!” She must have thought I was serious as she HAS been doing training. Which is good as the first 5K is in 3 weeks, and the next two weeks after that. Hee hee.
Most of us in our lives, are in some ways like me, limited, but not by heat and walls but by the limits we have put on ourselves. We live a good life, we live a crappy life, we all get by, but..... And that is it, what is it that makes you secretly look out when no one is looking, and what is it you dream, that you want to do? September is coming they say and if you want to take a class, take it! So what if you are older than other students. SO WHAT?! Or if you are like me and indoors, then is there not somewhere you want to go, whether 1 block away or 10 miles? Is there no way, with planning, with time, that you can make a dream, a goal come true? Something that will only matter to you (and me). A picnic, looking at the stars, starting a new language, starting an instrument, starting a new project, restarting an old project, reading a book you have been putting off, getting outside to a place that is special to you, or just simply going someplace and remembering, honoring. Whatever it is, it is you flying. Like I said, I would rather have fellow PARTICIPANTS.
To fly requires two parts: to dream and to try. Dreaming is something some have let grow rusty, or hidden behind shields. Because to dream is to expose yourself to hurt, to have dreams, to lose them, there is pain there but there is also joy. And to dream you must believe that you can become more than you are, that you ARE a person worth taking risks. That you matter.
We all matter, but only some will choose to dream. And fewer still will risk trying to fly. For years, I have tried in all ways, in tactile ways, in words, in everything that you are unique, and hold unique dreams and desires. And that nothing is impossible, or few things. Many are scary, some are dangerous but the greatest limit is ourselves. It is time to dream what can be. I am not asking that achieve it tomorrow, I am asking that you start TODAY! Not that you go out and run a marathon but if you want to run a marathon, or wheel one, then you dream it, and you write up a realistic plan on how that can happen. The hardest twenty meters to run during training are the twenty meters out your own door. To do it is to try and sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes I try two, three, six, seven times before I simply can get out ANYWHERE with Linda besides here. If you don’t try, if I don’t try, I already know our chance of success and then a dream is just that, something we build a shell over. And something we get resentful about when we see others struggling to achieve the same. Because there will be difficulties. But then, even I am not so sure on how to fly anymore, so there might be some bumpy moments. But as Amelia Earhart said (via Life and Times of Emma), “Never interrupt someone doing what you said couldn’t be done.”
I will leave these walls and I will go to the Y with a volunteer, or I will be so ill from trying that I will have to stop, to gather my strength, and to try again. But I will go, I will play badminton and I will box. Yes, that’s right, I am going to box. Because if the pain of muscles ripping is so bad that I can only handle one night of boxing, that is one night more than I have had this year. That is one night that I lived my dream. And nothing will ever take that away.
So I am asking to try flying with me. And yes, there might be a big splat. But there might not….then what? Another dream to try? Lots of reason to not. Truth is that you might have fragile wings, delicate. But if you have wings and never even try to fly...? Yes, scary to try: People can see us, we can see us, we are too old, too young, not experienced enough, not ready, not this month, not this year. There is ALWAYS a reason to not do something. I am asking to please find a reason to get ready to try. I am not the kind that goes, “Don’t ‘try’ but DO!’ as my rock climbing instructor used to yell. Not a well loved person. I, on the other hand, know that the ‘doing’ comes from honest ‘trying’ and that is all we can do, is try, with all our might. And regardless the outcome, I would be interested, if you are willing, to share how things went, or are going.
So, I am going to sleep and hope that I breath independently for the start and when I get up I will start matching postcards. I am resting up, but I didn’t say I was sitting still doing nothing! As for what else, and with me, there is ALWAYS something else, well, you are going to just have to wait and watch this space.
About 10 years ago, I reached a stage where I sort of had my shit together, or enough to fool most people. I had a job where people respected me, I had my education plans on track and I did running. I had a few others sports and hobbies and did them well. So I stopped trying new things, and when I turned and asked myself, “Why not? What is so wrong with line dancing? (So, so MANY answers to that question!)” I realized that deep down, I didn’t try it because I didn't want to look stupid.
Anytime a person starts something new, anytime I start a new sport or hobby or art I am crap, I look stupid, I feel stupid. That is what being a beginner means. I had enough of that feeling from high school and the trials of learning to be an adult.
And I was scared. Scared of looking foolish, scared of being so bad at something that kids would laugh at me. That my peers would laugh at me. That I would look foolish.
Now once I figured that out, I had two decisions, with one I could stick with what I knew, or only try new things in very limited or very controlled situations. OR I could choose to listen to that little voice inside, the one that goes, “I wonder what it would be like to do that?” and I could face my fears.
Ever since then, I have at least once a year, deliberately tried something, thrown myself wholeheartedly into something new, something hard, something tricky and yes, into looking stupid, sometimes for months.
I can’t say it ever feels or gets easier. It is still humiliating to get a lecture on all the parts of a bow and arrow by someone who you MAY have taught in high school. I still get the red glow of frustration and humiliation when the assistant coach who MIGHT be 20 goes, “Okay! That was the IDEA! Good TRY.” I want to turn and scream, “I am a top level runner, I do a job where I am respected, I blah, blah, blah.” See, I just HATE looking stupid. I want to EXCELL. But first I have to start. If I don’t take the risk, I don’t get to learn anything, don’t get to try anything new.
It turns out that after a certain age, a lot of people hate feeling stupid and so stop trying stuff out, challenging themselves. I’m sorry that happens.
When I was playing the double bass for a couple orchestras people would say, “So at what age did you start playing?” (thinking I would say 10 or 12 or 8) And I would say, “Um, three years ago.” And they would goggle because NO ONE STARTS to learn an instrument as an adult.
But I had decided that was my THING for that year. I called around and no colleges of music would let me use their double basses (even when they had no students in double bass). I asked if they had any teachers. One gave me the name of M.
I called her up. She asked me how much experience I had. I said none, that’s why I needed a teacher. She said, “You know I only teach people about to take their level 8 and teaching certificate?”
I said, “Does that matter, you know how to teach double bass right?”
She asked, “Do you HAVE a double bass?”
“No.”
“Well, if you GET one, call me again.”
Turns out a double bass is a VERY expensive instrument, just the bow costs about $1,000. I found a place in London that rented ones for six months. I went up there on the bus. I rented the bass. I humped it down into the subway. I went to the bus station. They wouldn’t take the double bass (it stood 6’ 8”). I missed the bus. I begged the next bus driver. He said IF there wasn’t much luggage. He took it. I hauled the thing up the stairs. Then picked up the phone and called M. “I have the double bass,” I said, “do I need anything else?”
“You HAVE a double bass, but I just talked to you last week.”
I explained going up to London.
She told me she played for the National Opera. I asked if that meant she knew how to play well. (Oh, you charmer!)
She laughed and said she would meet me and what her rates were. I told her I could only afford 30 minutes a week but that I would practice three hours a day. She said, “No beginner practices three hours a day.”
I told her to come and see. She showed up and there was my bass. She told me it was a crap bass but she lent me a stool and I got a music stand and she showed me what the notes where and left a list of books to work on. They were orchestra books, incredibly difficult; including double bowing (making two notes at one time by using the bow across two strings with specific finger positions); pages and pages just of double bowing. My hands went into cramps. I practiced three and half hours a day.
A couple months later she got me into an orchestra camp. I played 12 hours a day for weeks. She said she’d never seen someone get to level five so quickly. I thanked her for being a good teacher. She told me I was weird. I thanked her for being a good teacher.
Sometimes it doesn’t work out and after several months, I get past the “I look stupid” part and then go, “Hey, that was interesting but it isn’t me.” At least now I know.
Like last year I did the disabled sailing. My able body “supervisor” for disabled sailing was 16 I think. Oh well. I saw baby seals, I learned all the sailing terms and tacking, and found it a total bore (I would try to provoke the Canadian Navy to detain me just to see how they would get me out of the boat!). I went out in a storm with a boat with a broken rudder (Hey I didn’t know the rudder was broken!). So, no, not joining the disabled sailing team or the sailing program this year.
But right now I do have this itch for something NEW. I mean, a new hobby or activity, not a new symptom. So I am hoping Judo will scratch the itch; or dance.
So, if you are trying something new, how is it going? Are you still stuck in the “my kids laugh at me” stage, or finally getting the hang of it, and how do you like it? And if you aren’t doing anything new, what would you LIKE to do? Don’t worry, I am not the Hobby Police, you can dream and not sign up and I won’t think any less of you. There are still a few things I wish I had learned….like flying (expensive!). And maybe…..belly dancing; but first there was the ‘exposing the belly’ and mine was never QUITE perfect enough (Fear and Vanity make a powerful team); and now that it is, I’m in a wheelchair.
Wait a minute….when has that stopped me? Wheelchair belly dancing? Hmmmm…….
