Riding back from Penn on our rather small bus was about the usual. It was a one seat per person arrangement, with one of those seats occupied by the driver’s mother. I can appreciate that; it’s a long drive from the Port of Hud to beautiful downtown Philadelphia, and who would want to travel it alone if they didn’t have to? Apparently Mumsy was also the navigator, although the trip back demonstrated that neither mother nor daughter had the greatest grasp of northeast geography. I stayed awake long enough to get them heading north on the Jersey Turnpike, and then dozed up through about Newark, at which point I overheard their nefarious travel plans that seemed to include anything but the shortest distance between two points. I managed to extricate them from their doomed path through the slough of despond (which in fact is not another name for the Jersey swamplands), up the Palisades and over the Tappan Zee and up toward Henhudville, but every time there was a turn and I told them which way to head, they looked at me as if I were the devil incarnate. No, I told them, the devil incarnate was up at Harvard this weekend. It’s just me and I know where I’m going.
Jeesh.
Fortunately the Speecho-Americans were also all pooped out, and slept rather than sang, although they do seem to have a pathological dedication to Mad Libs. I like Mad Libs as much as the next person, but after the first couple of hours, I sort of lose interest. Also, there was much discussion of ballot remarks, and for those of a debatish cast, it’s good to know that there is an IE version of the “more persuasive” judge comment, which is to say, “Great job!” and rank the person 6 out of 6.
Jeesh again.
At one point the conversation drifted to the nature of tournaments, and the sadness with which one must face the real world the following morning. To this I say, so true. Forensics tournaments are not the real world by any means, but they are a complete and unique world all on their own. Unlike the real world, which just trundles along without any particular narrative, they have a beginning, a middle and an end, with a true narrative arc regardless of how one is doing at the tournament. They have the excitement of anticipation, the journey to the venue, the adrenaline of performance, the awaiting of results, the socializing, the move toward the elimination rounds, the climax of a final and the anticlimax of the award ceremony. Aristotle would have recognized the form of drama in all of this, and the cathartic nature of the business. For me, going from one fully formed unique world of my DJ to this other fully formed unique world, it all becomes extremely narrative, but with no narrative being the defining one. Absent home life and family, which is one’s most defining narrative (even if virtually non-existent), one is defined by one’s role in one’s most regular pursuit. Having two regular pursuits becomes rather odd. Am I an editor or a debate coach? Depends on who you ask, I guess. How do those narratives define me? They totally blend, of course.
The same holds true for students. Having a full and rich extra world is not the norm in high school. Yes, there are other activities aside from school per se, but few as whole and intact as forensics. And as all-encompassing and self-defining. Often students prioritize forensics over general school as their defining activity intellectually and socially. Some commitments to sports come close, I think. Not much else, though. We all enter this full other world and redefine ourselves, or add multitudes to our previous definitions.
Interesting. Is the attraction the content of the world, or the mere existence of the world? It probably depends on who you ask. But world it is, and the results are, well, up to you.
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