For those of you not familiar with the Bay Area, Treasure Island is a flat place of landfill adjacent to a rocky outcrop called Yerba Buena in the center of San Francisco Bay.
It was built by the Navy decades ago, and until recent times was a naval base, off limits to citizens. But over the past 20 years, it has been turned back over to the City, and now a handful of San Franciscans live there, mostly black and poor.
They have one of the world's most astounding vistas, whether they look north (toward Marin), south (toward San Jose), east (toward Berkeley), or west (toward our city.)
Anyway, my student did well out there today, just as my prior student did. This is a perfect place to teach the basics of how to control a car, turn right or left, pull into a parking space, stop and start again, finding the correct lane, and -- most importantly -- developing confidence behind the wheel.
It is hard for me to imagine the kind of person who wouldn't enjoy being a teacher. As I, sadly, read the obituary of my friend who died recently in today's paper, I was reminded of her many decades of teaching. I'm quite sure she would agree with me that it's always an honor to be a teacher.
For somebody to let you into their life, even briefly, and to give them a new skill, leaves the both of you richer. I'll never regret a minute of my time teaching either of my students on Treasure Island, that's for sure.
A few hours later, in Glen Park, our roles were reversed. My student was now my teacher as I watched him play futsol, the indoor version of soccer. As he glided left and right, raced up and sped back, again and again putting his body in the line of fire in a fast-paced game against a stronger opponent, I couldn't help but compare this sport to ballet.
The balance, the grace, the physical beauty are all there. In the photo above, he has turned a ball headed toward his team's goal around into a shot on the other team's goal.
The other team, as I said, was stronger, and won the match, 5-1. But, on the time he was on the court, the score was 1-1. Partly this is due to the fact that he is a defender of the first order. It's very hard to get through or around him, especially now he is not only tall but strong, the result of a daily weight-lifting routine he pursues on his own path to the future.
As I was driving him home after the game, he wasn't pleased but he wasn't devastated either by the loss. He was already looking forward to next week's game.
It struck me that while I am teaching him how to drive, maybe he can teach me how to be better at losing.
2 comments:
Isn't it true that although we teach our children so much- they in turn seem to teach us more.
Both of my sons played soccer through their grade school years, and I always thought that losing gracefully was one of the most important lessons they learned from the sport. Now after graduating from universities and getting into the toughest labor market in decades, they have to compete for that first job with others with years of experiences. When I watch them persevere, I know all the hours watching them play soccer in the freezing weather has not been wasted. S.
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