| Dear Family and Friends, Have you ever played t-ball with a bunch of five year olds? Have you ever been in your elementary school P.E. class on dodge ball day, lined up with a bunch of other idiots like a cow gone to slaughter? Have you ever been to the circus and watched clowns chase each other around with rubber chickens?! Well, if you have, then you know exactly what I�m talking about. I got the bright idea to play kickball with all of my students today, which turned out to be more interesting and entertaining than I ever thought it�d be . . . four times around. First of all, let me let you in on a little background info: 1.) Kickball is almost exactly like baseball, only you kick the ball instead of hit it, and 2.) Though most of my students know what baseball is, most of them have never played it before. So, I drew my little baseball diamond on the board; I ran around the classroom kicking, pitching, and catching simultaneously in order to demonstrate; I realized that my Dad is far more cut out to coach someone than I could ever dream of being! I had a million little Bulgarian eyes just looking at me dumfounded, most likely pondering exactly WHEN their American teacher really DID lose her marbles. So, after my spiel, we headed outside into the bright spring sunshine, I with a soccer ball balanced under my arm as I raced around the stone �bases� to ensure that the students weren�t too confused about where to run. I split the students into teams via random selection, and told them where they needed to be, as the students in the field chose to cluster together like insane Bulgarian sheep. Ready . . . Set . . . PLAY BALL!!!!! Before I knew what was happening, in all four of my classes, a friendly game of kickball turned into a duel . . . TO THE DEATH. Lubomir, or Teodora, or Georgi would step up to home plate with an evil grin plastered on his or her face and fire in his or her eyes. As he or she scraped the ground with played-in tennis shoes, smoke rose around him or her in angry clouds. I winced, I grimaced, I covered my eyes and whimpered for my mommy. And then came the kick, as the soccer ball was blasted to the far corners of the playground. The outfielders ran madly as the kicker made his way around the bases, all rules of baseball suddenly forgotten by everyone present. �Tag him! Tag him!� I screamed fervently. And then, to the adrenalin-drugged kicker, �Keep running! Keep running!� The outfielders would return only hours later, disgust glimmering in their eyes. The one with the ball darted at the kicker like a mad man, as kickball became a different game altogether. So much for the carefully placed bases, the kicker ran from the outfielder, this way and that as his feet never touched a base, under, over, and through the play area as he attempted to flee from the tag that would send him crawling home to mommy. A pleasant game of kickball suddenly transformed into a death match . . . the Bulgarian version of an American classic. Before I could blink twice, outfielders started beaming kickers with the ball in unadulterated bliss. After all, why tag someone when you could just beam him with the ball? Kickers ran around the bases three at a time, clueless as to why anyone would want to STOP at a base and deprive themselves of the pleasure of fleeing from flying balls. Fifth and sixth graders alike sent soccer balls at one another�s escaping bodies, as the kicker jumped, twirled, rolled, and ducked his way around the bases . . . or at least his way around the playground. Mid-laugh, my delighted and horrified screams turned into, �Be careful of the heads! Be careful of the heads!� in the fastest Bulgarian I could muster, my hands covering my eyes now and then in pure fright. I dodged flying balls as I screamed and cheered, occasionally chasing after balls, tagging kickers, or kicking my own homeruns . . . it took me back to the occasional game of kickball on the playgrounds of my childhood and I was flooded with warm and not-so-warm memories alike. What in the WORLD would I ever do if I weren�t a teacher?!!? For surely I would then DIE of boredom!!! �Hristo! Dani!� I screeched as Hristo went after Dani with his fist. �Both of you COME WITH ME!!! We have to go to the director�s office NOW!� I shoved myself in between the competitive 6th grade boys as I marched them both towards the school building. �Alexander, just PLAY!� I encouraged the wretchedly pouting child. �You are doing FINE and it IS just a game!� �Girls, just come on!� I encouraged. �You KNOW that you can play anything the boys play . . . probably even better!� And then, �Eeeeeeek!� I shrieked. �Good job . . . just beam the ball at Julie�s head a little bit SOFTER please!� And on and on it went . . . my adventurous little kickball game with my rambunctious little Bulgarian children. Awwww, the joys of being a teacher! Never a dull moment . . . and I even get paid for playing games. You can�t beat that, now can you?! But, in the meantime, please excuse me while I duck!!! Painfully Yours, Chantel |
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