My Burning Ears... Thursday, January 10

I was mistaken, I had twelve all-girl teams to coach floor hockey but I was right on the dot correct about being able to make them all fall in love with the sport.  A week and a half of coaching floor hockey and I’m happy to note that our number of injuries are in the single digits and most of them were either shaken off or giggled-off.  Laughter is always the best medicine. 

Yesterday we had our first hockey fight, news of it lingered into today and that particular player has been sporting her “death stare” ever since.

What happened was this particular player, referred to as Potty Mouth-J from here on out, arrived for our hockey game, cheerful and giggly like all other girls she came with.  Her team had one member more than their opposition so I jumped in as an extra player.  About ten minutes into the game, Potty Mouth-J goes in for the ball.  With her stick wildly hacking away for the ball and all others doing the same, she ended up taking a stick to her shin.  Instantly she bursted out into tears and dropped to the floor like an oversized sack of potatoes – I was right there, I saw the whole thing.  I also heard the whole thing too, what came next that is.  Actually my assistant out down the hall heard it too, and the door was closed.  So, she flops down on the floor, looks up with eyes bulging, waves her finger at all us standing there and as I knelt down to ask her if she was okay, …

(… for the climax of the story, drum roll please…)

… she yells out at the top of her lungs, in Korean, “You son of a b****, mother f*****, I’m going to kill you all!” 

I’m convinced the sound of our jaws dropping was what those down the hall heard.  There I stood, with 15 little 10 year olds, one of which who had just said things no 10 year should ever be saying let alone know to say!!!

There was an obviously long and uncomfortable serious pause of shock followed by a huge collective gasp.

I looked down at her, then to the other girls.  “If any of you EVER talk like this I will seriously kick you outside – my foot to your bum -- and make your mother to pick you up. You DO NOT talk like that... EVER!”  And with that I told Potty Mouth-J to leave my court and wait for me out in the hall. 

I was disgusted.

Getting hit in the shins is evitable, especially when it’s a group of kids who don’t really know anything about hockey beyond the fact that the stick is meant for hitting the ball.  Potty Mouth-J insisted that the girl who had hit her had intentionally hit her but I was right there, I was in the play so I saw it all.  And the fact that she was blaming a girl that hadn’t even been in on the play just added to the nonscense of it all.

I stood there for some time, trying to talk to her but she wasn’t listening.  I was concerned about whether or not she in fact got hurt but it definitely didn’t excuse the disgusting language that came out of her mouth.  I should note here too that this camp where I’m teaching at is a Christian camp so ya, add that to the situation and it just amplifies the shock felt. 

And just when I thought the bomb had dropped and the situation couldn’t get any worse, my assistant got in on the hallway talk and Potty Mouth-J started insisting that the girl who supposedly hit her (but so obviously hadn’t) give her money.

“Give her money?” I sarcastically whispered to the assistant.  “She’s lucky I don’t give her a piece of soap to wash out her mouth.” 

Trying to pick up the pieces and bounce back from the drama was hard but I played it off and got the game going again.  I didn’t let Potty Mouth-J return to the court on account that I told her she could only return if she apologized for saying such foul language. 

After our game, it was time for dinner.  I had the “joy” of taking the two teams to the cafeteria, which meant I also had to take Potty Mouth-J.  I thought the best case was just to forget about what had just gone down, for the sake of not making a bigger deal than it already was and to keep it unknown to the other children at the camp.  So I brought the two teams to the cafeteria, told them to leave their jackets at their seats and line-up.  Potty Mouth-J appeared to not know what table I had picked out so I simply put my hand on her shoulder and pointed to our table.  She flung around, eyes bulging again and, as those around her hushed up, she asked me in English, “You want die?”

“I want chicken” I told her. 

Worked well to get everyone laughing, everyone but her that is.  I left dinner totally exhausted from an afternoon with Potty Mouth-J.  Just the other day I was bragging to her homeroom teaching about her and high fiving her in the hall and yet here I was today, being death-threatened… TWICE. 

Unlike the other days, work didn’t finish with the arrival of dinner, it finished after 9pm.  We had campfire night tonight so out by the mountain side we light 12 campfires, one for each homeroom class.  I was more than relieved to be back with my homeroom class, away from the drama that was trailing behind Potty Mouth-J.  Her mother ended up being called and discussions among the staff continued.

Was more than happy to shift my focus to that of my homeroom class so I taught my homeroom class how to make smores and then we stood around sipping on hot chocolate. Honestly, I really lucked out and somehow scored the best homeroom class – Texas Class – so while all the other classes raced back to the dorms, I stood outside with my class, sipping on hot chocolate and playing on the ice.  They’re such a great group of kids and though I’m always telling them I’ll kick them if they don’t do this or I’ll upper cut them if they continue to do that, they know I do care about them.  They know I’d never honestly hit them but making such a suggestive comment always gets them giggling.  I talked to them about this tonight actually, me being hard on them, and I told them that I only push them because I know they have the potential to be better.  "Don't disappoint me" I told them, "make your better your good and your better your best".