The Spirit of Debate

OK, I'm proud as hell of all my past and present debaters, from my 2020 grads to those that were part of my 2000 South Fork debate coaching indoctrination, and everyone in between. And all are unique, in their own way. But I need to talk about the singularly most unique student I've had the honor of coaching: MiaBeth Rose Gorodetzer-Edelman.

MiaBeth came into the program four years ago from a private school with what I will describe as an extreme case of "I'm not a public speaker" syndrome. Carrie McDaniel and Connor Yeackley tag-teamed her at an incoming freshman class showcase, while I discussed debate with her mom, Jo Gorodetzer. By the end of the evening, both were convinced that taking debate would be a good option.

But that's not what makes MiaBeth unique.

MiaBeth came into the program not only with a lack of public speaking skills, but with a religious background that would prevent her from competing on weekends (and tourneys account for 40% of the grade). No matter, we found a way to get her credit, through allowance by our local middle school league to let her compete on Wednesdays after school, volunteering at Wellington Landings Middle School with Christopher K Cartagena, participating in School Duel and Academic Games, and other such ventures. MiaBeth earned A's every semester in debate. And as a bonus, she was able to compete at our Florida Oceanfront National Speech and Debate Association Congressional Debate national qualifiers, because those tournaments took place on Fridays and did not conflict with the Jewish Sabbath.

That's not what makes MiaBeth unique, either.

Today, MiaBeth had the opportunity to compete at the NSDA Senior Open, a pre-nationals tournament set up to allow seniors across the US who did not qualify for nationals to have one last chance for competition, due to the cancellation of numerous tournaments because of the COVID-19 virus. MiaBeth could compete because the interpretation events were recorded in advance, so she was able to do a 10-minute-long Program Oral Interpretation program on war and veterans ... even though the tourney was on a Saturday and she would not be an active participant during the actual competition.

Today I had the chance to finally watch her video performance, which used the poetry The Charge of the Light Brigade by Alfred Lord Tennyson, Where Broken Soldiers Go by Michael Anderson, and The Last of the Light Brigade by Rudyard Kipling, along with scripts from M*A*S*H, articles from The National Coalition for Homeless Veterans and the U.S. Interagency Council on Homelessness, and music by The Cranberries. Because of distance learning, she essentially put together the program on her own, with minimal assistance from me. And she made it work. She didn't advance to the Sunday showcase, but that's ok. It was her first time competing in an "acting" event, and her first time at a national-level tournament. And it is amazing to me that of all my Class of 2020 students, it would be MiaBeth who would be the last one to compete at a tournament.

MiaBeth was honored at our Virtual DeBanquet this week with the Spirit of Debate Golden Gavel, a singularly unique award I present annually to a student in my program who represents all that is good in debate, who represent the NSDA honor code, who assist me in various capacities (often without being prompted), and of which NSDA points and trophies do not factor into the coach's decision. MiaBeth was a no-brainer for the award. She stayed with debate because she enjoyed the activity; winning at tournaments was never an issue, because she couldn't actually compete on weekends. Trophies were never an issue, for the same reason. MiaBeth participated in the classroom, she researched, she assisted other students with argumentation and outlining, she cross-examined, she craved information about different events, and she exuded confidence and self-representation. And while many other students might have stayed with debate regardless of whether they took home accolades, MiaBeth is the only one who participated knowing this was never really an option.

I constantly tell my program that, while trophies and winning are nice, they're not the most important thing. MiaBeth personified this attitude infinitely.

And that's what makes her unique among the hundreds of students that have been a part of my program the past 18 years.

Virtual Ending

Today endeth my 18th year teaching at Wellington High School. Not with a celebration, but with a thud.

The past 11 weeks have been, to be honest, exhausting beyond belief. I've felt like a first-year teacher in so many ways, and what's scary is I'm fairly tech-savvy. But like my peers, and our students, I've had to relearn and reinvent the wheel, sometimes daily, in order to try and offer some semblance of a positive educational experience to close out 2019-20.

Eleven weeks. Seventy-seven days.

This paradigm shift has been stressful for educators, students, and their families in a plethora of ways. Between hoping the Internet works and having enough computers, to juggling financial responsibilities, to learning to prioritize academic challenges differently, to in some cases moving to other areas of the state or nation, to the stress and/or monotony of being quarantined, to restructuring lesson plans and teaching methods, it's been one hell of a way to acclimate to the new world order.

This pandemic has brought out the best in my profession, and I am so very proud of my peers (at Wellington and across the nation) who have stepped up to the plate and made solid attempts at a positive learning experience. It's been more time consuming than the usual routine, and there's been many a morning I dreaded firing up the computer, because I just didn't have anything meaningful or new to discuss that day. (Or maybe I did, but just didn't feel like it was there that day.)

It's been doubly challenging on my end, because (and I've not mentioned this on Facebook at all) I've spent most of this time at my mother's Boca Raton condo, serving as a caregiver of sorts after she had an emergency appendectomy on March 25. So taking on distance learning while simultaneously working to help plan and coordinate my mom's post-surgery nursing and PT/OT appointments, shopping, cooking meals, paying her bills, and so much more, was an interesting and at times stressful process. (It also included multiple calls/texts daily to family and a few of mom's close friends over the two weeks she was in the hospital and rehab, during which time I was not allowed to visit due to the virus.) BTW, mom is doing great now! (And on the plus side, no food poisoning as a result of my cooking! Yay!)

Despite this, I think the most difficult part of this endeavor has been the lack of personal contact. I'm an introvert by nature, but usually I sequester myself in my condo by choice. I've missed seeing my fellow teachers in the hallways, the courtyard, the office, the teacher's lounge. I've missed seeing my students - yes, even the PITAs who make what's left of my hair fall out. I've missed interacting with other human beings. I've missed proctoring exams (OK, that's a lie, lol). I've missed seeing and working with my debate coach peers from other schools on weekends. And I've missed ... just the benign normality of life before COVID.

Wednesday night was my debate program's end-of-year Virtual DeBanquet and Senior Celebration. Yesterday was my last day teaching virtually. And I feel like a part of me will never find closure from this year. I cried May 18 when, after being allowed a three-hour window on the WHS campus for the first time in what seems like ages to close 4-104 down for the summer, I turned off the lights to an empty room and walked down an empty, dark hallway to exit the campus until August. I laughed and cried during the banquet's superlative announcements and senior speeches (especially during Jordyn Bergman's speech). I cried again, silently, after my last Google Meet class concluded yesterday. To paraphrase Shoeless Joe Jackson in Field of Dreams, "The end of this school year was like having part of me amputated. I've heard that old men wake up and scratch itchy legs that been dust for over fifty years. That was me.”

So here I am ... with grades submitted and an online faculty meeting Monday morning, and virtual commencement that evening, to try and bring some semblance of closure to a year where none really seems possible. It's not the way my students wanted to end the year. I know it's not the way the Class of 2020 wanted to wrap things up. But it is what it is. And my peers and I will come back refreshed and stronger in the fall, ready to take on whatever challenges face us. I salute you, my educational warriors. You mean the world to me.