May 20 - Visiting Fieldston And More On South Africa

I got up at around 12:30 today, having stayed awake until 3 the night before, doing absolutely nothing. Grabbed the uptown 1 train with Sam (my cousin) and rolled into Fieldston at about 1:45. We had a fantastic day. It's always a little intimidating coming back to visit, but it always turns out incredibly well. The school has certainly changed, but the vague memories and sense of deja vu brought back by the simple physical presence of Fieldston are incredibly powerful and rich. It seems to me that one of the easiest ways to see how much you've changed is to return to a place that conjures strong associations with your past. On top of that, I love seeing the ways in which my interactions with my former teachers have changed and how my perception of them changes. Every time I visit, I'm able to hold myself up against my high school role models and see how I've progressed towards becoming the sort of adult that I looked up to as an adolescent. I saw Church, Montera, Waldman, Aune, Baglio, Reynolds, Harry Dawe, Vinni, Wern and Meyers. I had wonderful conversations with many of them, and I was, as always, impressed and surprised by how well they all remembered me and how happy they were to see their former students coming back to bother them. In particular, I really enjoyed talking to Harry (who I hadn't been planning to see) about Orhan Pamuk, Turkey, the west, hockey, frisbee and his frank take on college admissions.

After visiting, I went out to the upper field to run Fieldston's frisbee practice (something I hadn't realized I had signed up to do until I ran into Matteo Bessone digging holes for the outdoor classroom behind the Tate Library at 2:30). I recognized two of the current team members from my senior year (they're now seniors themselves) and they both remembered me, which was gratifying. The practice itself was a bit of a mess. I clearly was not expecting a practice as intense or serious as what we do in college, but I was a little shocked at how unorganized things were. Meyers and Wern coach jointly, but neither seems to have much respect among the team, nor have they instilled anything close to a normal routine or knowledge of frisbee. In fact, I doubt that either of them know the game as well as I do. There was no set warm-up routine (John Acheson and I ran dynamic warm-ups with them today), nor is there much discipline (case in point: water breaks were spontaneous affairs, initiated by whichever kid decided that he needed some time out of the sun). That being said, the kids were great, and it was fun to play with them and try to teach them something (we worked on dumping and swinging all day). On top of that, many of them seemed to have good instincts and showed a good deal of promise. All in all, the experience made me realize exactly what I've gained from devoting so much time to ultimate at Yale. I'm much better at recognizing group dynamics, as well as motivating a group and gaining respect from them than I would be otherwise. I was pretty surprised at Wern and Meyers' inability to do this (though to be fair, perhaps they were exhausted from teaching during the day), despite the fact that both have taught at Fieldston for a considerable number of years and have coached the team for the entire season. In light of their social and communication skills, I found myself wondering if being a teacher was really unsuited for me, and reconsidering my initial rejection of that profession.

After practice, I caught a ride back into the city with my mother in order to eat dinner with Sam, Kathy, Jerry, Phyllis (the daughter of my great-grandmother's second husband), Ellie (Phyllis' daughter) and John (her husband). I had never met John or Ellie before, though we had stayed at their house in Bagni di Lucca when we visited Italy (a trip that probably took place almost a decade ago, incredible how time flies). Dinner was wonderful, and it was great to see everyone. John is from South Africa, and I had a great time talking to him. To begin with, we happened to be sporting the exact same shirt. He was also keen to talk about South African literature (particularly J.M. Coetzee) and recommended 'The Age of Iron' as well as 'The Kindly Ones' (not a Coetzee novel, but something he was highly excited about). Additionally, he related to Sam and myself the story of the only film he tried to produce. He had worked on a movie written by Athol Fugard during apartheid. Apparently, Fugard was trashed the entire time, and was having an affair with another woman despite the fact that his wife was there. The director came out of the closet about halfway through filming, and, because the cast was multiracial, the secret police followed them everywhere. John mentioned that he thought that there might be a correlation between political action and unrest and artistic production. It's certainly an idea that seems plausible to me, and I wonder to what extent art can create political unrest. I'll certainly pay attention to the idea as I finish Coetzee's memoir.