Sorry for the lack of updates, but as predicted, I haven’t spent a lot of time on the computer in Chicago. I’m out here for a week volunteering for the Chicago Debate Summer Institute, a two-week camp very similar to the institute I ran in Boston last week. Unlike my own camp, which averaged 10-12 attendees on a given day, the CDSI has averaged over 100 per day in the last few years.
When I arrived at Payton High School on Monday morning, however, I found somewhat fewer students than that. There were only 50-60 in attendance that day, and therefore a glut of instructors. The institute director had nothing for Dave (director of the LA Urban Debate League, also in town for the CDSI) and me to do until the afternoon, so we sat in on one of the lectures the students were watching. It was not a good sign that with such a low student:teacher ratio, there were still so many lectures going on. It’s just the worst way for students to learn, especially at a summer camp that is also supposed to be fun and exciting, and with so many spare instructors available, I would have much preferred to see more small group work.
In fact, when I offered to come out to Chicago, I specifically requested some time to work with smaller groups of students, because in the past I’ve been assigned mostly lectures when I visit, and those are just much less fun and rewarding. So after a morning that could have been spent in bed, I had a lecture in the afternoon, and then for the next few days I was to be working with first-year coaches. Sigh. Well that beats lecturing, and ultimately I’m willing to do whatever is needed.
Unfortunately, my new coaches class consists of just two people. They were both cool, very interested in learning about debate and participating a good deal, which is important with such a small group, but I still did not feel as though it was worth a week of my time to fly out to Chicago just to work with two coaches.
The CDSI was only about half of my incentive for coming to Chicago, though. I also wanted to spend some time with Dave, whom I only get to see once or twice a year at these urban debate league events. We first met at a summer debate institute at Howard University a few years ago, and we, along with a woman named Tracy, had such a good time that the three of us continued to meet up at debate camps each summer. Right now, though, Tracy is in South Africa, so it’s just Dave and me.
Truthfully, although I like Dave a lot, we don’t have many common interests beyond debate and our similar positions in our respective urban debate leagues. Dave teaches high school, coaches football, and has a brilliant five-year-old daughter named Saida. I live alone, play poker on the internet, and read Harry Potter in French. But like me, he’s very laid back (Long Beach style, he calls it), and happy just to hang out, talk, and watch TV or nurse beers quietly at a bar.
And I really love listening to him talk about his daughter. I really don’t think I’ve ever seen a more adoring parent, and yet it isn’t creepy the way some parents are who just won’t shut up about their kids. But once he gets going, the love and fascination Dave has for Saida takes over, and it is touching to watch.
Saida was not yet into her Terrible Twos when I first met Dave, and already he was bragging about how smart she was. I initially thought he was exaggerating because that’s what proud fathers do, but I met her for the first and only time last summer, when she was four, and every word he said was true. This child spoke in long, complicated sentences, loved reading, and was fiercely independent.
Other parents from Saida’s school sometimes ask what he and his wife do with Saida to make her so smart. Read to her? Feed her only fruits and vegetables? Forbid her from watching television? He can’t explain it, and, considering himself far from a genius, accepts no credit for passing on good genes. We agreed he should start making up crazy rituals to try to convince these other parents to bathe their children in orange juice or never let them near a microwave or whatever else he can think up.
Last night we sat in our room watching a tremendous thunder storm that had taken out our satellite TV and our internet connection. “Anytime I had to make a wish when I was little,” I told him, “like if I was blowing out birthday candles or throwing a penny in a fountain or whatever, I always wished to control the weather. I don’t know why, but at the time, I didn’t want money or toys or whatever, I just wanted to make it rain.”
He laughed self-consciously. “I always wanted to be a millionaire. I know that’s shallow, but I’ve always just wanted money. I feel like now, if Nandi and I can just work the rest of our lives and build up a nice little estate to pass on to Saida, she could really make something happen. I mean, the girl just needs some capital, and she’ll change the world. And that’s all I need to do, just leave her some money, let her do her thing, and exit stage left.”