If I could get two tanks, the President’s bodyguards and 20 Columbian guerrillas to do whatever I say, I’d have them stand in front of high school gymnasiums and stop every teacher from watching KIF games. I fear them. They
If I could get two tanks, the President’s bodyguards and 20 Columbian guerrillas to do whatever I say, I’d have them stand in front of high school gymnasiums and stop every teacher from watching KIF games.
I fear them. They are treacherous, and they harass reporters to no end.
Ever see the guy huddled underneath the bleacher at half-time, his face pale white and his limbs trembling as if he just saw Bubba Smith in garter belts and a pink nightgown?
That was me. I had just walked in front of the Waimea cheering section and eyed two teachers: Joyce Evens and Jeff Smith, who many warned were vicious to reporters. But I didn’t listen.
“Hi Mrs. Evens…Mr. Smith,” I said as I approached them. Like hound dogs, they smelled my fear from 10 bleacher benches away. They laughed at me. They scoffed. They made fun of what I was wearing, especially since it wasn’t blue.
Mr. Smith, an English nut, joked about my grammar, saying he understood why I didn’t know the basics of the English language since I probably sailed in from some foreign country like Kasakistan. Sometimes he would take my articles, hang them up on his blackboard and teach all of his students what they shouldn’t do in terms of sentence structure and use of prepositions.
And Mrs. Evens would just sit there and laugh, enjoying my belittlement. “I can’t make fun of your articles,” she said. “I would never subject myself to actually reading them.”
I must say, they’ve got me. They’ve got me where it hurts.
They are teachers, they support student athletes, they go to nearly every KIF game and they love every kid who’s either in-or-out of Waimea’s athletic program. They’ve gained the respect of the young Menehunes, as athletes and as students, and from the looks of it, they may have even developed a network of harrassers, both student and faculty, who enjoy making fun of an undeserving sports reporter.
Being new, and never knowing Waimea baseball All Star Kaliko Oligo, who’s now the lead-off at Hilo, I was shocked when he said his fondest memory was when Mrs. Evens brought him pizza while he was working out late in the batting cage.
“They got to you, too!” I wanted to say.
But I didn’t. Like Tyler Durton and his “Fight Club,” a bond exists between Mrs. Evens, Mr. Smith and the students that many teachers struggle to create. A secret club, they even had the help of Kaua’i’s law enforcement to make sure the power of the pen was just a scared little kitten hiding under the fifth bleacher seat.
Officer Darla Abatiello, mother of one of Waimea’s star triple-sport athletes, joined their plight. “I am sitting here, reading the newspaper and drinking my French Vanilla coffee, and there is no sign of my son in your sports section,” she’d charge. She was only kidding – another little jab to my psyche – but I knew she had me in a tough spot, too.
She’s another one of those, dare I say, “mentors,” who feel the need to interact with kids in the neighborhood. She teaches D.A.R.E. classes, get involved with athletics and fundraisers, and sometimes works out with the kids. “If they respect me as a person, they will respect me as an officer,” she would say. “It’s a great crime-prevention technique.”
Sure. It’s also a great way to join the heckling party with Mrs. Evens and Mr. Smith during KIF basketball games.
Everyone should learn from teachers like Mrs. Evens and Mr. Smith, and police officers should act like Officer Abatiello. The teenagers listen in the classroom, partly because they’ve been supported at the games, and they respect police authority, since they always hear cops cheering from the sidelines.
Sure, they’ve put together a relentless cheer section that hisses as soon as I enter the gym, but they’ve also helped develop fine student-athletes, both on and off the court, which takes their jobs past the 9-5 of regular school hours and through much of their “grading papers” time.
Even though their little game of “mess with the reporter” has got me running for cover, without them, student-athletes would have three less role-models supporting them in the stands.
Is it fair to me? Probably not. But I’d bear the grunt of 20 more reporter hecklers and put them all over the gymnasium if they were anything like these three educators.
Anyone else wanna join the club?
