And vainly parley with thine ashes dumb
Today is the memorial service for my cross country coach, and since I can't be there to offer my thoughts and prayers, I wrote this.
*
Coach Watkins changed my life. I wrote my personal statements for college about my cross country and track experiences because they were that defining for me. I have asthma, but for some insane reason I loved cross country. I was never very good, but he saw more than just my not-so-impressive times. He saw how much I loved running and how hard I tried even though it hurt me. And I am so grateful for that. I would never even have been given the chance to be on the cross country or track teams at any other school. I remember one time when he told me that he was thinking of having time trials for the teams, but that he didn't want to because of me; because if he had time trials he wouldn't have people on the team like me who weren't very good but who had great spirit. I am so grateful to him for giving me that opportunity.
He was upset whenever I was having extra problems with my asthma, and I will never forget the last race that I ran and finished: the league finals in my junior year. We only had eight girls on the team that year, and one of them wasn't running that day, so he decided to put all of us girls in the Varsity race. He only told me half an hour before I thought I was supposed to start warming up for the Junior Varsity race and I was terrified because I knew I was going to finish last by a lot. But I ran that race in 25:52, which was a personal record for me by a whole minute. I did finish last, but not by that much. And Coach Watkins came over to me afterward with a huge grin on his face, calling, "Laura BANG!" and told me what a great job I had done. He'd given us a really cheesy speech at our team dinner the night before about how we had all been little acorns, but that at league finals the next day we had to be "mighty oaks." And then he gave us each an acorn and made us say "Mighty oaks!" as our team cheer before our races the next day. That's the cheesiest speech I've heard, but that acorn is in a box of my most treasured possessions.
I developed more problems than just my asthma in my senior year, and it broke my heart to watch everyone else running during cross country that fall. I managed to run some of the workouts, but I eventually had to give up because it was too much for my body to handle. I decided to switch classes after the season was over, since there wasn't any point to me being there. But I was wrong. On the first day of the new quarter, Coach Watkins found me outside my homeroom class and he was so angry that I'd dropped cross country without telling him. It didn't matter that I wasn't running; I was still a member of the team. I was speechless. I've never felt so important.
And there are a million smaller everyday things: whapping me with his clipboard, making me fetch his lunch and calculate the gas mileage on his hideous car/thing when I was his TA, babysitting for his kids because he trusted me; he called me the "bake sale babe" because I always took charge of the bake sale at our team car washes; he had a smug smirk, but he also had the kindest smile I've seen.
He once signed my yearbook, "You're the greatest in my eyes. You're much appreciated and loved."
And I wish I could have told him, "Likewise."
*
By ways remote and distant waters sped,
Brother, to thy sad graveside am I come,
That I may give the last gifts to the dead,
And vainly parley with thine ashes dumb:
Since she who now bestows and now denies
Hath taken thee, hapless brother, from mine eyes.
But lo! these gifts, the heirlooms of past years,
Are made sad things to grace thy coffin shell;
Take them, all drenched with a brother's tears,
And, brother, for all time, hail and farewell!
~ "On His Brother's Death" by Catullus
(Trans. by Aubrey Beardsley)
*
Coach Watkins changed my life. I wrote my personal statements for college about my cross country and track experiences because they were that defining for me. I have asthma, but for some insane reason I loved cross country. I was never very good, but he saw more than just my not-so-impressive times. He saw how much I loved running and how hard I tried even though it hurt me. And I am so grateful for that. I would never even have been given the chance to be on the cross country or track teams at any other school. I remember one time when he told me that he was thinking of having time trials for the teams, but that he didn't want to because of me; because if he had time trials he wouldn't have people on the team like me who weren't very good but who had great spirit. I am so grateful to him for giving me that opportunity.
He was upset whenever I was having extra problems with my asthma, and I will never forget the last race that I ran and finished: the league finals in my junior year. We only had eight girls on the team that year, and one of them wasn't running that day, so he decided to put all of us girls in the Varsity race. He only told me half an hour before I thought I was supposed to start warming up for the Junior Varsity race and I was terrified because I knew I was going to finish last by a lot. But I ran that race in 25:52, which was a personal record for me by a whole minute. I did finish last, but not by that much. And Coach Watkins came over to me afterward with a huge grin on his face, calling, "Laura BANG!" and told me what a great job I had done. He'd given us a really cheesy speech at our team dinner the night before about how we had all been little acorns, but that at league finals the next day we had to be "mighty oaks." And then he gave us each an acorn and made us say "Mighty oaks!" as our team cheer before our races the next day. That's the cheesiest speech I've heard, but that acorn is in a box of my most treasured possessions.
I developed more problems than just my asthma in my senior year, and it broke my heart to watch everyone else running during cross country that fall. I managed to run some of the workouts, but I eventually had to give up because it was too much for my body to handle. I decided to switch classes after the season was over, since there wasn't any point to me being there. But I was wrong. On the first day of the new quarter, Coach Watkins found me outside my homeroom class and he was so angry that I'd dropped cross country without telling him. It didn't matter that I wasn't running; I was still a member of the team. I was speechless. I've never felt so important.
And there are a million smaller everyday things: whapping me with his clipboard, making me fetch his lunch and calculate the gas mileage on his hideous car/thing when I was his TA, babysitting for his kids because he trusted me; he called me the "bake sale babe" because I always took charge of the bake sale at our team car washes; he had a smug smirk, but he also had the kindest smile I've seen.
He once signed my yearbook, "You're the greatest in my eyes. You're much appreciated and loved."
And I wish I could have told him, "Likewise."
*
By ways remote and distant waters sped,
Brother, to thy sad graveside am I come,
That I may give the last gifts to the dead,
And vainly parley with thine ashes dumb:
Since she who now bestows and now denies
Hath taken thee, hapless brother, from mine eyes.
But lo! these gifts, the heirlooms of past years,
Are made sad things to grace thy coffin shell;
Take them, all drenched with a brother's tears,
And, brother, for all time, hail and farewell!
~ "On His Brother's Death" by Catullus
(Trans. by Aubrey Beardsley)