Saturday lessons
Nov. 7th, 2004 02:09 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fredericksI work at school on Saturdays, for a camp called Project Happy. Project Happy is an activity-based camp attended by individuals (mainly children) with physical and mental handicaps from around the city. At PJ I work the bowling alley, which thrills me because I enjoy bowling. I also enjoy giving the kids I'm helping some pointers on how to bowl (if they're game, of course).
This morning the first person to come down to the alley was a little boy named Franz. Franz has mobility issues and is small for his age, but he's quite adept at lifting the lighter balls and sending them down the lane. He was my only bowler for a while, and he was doing fairly well (knocking a few pins down every turn or so). A couple of minutes later two girls came down to bowl as well, and Franz had to share a lane with them. After a while he started getting gutterballs more and more frequently. As far as I could tell it was because he was tired; his wrist was twisting as he was releasing the ball and it'd curve on it's journey down the lane. After a while I tried to instruct him on what he was doing wrong, and what he could do to improve, but he was too frustrated to be an astute pupil. He'd get to mumbling "I can't do it, I can't do it" after each turn and sit down with a dejected expression on his face. Mind you, while he was saying this he would occasionally "untwist" his wrist and get a ball to roll straight down the lane, illustrating that he could, in fact "do it", but he chose to ignore those rolls, most likely because he was only knocking down one or two pins. Our efforts to show him that one pin is significantly better than ZERO pins did nothing to assuage him. He was getting beaten by the girls (both of which were bigger than him), and that was that. He just couldn't do it. That became his mantra. He'd cry out "I can't do it" after every roll, no matter what the outcome, and go back to the benches and sulk. We'd tell him it was his go, he say he couldn't do it, we'd remind him that he could, he'd get up, roll, and we started it all over again.
What struck me was that he *could* do it. I'd seen Franz bowl for four weeks now; I could vouch for that. Hells, when he'd come down by himself he'd bowled excellently. Yet he'd insist he couldn't do it. So he wouldn't try. He'd drop the ball, ignoring all advice or prior knowledge, roll a gutter, and fulfill his own words. But he never just threw up his hands and let it all be. He'd keep trying, even though he swore to us up and down that he couldn't do it. It took a little persuasion on our part, but we'd get him back up and playing.
I read a lot into that. About people in general. Just don't ask me to post it all in clear form. It's 2:40 AM, dammit.
*
I got him to promise me to come back down to the alley next week by telling him that I get all lonely down there by myself. I guess that means I really do have to work next Saturday.
This morning the first person to come down to the alley was a little boy named Franz. Franz has mobility issues and is small for his age, but he's quite adept at lifting the lighter balls and sending them down the lane. He was my only bowler for a while, and he was doing fairly well (knocking a few pins down every turn or so). A couple of minutes later two girls came down to bowl as well, and Franz had to share a lane with them. After a while he started getting gutterballs more and more frequently. As far as I could tell it was because he was tired; his wrist was twisting as he was releasing the ball and it'd curve on it's journey down the lane. After a while I tried to instruct him on what he was doing wrong, and what he could do to improve, but he was too frustrated to be an astute pupil. He'd get to mumbling "I can't do it, I can't do it" after each turn and sit down with a dejected expression on his face. Mind you, while he was saying this he would occasionally "untwist" his wrist and get a ball to roll straight down the lane, illustrating that he could, in fact "do it", but he chose to ignore those rolls, most likely because he was only knocking down one or two pins. Our efforts to show him that one pin is significantly better than ZERO pins did nothing to assuage him. He was getting beaten by the girls (both of which were bigger than him), and that was that. He just couldn't do it. That became his mantra. He'd cry out "I can't do it" after every roll, no matter what the outcome, and go back to the benches and sulk. We'd tell him it was his go, he say he couldn't do it, we'd remind him that he could, he'd get up, roll, and we started it all over again.
What struck me was that he *could* do it. I'd seen Franz bowl for four weeks now; I could vouch for that. Hells, when he'd come down by himself he'd bowled excellently. Yet he'd insist he couldn't do it. So he wouldn't try. He'd drop the ball, ignoring all advice or prior knowledge, roll a gutter, and fulfill his own words. But he never just threw up his hands and let it all be. He'd keep trying, even though he swore to us up and down that he couldn't do it. It took a little persuasion on our part, but we'd get him back up and playing.
I read a lot into that. About people in general. Just don't ask me to post it all in clear form. It's 2:40 AM, dammit.
*
I got him to promise me to come back down to the alley next week by telling him that I get all lonely down there by myself. I guess that means I really do have to work next Saturday.
