Certainly Not Swifter

I know I shouldn't be particularly proud of this, but it's a good story nonetheless.

At the beginning of each school year, each student in my grade school took a test to see whether they qualified for the so-called "gifted and talented" classes, which was supposed to be an accelerated study program but in reality was just more homework.

Each year, my best friend, Brad, and I scored well on the entrance test. I'm sure our teachers put open palm to forehead knowing the inevitable outcome. They knew we couldn't turn our regular homework on time; what made them think we'd turn in extra homework? Joke's on them, right?

Sure enough, after a while, Brad and I would get behind on our homework and have to return the "regular" class. We'd stay there for a couple of weeks until we were so bored doing the "regular" work that we'd get sent back to the so-called GT classes. I now wonder if it wasn't a tongue-in-cheek reference like Halberstam's "Best and the Brightest".

Which brings up a few other stories of my academic prowess:

In the second grade, we'd read the Weekly Reader out loud in class on each Friday. Each student would read one paragraph and the idea was to follow along with the rest of the class. [If you know me, you should already know the end of the story.] Sure enough, I got bored at the slow pace and read ahead. When it came my turn to read a paragraph, I was a couple of pages ahead. So, I got in trouble for goofing off and not paying attention.

The next year, the teacher allowed the class to grade our own spelling quizzes; we'd trade with another student and, with red pencil, put a check next to the correct answers and an x next to the incorrect answers. Except that day I decided to put an x next to the correct answers and a check next to the incorrect answers. Again, I got in trouble for making some poor girl cry for suggesting she only got two words correct.

In high school, GT classes were not offered until my final year. In a testament to justice, I was absent the day the entrance exams were given and students were selected. The teacher asked if I wanted to take a make-up test and maybe join the class. Nah, I'm good, I replied. Gifted and Talented doesn't mean motivated.

And "conventional" was never in my dictionary.

But back to my point: I really enjoyed the work provided in my elementary GT classes. For the most part, we were allowed to choose our own topics of study as long as they fit within the framework of the class and satisfied the curriculum objectives.

One semester, I chose to write a paper about Crete and its history. At that point, all I knew was that it as an island near Greece. I read everything I could find about the Minoan civilization and turned in a great paper. To this day, I'm still fascinated with the island. And maybe I can blame my indecipherable handwriting on modeling it after Linear A.

Maybe that same year, I don't remember, I did a paper about the Olympics. I learned about the Latin motto, the symbolism behind the Olympic rings, and the celebration of the amateur athlete. I learned about ancient Greece and the mythological/religious rituals surrounding the Games. Last, I learned about how the Olympics were a movement toward peace and unity of all nations.

Naturally, the modern Olympics don't accurately reflect their ancient progenitor.

The permanent idea of the amateur athlete got left behind with the USA's silver medal in men's basketball during the '72 Summer Games. Obviously, the religious rituals aren't applicable anymore lest Falwell and Dobson organize a boycott. And forget cancelling the Games in time of war; the networks and sponsors would go nuts.

All of that notwithstanding, I still enjoy the coverage. Particularly, I enjoy the curling and biathlon events.

Curling is an exciting game for its precision, accuracy, and strategy. And being from Texas, I'm still bewildered at any event that involves that much ice not used to cool down a drink.

The biathlon is such a dichotomous and physically conflicting sport. It requires a cross country sprint on skis. Uphill, downhill, and all over the place for several kilometers. And at certain intervals, suddenly controlling your racing heart beat to accurately target shoot. Then get it immediately racing again as you continue on the trail.

Maybe that's an ancillary benefit of the Olympics. By marking your life in four year intervals, reflecting on what was going on in your life when the Games were held. Or introducing yourself to different games from different cultures.

Or just not getting any other work done around the house because watching Bode Miller beer bong a six-pack before each run is just too much fun.