Talking to the Owl

As I look back on the fencing tournament last Saturday, realize it will never get that good again.  My first gold.  My fellow student, good friend, and teammate as my final bout.  On the final touch, my heart fell as I saw the red light behind me score 15.  Even though I had earned my D, I felt no celebration, only gratitude for what a dignified and honorable set of moments I had been sharing with our coach, each other, the director, and our friends.  

On the way home, I thought about each memorable aspect of the bout: the preparation our coach gave us in his thick Russian-American accent, the stylish dignity and cologne of the director, saluting my teammate and familiar fencing partner, the touches both scored and taken, the double touches at the end, and the excited cheering of our friends. 

I remember the moment of horror in the second period when my teammate flèched and I took his blade in circle six parry.  As he passed me, my ripost slipped beneath the bib of his mask. I said, “oh my God, are you ok?”  Thankfully, the touch was light and he only had a little strawberry on his Adam’s apple where the tip of my blade touched his skin.

We traded points throughout the first and second periods until the score was 14-14.  At the very end, our coach called us to the center of the strip; we each took a knee as he told us, “My students, whoever wins, this bout was great, I couldn’t be more proud of you.”  It was truly a bout that neither of us could have done without the help of this great man who we are so blessed to have as our coach.  Of any sport, only fencing has the dignity and charity where such relationships are possible.

On the way home, I couldn’t help put in the Greg Brown song, “If I had Known“.  I felt this warm feeling overwhelm me as I sung along the lyrics.

A little creek you could spit across
Jimmy and me each took one more toss
our spinners bright in the evening air
People always said, There ain't no fish in there
Well grownups they ain't always right
Jimmy and me walked home slow that night
right down Main Street in our P.F. Fliers
with two 5 lb. bass making grown men liars
Jimmy if I had known-- I might have stopped fishing right then
It's just as well we don't know when things will never be that good again
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