Perfect

I was not a very talented football player in high school.

I was a freshman the first time I ever tried out for the team. That summer, I came home discouraged on a regular basis, having had my ass handed to me day after day, and twice a day during summer (if you’ve ever played football in high school, “two-a-days” should be an active component of your lexicon). I was disappointed that I didn’t start, but what worried me even more was my father’s disappointment. Everybody on the team seemed to have played before and I felt like I could barely compete. One day after practice, my he came to pick me up and asked me how it went.

“Okay, I guess,” I responded.

“What do you mean, ‘okay, you guess?’ How’re you doing?”

I swallowed hard and before I could block for them with some sort of qualifying remark, the words jumped out of my mouth:

“I don’t think I’m going to start.”

It got very quiet. Looking back, I don’t think my father was as disappointed at my potentially not starting as he was worried about the depleting effect it would have on my self-confidence.

The silence seemed to last for hours, but in reality, it was probably only a few seconds. Let me just insert the fact that my father was a talker…he could stretch out an anecdote, the explanation of a complaint, his opinion, or any other platform for days. But that day, he only had one thing to say:

“Adrian, don’t worry if you don’t start. There will always be people that are stronger than you, faster than you, more talented than you…shit, better than you. Those people may out play you, but don’t you ever in your life let anybody out work you.”

I ended up starting about two games into the season. Beat this kid named Alex G. straight out of his position. When the occasion called for the coach to give an explanation, he stated that “Ayers plays with more (expletive omitted) heart.”

Today was the first day of school. I have worked for the last 21 days nonstop, sometimes for 12 hours a day. I have gone to countless professional development meetings, set my daily alarm for 5am just to get a few extra hours in, scheduled meetings with my principal to get extra input, arranged for the building to be open during the weekends, all in an effort to prepare myself as adequately as possible. I even got sick…physically ill…and I’m sure it was from lack of sleep, not eating properly, and overall mental taxation.

Some of the veteran teachers have warned me about peeling out and having no gas for the finish line. My first inclination is to tell them I’ll rest when I’m dead, but when I consider how I felt a half a step away from that very same grave a few days ago, I realize how sage that advice is.

Yesterday, I left work at about 6:30. I probably would have stayed longer but I had tickets to go see Raphael Saadiq and doors opened at 8. My logic for buying tickets to a show the night before my first day as a teacher was that if I didn’t wear myself out somehow, I would be up all night thinking about what I may have overlooked. The last thing I did before I left the building was remind myself that there comes a time when one must trust his or her abilities and place faith in the fact that he or she did everything possible to prepare for what is to come, and I had reached that point. I went to the show, had a blast, got home at about midnight, and fell asleep quickly. Before I did, I watched the last half of “Friday Night Lights”.

When I got in front of the class, there was no anxiety, no jitters, no dry mouth…nothing I expected might become an obstacle. Strangely enough, I was most worried about being worried. At the end of the day, other teachers shared horror stories about their classroom management problems, how they forgot parts of their lesson plans, had schedule conflicts interrupt the flow of their lectures, etc. I faced the same obstacles, but was more prepared, and quite literally, could not have scripted a more ideal first day of my career. I will revisit this day as long as I live.

One of the most pivotal moments in “Friday Night Lights” was the halftime speech given by Coach Gary Gaines, played by Billy Bob Thornton. Not unlike my experience during two-a-days as a freshman, the Permian Panthers were getting their asses handed to them. Literally beat up, cut, bleeding, and facing a seemingly insurmountable and infinitely intimidating opponent. The speech goes as follows:

“Being perfect is not about that scoreboard out there. It's not about winning. It's about you and your relationship with yourself, your family and your friends. Being perfect is about being able to look your friends in the eye and know that you didn’t let them down because you told them the truth. And that truth is you did everything you could. There wasn’t one more thing you could've done. Can you live in that moment as best you can, with clear eyes, and love in your heart, with joy in your heart? If you can do that gentleman - you're perfect.”

As cheesy as this may sound, those were my final thoughts as I drifted off to sleep last night. When I woke up this morning, I thought about my father, as I have every morning since his passing. I walked into my class with swagger and confidence because I know that no one on this staff has out-worked me.

The kids fuel my passion, and that passion fuels my drive.

I am a starter on this team.

I am perfect.