Everyone receives countless pieces of advice in his or her life. Some of it is even helpful.
It's hard to identify the most important bit of wisdom necessary for coping with everyday life. However, if self-preservation is your concern, consider this helpful hint: under no circumstances should you startle a person who has been formally trained in hand-to-hand combat.
Years ago when I was serving as a basketball coach at my old high school we had a midweek away game against a school that was a significant distance from ours. Since we wouldn't be returning until late in the evening I decided to stay at school that night. The alternative was driving home over icy streets, getting four or five hours of sleep, and then motoring back over the same wintry roads the following morning. To me the more sensible course of action was to sleep on the floor of the boy's locker room. Another reason my decision seemed sound: I'd be saving the gas required to get me to and from my place of residence that night.
The morning of the game Coach Anderson, a habitual early arriver in the athletic offices, expressed curiosity about why I had a sleeping bag, two lunches, and two sets of clean clothes with me when I came in. After I explained my rationale he furrowed his brow, nodded, and then without comment went back to whatever he was doing. Coach Anderson was universally known as the "nice" gym teacher at the school; anyone who dressed appropriately for his class and gave even the slightest effort received an "A" in phys ed. Away from the students the coach was an intense individual who arrived promptly at 5:30 each morning to prepare the speech he'd be making to the faithful at the house of worship he attended each week. On occasion he'd suffer from paralyzing migraine headaches, which may have been a byproduct of the harrowing time he spent in Vietnam as a United States Marine. He rarely talked about his experiences there. However, he did on at least one occasion every year warn each of his colleagues on the coaching staff to NEVER sneak up on him, even as a joke. He never explained why he made that request, and none of us ever asked. Word on the street was that in the Marine Corps Coach Anderson had been taught how to jab his hand so hard into an enemy's stomach that he could actually grab the man's spine and snap it, all in one motion. No one wanted to know whether or not the rumor was true.
Both the varsity and JV teams lost their games that night, so the bus ride home was quiet. When we arrived back at the school the players and the other coaches dispersed rapidly, as I had anticipated. Once the last person had left I descended the stairs that led to the subterranean locker room, brushed my teeth, unrolled my sleeping bag, and shut off the light. It was so dark that when I held a hand up in front of my face and wiggled my fingers, I couldn't detect even the slightest motion. It had been a long day, and even though the cement floor was rock-hard I quickly fell asleep.
About five hours (but what seemed like about 30 seconds) later I heard the sound of jingling keys, which was followed by the appearance of a bright and rapidly widening sliver of light. Coach Anderson was arriving promptly at 5:30, whistling a merry tune and preparing to start his morning routine. He obviously was not expecting to see a semiconscious human being in a sleeping bag lying in the middle of the floor in his office. The high-pitched sound that emerged from his throat was enough to wake the dead. As he let out his primal scream he assumed a position that he had most likely learned during combat training. He then picked up the sleeping bag (with me inside it), pulled it to a point where my face was about a millimeter from his, and shouted, "DON'T EVER DO THAT!"
In retrospect it's remarkable that my sleeping bag didn't need laundering, or outright disposal. Suddenly wide awake, I indicated to Coach Anderson by nodding, vigorously and wide-eyed, that I would never do that again, whatever "that" was.
And I never have.
Andy YoungReturn to main page
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