This week I attended my niece's high school graduation. She graduated from the same school I attended, and I had not been back in twenty-one years.
When I arrived at my sister's place beforehand, she had two bouquets of flowers ready. I asked her who the second one was for. She said: Mr. Cullen.
Mr. Cullen is my niece's teacher, but long before that, he was our high school history teacher and tennis coach. Even if you never took his class, you knew who he was. He was known for his storytelling, for using narrative to bring history to life in a way that made you lean in. He was also known for being a no bullshit kind of person. Even the class clown sat up straight in his class. He had a commanding energy and was generous with his sharp, bright laugh. Think Anthony Hopkins, but with a lighter, airier aura.
On his tennis team, I learned that the varsity girls carried the equipment, not the junior players. The varsity girls were the example. Of hard work, of perseverance, of pulling the younger players up rather than looking down at them.
But the lesson that has stayed with me longest is one he taught us on the court. In tennis, the most strategic play is to hit the ball to the far corners in a K shape, making your opponent run from one end to the other. To train this, he would place cans at the outermost corners of the court and have us aim for them. Before every round, he would remind us:
Aim small, miss small.
If you fix your aim on something specific, even when you miss, you land close. The tighter the target, the tighter the miss.
Seeing Mr. Cullen again after all these years, I realized why I had been feeling so scatterbrained all week. Aim. I lack aim. I am targeting everything, which means I'm targeting nothing. I am the losing player running around the court, hitting the ball in every direction, hoping it lands somewhere favorable.
Aim small, miss small.
This week, I am going back to basics. Finding my corners. Placing my cans.
With love,
Maria
Twenty-one years later, same gymnasium. Different chapter.