Creative Work #2 – The Meaning Beyond Itself…

“Hey Stupid!” he had always said. He was an old man who had spent his life spreading his passion of lacrosse to the “noobies”. He was a man worthy of honor. He was an admirable man who was taken away by cancer. He was my coach!

I joined the lacrosse club in sophomore year without even knowing what the sport was all about. No one helped us “noobies” enhance our skills. The seniors ignored us, and the other coach seemed to care only about the skilled players. I felt like I was a nobody, craving for attention. I thought I would never get better and never have the chance of standing on the grassy green field competing with other teams. But someone proved me wrong; and it was Mr. Baron.

With two hundred and twenty days in a school year, Mr. Baron would be out in the cold each one of those days to teach the skills necessary to be proficient in this sport. In those cold winter days, we would practice in the handball courts. From the side, I watched his body shiver as gusts of hasty wind penetrated through his skin. My body reacted in its own way as well. Chemical reactions screamed under my skin as one by one, large red swollen hives would show the world how each tiny sore could make my entire body itch. I no longer had control over my body as impulsive actions would take over. These allergy symptoms would forbid me from practicing with a clear mind. Balls would fly and I would not be able to scoop, but Mr. Baron never blamed me.

Whenever we mess up, he would always yell “Hey Stupid!” “Stupid” became a part of me. The word constantly reminds me of all the past mistakes that I’ve made, and it cautions me to learn from it. It is ironic how I enjoy being associated with the name “Stupid”. It is not because I consider myself simpleminded, but because of the memories that the word brings back to me. Mr. Baron taught me that a word is just a word, and we have to live our lives beyond the meanings of that remark. The word “Stupid” motivated us in an indirect way, forcing us to work harder and abandon the meaningless title.

There were days when I would become upset because of my inaccurate scooping; Mr. Baron would call me over and say “Hey Stupid, don’t be so harsh on yourself, but go ahead and practice scooping a hundred times in the corner.” One Hundred Times?! I used to hate all the things he would tell us to do, thinking that he was just torturing us. But these thoughts changed as days went by and my skills refined. As Mr. Baron had put it: “we graduated to the next level.” I realized that in order to improve in this sport, I must spend enough time practicing, just like what the seniors had done previously except I would not ignore any one during the process.

As time passed, Mr. Baron became ill. He was undergone with skin cancer. Before long, he left the world and became a part of my memories just like the name “Stupid.” Mr. Baron never stopped advising us even before he left us. I remember when he was lying on the hospital bed and told us about strategies of beating the other teams. Even though Mr. Baron had left us, I will always remember his determined yet kindhearted personality and all the fun he had brought us. Remembering his guidance, I am passing down his lessons to the new wave of inexperienced players, in a way, to allow him to watch over the new group of “noobies.”