Brown Socks

You’d think the novelty would have worn off. I was also nervous that it might have - as most things do the second time around. Nothing is new anymore and it becomes easy to adopt the “been there, done that” mentality. The center of the field boasted six lanes meticulously outlined in gravel waiting to be claimed. The mangrove branches that protruded from the ground had been arranged at fixed intervals to form the inner edge of the track. The speakers were blaring island beats from the rec house. The tarps were strung from nearby coconut trees to keep out the sun and the rain. The tents were assembled in the exact same spots as last year. It was complete déjà vu as I scanned the empty field. I already knew how the teams were going to process onto the field. I already knew that all of the island nations would sing their national anthems and the flag bearers who had spent three and a half years awaiting the opportunity would step to the ledge and flaunt their patriotism with grace and grandeur. While there is always viridity in being surprised for the first time, the beauty of the second time around is having something to look forward to.

Even with so much to look forward to during Xavier Day 2006, there were still events that succeeded in turning over 200 people of varying ages into toddlers no older than 5. Hot Ramen and Ice Cream Eating contests, dizzy races, wheelbarrow races and my personal favorites….a moderator race that pleased the crowd as the female moderators “pantsed” (I’ve never had to formally spell that word) the two male moderators and proceeded to laugh hysterically as they tore off for the finish line with the guys struggling to overcome the handicap of running 100M with pants around their ankles, and the coin biting race where “athletes” had to (without their hands) find a coin that had been buried in a pile of flour, complete the lap around the field and then at the finish line be the first to whistle – it’s a lot harder and funnier than it sounds!

As the mounting tension was released in the final heats of the relays, I found myself eagerly looking forward to the closing ceremonies, the hug fest that marks the desegregation of both the Tigerz and the Tritorianz teams, the emotion of those who have just realized the finality of the event, and the circular chorus of Amazing Grace that spans the entire field. I thought I had learned a valuable lesson about expectation, but found myself again disappointed that I missed the former events while tending to an injured Tiger who needed to be immobilized and lifted into the back of the pick-up truck to be transported to the hospital (She’s fine! No worries) Just as we are about to get her into the truck, the clouds open up and wreak what most would consider havoc on anyone standing below. But as the truck pulls away I notice the rain did not dampen but rather enlivened the conjoined circle of 150. As the song finished, all who were brave enough released the grasp of the person next to them to make a head first charge into the puddle that had become the middle of the field.

The festivities that followed the conclusion of the competition could have been out of a dream…. Even though it seemed foreboding as we watched students, cooks and even the director take hard falls on the icy slope, muddy behinds and 2 overturned containers of food couldn’t stifle the buoyant mood. That slope only minutes later turned into a hopping dance floor – if you wanted to call it a floor – more a thick layer of mud dissolving the few remaining blades of grass. The lack of island power and sporadic passing showers weren’t even enough to clear the dance floor of its brown knee-socked party-goers. Teachers, Directors, Students – sloshing around without a care in the world.

After the mess had been cleaned up and the girls had departed for the evening, the faculty had a chance to kick back in our refuge – the faculty porch. A relaxed game of Yahtzee wasn’t enough to hold the interest of everyone – only a select few who you could imagine after a while started to get the late night munchies. While we had the strength to stay up past our typical 10 pm bedtimes, we could not muster up the same might to resist the pristine cake just sitting idly on the kitchen counter. For reasons unknown, (but a hypothesis that it was being saved for a special dinner the next day) it had not been cut and served and on numerous occasions that evening we could hear it whisper secrets of tantalizing indulgence. Finally, someone among the 6 of us made the executive decision to cut it….though after a good 20 minutes of discussion, we had decided on attempting the unthinkable….Yes we were going to cut the cake without anyone noticing. How you ask? Well, I thought horizontally would be best, but it seemed as though vertical was our best bet for a clean getaway with minimal injury to the writing on top. We decided we were going to try and cut the cake in such a way that we could slide the pieces together to make it look whole again. Brilliant- I KNOW!!! What first started out as a joke turned into an hour long surgical procedure...first we marked the cake in the icing -exactly where we wanted to slice- certain that our lines were parallel so they could match up again.

Then using boiling water to clean the knife of any colored icing contamination and residual crumbs, we made the incisions carefully sidestepping the iced roses in the corners. Small piece by small piece we lifted out what we had cut for ourselves to enjoy post-op. With only one minor mishap – dropping a foreign object onto the cake which after a good laugh required an immediate reconstructive ice job, the procedure went well. It was then time for the risky part – the suture. First we were going to try and lift the whole right side of the cake and move it, but it was too dangerous given that the cake had been iced to the bottom sheet of cardboard – it would have been a disaster. Instead one of my esteemed colleagues thought of the ingenious plan – to cut the foil upon which the cake had been decorated. So we cut through the foil and in our defining moments of glory, slid the extraneous piece ever so slightly to the left until it matched up perfectly. With a little touch up work on the icing and a missing “y” in anniversary (a mistake that could have happened to any good baker when spelling such a long and complex word), the damage was virtually unrecognizable. I’m quite certain that I have never eaten a piece of cake that tasted better – and though I realize how ridiculous the previously described scene must sound, I can assure you it was perhaps the most fun that I’ve had at Xavier on a Friday night!!