Legacy - the Fourth Year Confessions

"When I became a senior, I didn't expect a massive out-pour of love."

I'm going to be a senior next year.

Since a lot of my friends are just barely older than me, I've heard a lot about what it's like to be a senior. There are college applications and ceremony plannings and stress and senioritis. But my best friend Hannah told me something that's stuck with me all week: "When I became a senior, I didn't expect a massive out-pour of love."

Hannah has been in speech and debate since she was twelve, and now she's graduating. That entire time, I've been able to watch her grow into the incredible woman of God she is. I see the people who spend time with her, and I realize that's what I want.

I don't want to be known for a bookshelf full of trophies. I don't want to be known for my points on Speechranks. I don't care about being draped in a dozen medals. Two years from now, I don't want to be remembered as the girl who won a lot of stuff at NITOC, for people's mentions of me to consist of awards. I want to leave a legacy.

Leaving speech and debate and high school, I know the legacy Hannah is leaving behind. She's given the example of being kind to the least of these. She sat with the juniors during the awards ceremony. Not 11th graders, but with those 12 and under who are too young to compete. She spent time having vulnerable, spiritual conversations instead of stressing about her speeches. She gave a speech about leadership and lives it.

I know the impact Hannah has left in our obscure little community because I see it, I feel it, I'm impacted by it.

I can't imagine doing speech and debate without Hannah being there. When I hugged her after the awards ceremony, I started crying because we need her and more people like her. We need people who don't just say they care more about relationships than competitive success, but people who live like that. We need leaders who know their influence. We need wisdom. We need love.

When I'm a senior next year, I want to leave a legacy. I want the people around me to say, 'I want her love, her grace, her leadership.' Not because I'm so incredible, but because I want God to use what little I have to make a difference. I want that difference to spread throughout the entire Christian homeschool speech and debate community. I've seen the difference Hannah and so many of my other friends have made in this community and I'm amazed by how God uses those who are humble, those who know it's not about themselves.

Here we are, at the end of the year. We won't be debating about East Asian trade policy (thank goodness) or education or developing countries. We won't be giving motivationals. We won't even have two LD resolutions. And that doesn't matter.

What matters is that we'll still be living with kindness. That we'll still be giving grace. That we'll have joy and love.

If I have learned anything this year, it's that everything will be okay because we will still have love. We still have people who are true friends, who are honest, who are leaving a legacy of Christ-like character.

Whether or not you're a graduate this year, you are leaving a legacy. It's up to you if that is a legacy of love or not.

Vote affirmative, because you shouldn't make a negative impact.

Competitor Stereotypes 2 - The Fourth Year Confessions

While there are no limits on who can do what event (we all know that amazing LDer who also always wins at interps), there are stills certain qualities which belong to those who compete in certain events. These are those qualities. (Continued from here.)

Interps

HI

Only the truly, deeply hilarious can have a shot at this event. Their comedic timing is more on point than that one tournament director's. Usually a younger competitor, HIs are typically loud and energetic. But every now and then, the quiet, seemingly serious competitor who usually wins TP will start competing in this event. And winning. All the time. And everyone will be like, 'wow how did you make your voice sound like that and why are you suddenly the most hilarious person I know?'

"I can't believe I missed TP finals breaks because I was still in HI finals!"

DI

While the dramatic interpretation competitors seem like they would be, well, dramatic. You will not find them crying in the corner (unless they're giving their speech to a wall). You will not usually find them telling stories about holocaust survivors (again, unless they're giving their speech). They do not randomly burst into tears while quoting Steel Magnolias. More likely, DIs will be the ones you meet in the hallways, laughing and being friendly. When you ask them what events they're competing in, you'll expect them to say duo or HI. But no. If you go watch their speech, you will cry. Do not try to stop it. You'll only make it worse.

"Anyway, I have to go make all my judges and audience members weep openly with my heart wrenching speech that will make you question your entire life."

Duo

You watch these competitors to laugh, and sometimes walk out of the room crying. Those who compete in duo will always be found with their partner (unless their partner is in extemp prep, being late for their Duo round). They constantly play off each other's witty statements. They're likely to be TP partners as well. And they're definitely matching down to their socks. If not, you probably won't see them in finals.

"I can't believe you put on the wrong tie! We'll never get that checkmark now!"

OI

OIs are enigmas. You never know what they're going do next. They could make you throw your head back laughing, or make you break down in tears. They are more creative than you, and probably funnier. And they can also make you cry. Being so unpredictable, it is best to stay away from such competitors and watch from a distance until their behavior begins to make sense. If one chooses to risk being around these competitors, even more unpredictable than OOs, one must always be on one's toes. Watch yourself, friends.

"If you watch my speech, you won't have to worry about DIs and HIs because my speech will make you laugh and then crush your soul."

Debate

Parliamentary

Parli debaters are, quite frankly, insane. Rather than turning to rollercoasters or rebellion as means of getting an adrenaline rush, they turn to prepping a full debate round in 15 minutes. Some call them brave, others call them foolish. They're probably brave. They're definitely foolish. They are also extremely impressive, and will make you feel inferiors. And they probably have bruised knuckles because Parli is cool enough to create a new way of signifying agreement.

"Well said! Jolly good! Here here! Or is it 'hear hear?'"

Team Policy

Always digging through a debate box (or two), always researching against that one case, TPers are drowning in paper and sticky notes and extensive knowledge about some obscure topic like trade policies with South Korea. Yet out of that mess, they come up with polished speeches that actually make sense even though you aren't exactly sure what they're talking about. They will pick apart everything you say, word by word, outdated evidence by outdated evidence. Stay out of their way when they're on their way to rounds. If you do not, you will get run over by ten debate boxes and debaters lending 50+ page briefs to other competitors.

"I have three responses to your argument about why we shouldn't have Chick-Fil-A at tournaments, each with two sub-points and an MPX."

Lincoln Douglas

Most frequently found with the LD Secret Society, commenting on deep philosophical issues and the immense length of TP rounds. While they don't have a lot of time, they can still take you down on most issues, while at the same time making you question everything you once believed. Everything they say probably has a deeper meaning than you could possibly comprehend. And unlike TPers, they actually have free time and have far fewer paper cuts.

"As it relates to the value of quality of life, we can clearly see that TP does not uphold the criterion of free time, which indicates that LD is the winner of this debate round."

Competitor Stereotypes 1 : The Fourth Year Confessions

With 12 events plus a wildcard or two, Stoa has a lot of options for all us little teenagers to compete in. From HI to LD to Extemp, there's a wide variety of events. And therefore, there is a wide variety of people who do these events. Here's what we think of them:

Limited Prep

Apologetics

Those who dare put their foot in the door an apologetics round are truly brave. They risk their theology being ripped to shreds because of a 6 minute speech that they may or may not have prepared a card for. They have literal buckets full of Bible verses and C.S. Lewis quotes. Apologetics competitors can frequently be found having theological discussions outside of their competition rooms and probably somewhere reading their Bibles.

"What's your opinion on predestination?"

Extemp

Once the confusion between extemp and expos has been cleared up (this usually takes the entire first year), it is easy to determine who is an extemper. They are usually panicked about making it to their draw time, while also having several other events in the same pattern (dear tournament schedulers, please do not put extemp and duo in the same pattern. This has proved disastrous on many occasions).  DO NOT approach an extemper on his or her way to the prep room or their competition room. Approach them after the round to discuss what topic they pulled and learn how they couldn't find a single article on their topic so they just made everything up.

"Can I go before you? I have to do duo with my partner RIGHT NOW so I can make to my draw on time."

Impromptu

Probably a novice, or an advanced competitor who really wants impromptu to be a NITOC event. You'll see many impromptu-ers pacing outside of his or her competition room, going over examples and points and stories and trying to remember what relevance the sticking out of the thumb has to the structure of a speech. While we all wish impromptu were, yet again, a regular event, the leaders of Stoa have not yet announced any plans on restoring our great event to its former glory.

"What does 'NITOC Break-Out Event' mean anyway?"

Mars Hill

Found reading books, listening to *gasp* secular music, and discussing the latest Hunger Games movie. These students are excellent at "Jesus Juking" conversations, but often choose to refrain from doing so because that's awkward. They carry binders full of song lyrics, movie plots, and book blurbs. If they aren't carrying these binders, they are running around the building looking for these binders so they don't crash and burn in their round because they didn't know the lyrics to "I Can't Get No Satisfaction."

"Katniss offering her life for Prim's is like what Jesus did for us."

Platform

Original Oratory

These competitors are unpredictable. One minute, they'll be deeply emotional and moving, the next they'll be reciting endless facts and statistics, the next they'll be cracking jokes about some obscure topic. They're constantly thinking of new topics, and are prone to Mid-Season Change Syndrome, a condition which causes students to write and rewrite various speeches of different topics, which leads to the student cramming ten minutes of words into their heads on the journey to the tournament.

"I memorized my speech my this morning...I've totally got this.."

Persuasive

If you want to hold firmly to your opinion on a controversial subject, stay away from those who compete in persuasive. They will stop at nothing to sway you to their position. They use emotional stories, shocking statistics, quotes from a multitude of highly accredited persons. Do not argue with these people. You will lose. They know more than you. They are deeply passionate about whatever subject they have chosen. When forced to abandon their speech at the end of NITOC, they are often lost because their passion has been temporarily drained. But once the summer is over, they are back at it, being smarter and more well read than you could hope to be...in that one specific subject.

"I can't believe you didn't finish that water bottle. There are kids in Africa who would give everything the have for one drink of that."

Expository

Expository competitors are most often found with tape and/or glue in hand, desperately trying to repair their boards before the start of the next round. They lurk in the deep reaches of the expository storage room, a place non-expository competitors fear to tread. DO NOT touch the boards. DO NOT touch the props. DO NOT touch the easels. You will NOT survive the encounter.

"Gotta go. My boards are falling apart. Again."


Since my timer is about to go off, you'll have to wait until my partner's next speech to see the rest of the event hasty generalizations. For now, I encourage you to vote affirmative, and stay away from extempers on their way to rounds. It's for your own safety.

Next time on Competitor Stereotypes: Interpers and Debaters

Tournamenting: A How-to - Confessions of a 4th Year

The printer has had its third malfunction this week. Your pens are already running out of ink. You madly edit that OO introduction one more time. Hot glue burns your fingers for the third time as you vainly attempt to keep your expos boards together.

It's the week of the tournament. And not just any tournament, the first tournament. The one you've been denying for weeks. The one you are so unprepared for. The one where you break-in heels and hope you break in outrounds. The one you wish you had another week to prepare for.

But it's coming, and you can't stop it. You can't stop the stress, panic and procrastination. But wait--what's this? You can survive the first tournament of the year? The eighteen hour days? The Rambo/Rambo on neg rounds?  Yes. And here's how.

1. The Panic

Wake up the morning of the tournament fifteen minutes later than you planned. How will you have time to brush your teeth, do your hair, change your clothes, print out all those last minute briefs? You panic, doing everything at twice the speed you normally would, even though it's 6AM and you went to bed at 2AM working on your neg case. You triple check to make sure you have your sticky notes, pens and scripts, knowing you've probably forgotten something anyway (probably bobby pins that your friend needs later in the day).

You end up ready fifteen minutes earlier than you intended to, so you sit around and check Facebook or read blog posts about tournaments. Then, when your mom finally gets ready (after trying on more outfits than you own), you realize you have to get your jacket, debate box, heels, emergency makeup, and timer together in five seconds flat.

2. The Prayer

On the way to the tournament facility, in the dark, at 6:30AM, your mom starts praying while you're in the middle of texting your debate partner about last minute 1AC edits. You close your eyes and pause, remembering the whole reason why you're doing this. Also you need a lot of Jesus help if you're gonna get through this weekend.

3. The Friends

Freak out because you haven't seen a lot of those people since May, or even April and March. And those people are great (they're your friends, after all) and you have a short amount of time before the first round starts, and you still have to find your debate partner and finish talking about your case (because oops, forgot to finish that text).

4. The Postings 

The tab person emerges from the pit the tab room, carrying that set of papers. Your heart drops to your stomach. You have the worst feeling--you're going to hit that team. You know, the win-every-tournament, break-at-NITOC, why-aren't-they-graduated-yet team. You make your way through the crowd of suits and heels and cologne and hormones to the front, where your worst fears are confirmed. Despite how much prep you've put into this, you're not sure you'll make it out of this round with your dignity intact.

5. The First Round

After spending too much time tracking down your partner, and more time spent finding your room, you reach the first competition room. Your opponents (*gulp*) already have their massive binder ("I thought only neg binders were that big!") and nameplates out, totally prepared and put together. You realize you need your hair out of your face, but you left the bobby-pins at home ("I knew I should've quadruple checked that list!") Shaking, your partner pulls out the negative binder, looking pathetic next to other team's stacks of briefs. The judge walks in, completely unreadable. Weren't you supposed to ask them something? Right, right, judging philosophy. Or judging paradigm. Or judging experience. ("Okay, now I'm even more confused.") Before you know it, the first round has started. And before you have a chance to breathe, the first round has ended. ("Wait, I'm still alive?") Yes, you survived. Now you only have another... entire tournament.

6.  The Huddle

Your club mates gather together in the corner (and, if you're from Invictus, block an entire walkway) for the club huddle. Someone gives a short tournament pep/motivational talk, struggling to speak over the rest of the people in the common room. Everyone at least gets the gist of what is said, someone prays, and the short people (me) get squished as everyone moves in for the whole hands in the middle shout thing, and everyone tries to be louder than the other clubs, because obviously that will make us win more.

7. The Panic (pt 2)

In the midst of the huddle, postings for the first speech round went up. You hobble in your heels ("I should've brought slippers!") to through the crowd to find your name first on the list of speakers in your room. But now you don't have time to practice your speech before going in! That ending is still rusty ("I should've practiced more!"), and hold on, which point was which? ("And I still don't have bobby-pins!")

8. The Prayer (pt 2)

Your judges are a few minutes late, so you pace outside your room, madly cramming your speech into your brain. This is the worst possible thing that could've happened, especially after the crazy morning you've had. But, hold on, what's this? An advanced speaker is coming towards your room. Uh oh. Are they in the same room as you? They broke at NITOC last year! Wait, no they're talking to you. They ask how you are, if this is your first tournament. What is this???

Super Advanced: Are ya nervous?

You: YES *cough* I mean, a little bit, sure.

Super Advanced: Do you want me to pray with you before your round?

You: *nods vigorously*

That's not exactly what you were thinking would happen, but you'll take it. The advanced speaker prays with you, and your hands shake a little less, your mind's a little clearer. You finally remember that example you use in your third point. You can do it. You can get through your first speech!

9. The People

After surviving your first two rounds, it's time for lunch ("Who could eat at a time like this??") You head into the crowded room, gaping at the line for Chick-Fil-A. You recognize a few of your friends from club and join them in line. One of the second years tells a story about clapping after the wrong debate speech. A few students from a different club are in line next to you. Another suit-clad kid from your club introduces you to the foreigners, who soon become friends. The line goes by in a flash, and you find yourself sitting with new friends. Your shoulders start loosing their tension. You know another round is coming, but that's okay. If you can get through that first round, you can get through all the rest. And plus you have some new friends to talk about your rounds with.

10. The Rest (no, not sleep)

For the rest of the tournament, you get through your rounds, finally figuring out how this tournament thing works. You wake up the next morning, this time remembering the bobby-pins and comfy shoe, but maybe forgetting your name tag. You hang out with the friends you made, you make more friends. You step out of your comfort zone. You have fun. You learn things you never knew you never knew. Maybe there are some low moments, some bad rounds, some messed up speeches. You may not come out with a trophy in your hand, but you had a good time.

There'll be time later to really get the hang of things. Now is the time to learn, grow, and have fun.

Take a deep breath, say a prayer, and vote affirmative.

Dear Novice - Yes, it's Confusing - Confessions of a 4th Year

Dear Novice,

You're confused, aren't you?

The advanced students talk about ballot parties and crazy judges and talking to walls and breaking (wait, is breaking a good thing, or a bad thing???) and you have no idea what they're talking about. Debating without a brief? You don't even want to think about that. And. hold up, which one is extemp and which one is expos? Because that is still very confusing. And the small matter of how you actually do the whole tournament thing.

It's very confusing.

For many of you, your first tournament is approaching fast and you don't know anything about the bus you're about to get hit by (okay, that analogy is a bit violent but you get the picture, which is the point of analogies). I know the confusion is a bit overwhelming, and you're trying to get a grasp on things, but it's all more slippery than sheet protectors.

The truth is, you can't understand tournaments until you go to one. No matter how many stories you hear, or explanations your mentor gives you, it's just so confusing.

Not much I can do about that. Sorry. But here's the thing.

You're going to find out. You're going to be at that tournament, wearing a suit, giving a speech laced with nerves, wondering how some people could do ten tournaments in a year. Wondering if you'll ever stop tripping over people's debate boxes. Wondering if you'll ever recover from the post tournament exhaustion.

But that's only the beginning. Soon you'll learn what happens at every tournament, what happens at ballot parties, and you'll (probably) realize you love speech and debate. Those other debaters won't seem so intimidating because you've seen them in fluffy slippers. You'll feel the nerves that come along with break announcements (yes, breaking is a good thing), and the satisfaction of making it through your first tournament alive.

Your confusion will fade soon. By next year, it'll be hard to imagine not knowing what tournaments are like. You may even have tournament nightmares. Then you'll watch new novices go to their first tournament and get all nostalgic for your first tournament, even with that crazy debate round and the speech where you forgot your entire second point.

Tournaments are an emotional roller coaster. At times, there's hardly a moment to breathe, much less give a speech, eat lunch, take a group photo, and get to your debate round on time. But the times with your friends, the Chick-Fil-A and suits, the blisters and nerves and forgotten sticky-notes. The only way to get past the confusion is to dive in head first.

Vote affirmative; there's no other way around it.

Have fun!
-A 4th Year Who Loves You

Tournament Denial - Confessions of a 4th Year

When the leaves and temperature start falling, when every other food ends in "pumpkin spice," when your coaches start begging you to finish you platform, you know it's here.

No matter how many times your coach tells you the tournament is only in two months, or six weeks, or three weeks, it doesn't really click. Something has to happen. Some really, super duper significant (okay not that big of a deal, but I didn't want neg running significance on me) even has to happen, that makes you realize it's coming.

Maybe it's the learning that half the novices have written their speeches.

Or remembering the taste of Texas-shaped waffles in hotel lobbies.

Perhaps the realization comes when your alarm goes off at 5:30AM and you feel like you should be putting on a suit that morning.

Or when you think about the awards ceremony and your amazing friends who win things.

Or when you put on heels (or not, if you're a guy. Do not wear heels if you are a guy please) and practice your platform in front of the mirror for the first time since May.

Tournament season.

For the most dedicated debaters, tournament season can be more exciting than Christmas season. They're not that different, after all. You see your family at Christmas, you see your friends who feel like family at tournaments. You get presents at Christmas, you (possibly) get awards at tournaments. The main difference is that you can't stay in your pajamas all day at tournaments.

Three weeks out from the tournament, you realize you don't know what the heck you're doing for your neg LD case, you haven't even timed your motivational, and you should probably send your suit jackets to the cleaners. (And if you're me, you realize you should probably write a blog post before your best friend goes crazy waiting.)

It's crunch time (and not the delicious candy, sorry). Deadlines and script submission and blocking interps and trying not to slap your debate partner for not formatting any of the evidence for the 2AC. Also the small matter of having a value for your value case.

And maybe there are new events you've never done, or events you haven't done in ages, and there's also school, and Ultimate Frisbee, and hyperventilating. Or maybe you have absolutely no idea what a tournament is like because this is your first year in speech and debate and when you hear the word "tournament" you think Hunger Games style arenas and life or death battles.

But it's coming. The early mornings. The cold food. The suit-clad teenagers. The nerves. The talking to walls.

The tournament.

Don't deny it; an affirmative ballot is warranted.