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.

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.

NITOC - The Third Year Chronicles #27

I stand in the entry to the amphitheater and gaze around the massive space. To many, it would be a bizarre sight. Hundreds of teenagers in suits. carrying trophies and uncomfortable looking shoes. To me, though, the view is nothing unusual. Not unusual, but the epitome of bittersweet.

I spent the week with the people in this room. I don't know most of them. Some I met this week. Some I met years ago. Many had walked across the huge stage the front of the room. Many had sat in their seats and cheered for their friends. Medals drape from necks. Ballots are clutched in arms holding drawstring backpacks and snacks bought at the last minute.

My brown high-heel shoes hang from my fingertips. I'm not looking for one specific person. I'm looking at everyone, trying to be with all of them at once. The hours I'd sat through the awards ceremony, the days I spent walking around BJU's campus, and the week I spent with these people is taking its toll. The energy I had throughout the day and week is failing.

Here it is. Here we are. The end.

The end of the awards ceremony. The end of the day. The end of NITOC. The end of the 2014-2015 speech and debate year. No more electronic surveillance law or federal jurisprudence or communities' moral standards in TP and LD rounds. Broadcasting has been rotated out and replaced with monologue. Trade policies with Asian countries, liberal arts, developing countries, OI's continuance. Another year coming.

It all makes me want to cry. A long week has gone by too fast. There are so many people here I won't see for sixth months or more. Some I won't see ever again. Some have impacted me in ways not even I can see. I can only hope that I've impacted them in some way. There are so many people I need to say goodbye to, but no matter how much time I spend in this room, I cannot say enough goodbyes, enough "I love you"s, enough "thank you"s.

I didn't break in my original speech, but I did break in impromptu (to the great excitement of my club). I didn't win any events. I didn't get last place in any events. There's no trophy for me to lug back to my car. That's okay.

I watch friends and strangers mill around the room, saying their own goodbyes and congratulations. I've said a few already myself. I can almost taste the bittersweetness in the air.

"I'll see you next year!"

"I cannot believe the president skipped my name."

"Any ideas for next year?"

"I'm moving in ten days."

"I'm so proud of you!"

"...College in California."

"I love you."

Not much time passes as I stand in the back of the room. I'm so unprepared to say goodbye to my friends, so I'll be cliche and say 'see you later.' An open statement. 'Later' could mean at the ballot party, 'later' could mean next week, 'later' could mean next year. An open promise, though. Even I don't see some of these people ever again, I won't forget this week, or this year of speech and debate.

I leave my spot in the doorway. I make my way through the crowds and have to hug most of my friends at least three times before I'm somewhat satisfied with the beginning of our separation.

NITOC is over. There were a lot of hard spots. Thursday night breaks. Occasionally confusing behavior from my friends. Short nights. Long walks. Heavy boxes. Small hotel room. Three flights of stairs. Leaving my meal tickets at the hotel. Leaving my goldfish at the hotel. Feeling like passing out. Folding two hundred t-shirts. Friends breaking, friends not breaking.

Yes, there were hard spots. But the good spots, the perfect moments, the rejoicing, the small conversations, the frisbee games, the outrounds, the cute suits and kind hearts, getting lost with friends, seeing chipmunks, cheering for my friends and club mates, the sunglasses, the first round, the last round. Every real smile. Every kind word. These things overshadow the rough patches.

When I finally get in the car to go back to the hotel for the ballot party, my mind rolls over the past nine days. The lessons I've learned or relearned. Moments I'll hold onto for years.

I take a deep breath and stare out the window. I won't likely drive down this road again, so I watch the trees blur by in the darkness. I memorize the way the moon looks in South Carolina. I don't cry, but I could. Not necessarily from sadness, or happiness either. But from both.

I thank God for my friends and my family, because without them I wouldn't be anything like the person I am, and I kind of like who I am. I like where I am, right now. This tournament was long and hard and wonderful. Maybe not the best tournament ever, but it's been pretty fantastic. Even if I won't remember every detail, I'll remember what's important. I'll remember the love and pride I feel for my friends, however well they did in competition this year. I'll remember the relationships. I'll remember the people.

Vote affirmative. I'll see you next year.

(This post is part of a series called The Third Year Chronicles. Click here for TTYC #26)

The Last Tournament of the Year - The Third Year Chronicles #25

I've been to 10 tournaments this year. Now, I know you're probably thinking, 'dang, Hadley, that's massive amount of tournaments.' And you're right. Ten tournaments is a lot. There's probably some math I could do to see how many hours I spent at tournaments this year, but I really don't want to. Sorry.

Last weekend, I went to my last tournament of the year. (Minus NITOC, which I am going to.) The last tournament of the year is the one where you realize a few things, such as, but not limited to, the following:

• This could be the last round in which you deliver the speech you've been working on all year.
• You won't be able to hang out with your senior friends at tournaments anymore (unless they're awesome and come back to judge.)
• You'll never deliver that debate case again.
• Speech and debate camp is too far away.
• You aren't going to a tournament for at least six months.
• If you're a senior, you aren't going to compete at a tournament again. (Now that's just depressing.)
• This is your last chance for a green check mark.
• Waiting is hard.

Well, now I'm depressed.

Tournaments are exhausting. Especially when you go to ten in six months. But they're also the greatest. I won't go too far into why, because I've written a lot about this subject.

The last tournament of the year is also a reminder. It reminded me why I'm doing this to begin with: because I love people. It's easy to forget this when you're in the middle of a heated debate round, or when every ballot reads fifth and below, or when you lose around because the other team was more charming. But if we continue to go back to why we love speech and debate, these things fade away. I promise.

Vote affirmative. And try not to freak out because NITOC is in 40 days.

(This post is part of a series called The Third Year Chronicles. Click here for TTYC #24)

Halfway - The Third Year Chronicles #17

I have been doing speech and debate for two and a half years.

In two and a half years I will graduate.

That makes this the halfway point

I suppose I should look back at everything I've learned after all this time, but I don't have to. I've learned it, haven't I? Otherwise there's no point in looking at what I've learned because then I haven't learned anything. So rather than look back at what I've learned and rehash those points, I think it's better to take these things and teach you. Maybe this counts as looking back at what I've learned, but I hope that even more, you learn from my experiences.

I learned to love speech and debate. Of my now eighty blog posts, 57 of those are speech and debate related. I named this blog after a speech event (and also a delicious candy).  My friends get on to me about how much I love forensics. I'm not saying you should love speech and debate. I admit it's not for everyone. But there's something out there that you'll be great at, something you'll love. Maybe it's forensics, maybe it's sports. Maybe it's writing or teaching. I don't know. But God made you with a passion for something. Something you'll love like I love speech and debate.

I learned to make friends. I learned to step out and start conversations. I learned how to encourage other CHSADKs and other people in general. I learned what makes a friend a friend and hopefully how to be that. Losing a friendship taught me a lot about the subject. I learned that some friendships fade and some last. I learned that you often have to fight. I learned that friendship isn't about feelings--it, just like love, is a choice. We have to choose to put the effort into other people to be their friend.

I learned what is important. Really: it's not about the trophies. We hear this so much as debaters. And even though I was on the gov side of a resolution that implied debate was about winning, that's not why we really compete in forensics. It's about learning and growing, and it's about the relationships. As one of my friends once said, "people don't join debate for the competition. They do it for the community, friendships, and future marriages."

I learned that people are my favorite. Even though it's still sometimes hard for me to make friends, I love people. All people. I do need to be alone sometimes and take a break from people, but I don't like being alone all of the time. I love making people smile and laugh and I love getting to help people, in whatever way that may be.

There's more than that, but those are a few general things. I could write a whole blog post about each of those things, and maybe I will (and I have). I don't know what the next 2 1/2 years will hold, and I don't have to. I won't try and guess or predict how well I'll do or how far I'll go. That's not for me to know right now. I suppose that's another thing I learned: not to try and figure out what happens next.

Vote affirmative, or just learn how.

(This post is part of a series called The Third Year Chronicles. Click here for TTYC #16)

Merry Christmas!

Have fun opening presents, listening to Michael Buble', and giving gifts. Take a moment and remember the true meaning (I don't care how cliche' that sounds) of Christmas if you have too. Read Luke 2, watch Charlie Brown specials. And don't forget to help clean up the wrapping paper after opening gifts. And thank your parents. They do a lot for you, not just at Christmas.

Vote affirmative. That can be your gift to me. ;)

Thanksgiving

Time for the obligatory Thanksgiving post!

You probably won't read through the whole list, but it was fun to make. So, here we go.

Things I am Thankful for:

• The grace given to me
• Speech and debate
• Tournament season
• People who comment on my blog (you should do that)
• The freedom to listen to Christmas music without judgement
• Negative briefs
• Go Teen Writers
• Purple trophies
• Awesome impromptu topics
• High quality Christian music
• Food
• Cheesecake
• Jamie Grace's songs that describe my life way too well
• Drawing references so I can fool everyone into thinking I can draw well
• Tiny pumpkins
• Rain boots
• Rain
• Snow before Thanksgiving
• Umbrellas
• Hair spray
• Bobby pins when you need them
• Friends who loan you bobby pins when you need them
• Cold weather
• Winter clothes
• Lists about things I'm thankful for
• My parents who read my blog posts (*waves* Hi Mom!) as well as do many amazing things that are amazing.
• Fiction
• Clean love songs
• Friends who encourage me
• Friends who get and laugh at my jokes
• Friends who help me clean at club
• Chicken and Dumplings
• Judges with legible handwriting
• Judges who get my Taylor Swift references
• Extemp questions I know something about
• Writing ability
• Pinterest (it's a gift and a curse)
• Friends who don't judge my adoration of cookie dough
• Wearing my own nametag
• Parli resolutions that aren't weighted
• Bright pink heels
• Smooth terrain for walking in the aforementioned pink heels
• A clean room
• Pre-written parli cases
• Band-aids
• Fingers that don't get hit by pool balls
• Colorful pens
• Not getting last place in impromptu
• Cheesy hallmark movies
• Remembering to wear my retainer
• Long showers
• Sleeping late
• People who read this blog
• People who read my blog and tell me they have done so
• People who watch my speeches
• Chocolate chip cookie dough ice-cream
• Skater skirts and leggings
• Debate dance parties
• Pretending to be able to dance
• People who vote affirmative

No really. You should do that.

Reference

The First Tournament - The Third Year Chronicles #11

Tomorrow I am leaving for the first tournament of the season. At least, the first tournament for me. There are some states that had tournaments as soon as possible. Why they would do that is beyond me, but other states are crazy (in the best way).

So now a bunch of us are freaking out because omigoshthere'satournamentintwodays. There are briefs to print and cases to tweak and whatever LDers do to do. It's a debate only tournament, so there aren't many speeches to memorize. But that's just an excuse not to memorize my speech that I wrote in August.

Now is the time we should be freaking out, right? I mean, we have 36 hours before the tournament and that is clearly not enough time to do everything we were supposed to do a month ago. And if you don't get all your stuff done you won't win any rounds or get any speaker awards and you certainly won't get a green checkmark. You'll get up to the lectern and spew out gibberish about email privacy or freedom of speech or whatever that parli resolution may be. All that hard work you did at the last minute gone to waste.

It's natural at this point to panic. You're drowning in piles and piles of briefs and flow sheets and suits and check lists and insanity. There's all this work to be done and no time in which to do it.

Stop. For like, two seconds, just stop. That card isn't going to vanish into the void. Your heels will not go missing moments before you pack them. Calm down for one second and listen to me.

You don't have to have everything together. You don't need to have every brief in its exact spot. The tournament will go on regardless of whether or not you remembered to bring eyeshadow and mascara. You may have to use a hotel printer or buy shoes from Wal-Mart. You may have to borrow someone else's tie.

You don't have to have every last thing perfectly lined up. You don't have to give the best speech you've ever given every single round. You don't have to take home trophies or medals or green check marks. You don't have to break to finals or win every round. If those are the reasons why you're competing, then go ahead and freak out and panic and quadruple check every last thing.

It's okay to be nervous. But don't stress yourself out over one tournament. This is the first tournament and you don't have to have it all together. Which is good because I don't think we could.

So calm down. Take a deep breath. Then you can do all the things you need to do and actually survive until the tournament.

Vote affirmative, and pleasedon'tfreakout.

(This post is part of a series called The Third Year Chronicles. Click here for TTYC #10)

Tournaments Are The Greatest

October: The month in which CHSADKs panic about the impending tournament season and stress out over everything. Right now we are very concerned with finding evidence and writing cases and memorizing/actually writing speeches, We stress out about the news because who knows what whacko question we may get in extemp. We have nightmares about buying the wrong type of flow pen. Our printer has nervous breakdowns because of the excessive brief printing. We have a nervous breakdown because it's 9:30 Wednesday night and you have five pieces of evidence to find before midnight.

But let's slow down a minute. At this time of year, it's super easy to start stressing out about assignments and speech memorizing and case finding. Between everything we have to do to get ready for tournaments, we forget about the amazing things that come along with tournaments. This post is dedicated to that very subject.

1. Something to do on the weekends

Admittedly, I have pretty much no life outside speech and debate (deal with it Hans). Occasionally, we'll do something like frisbee or Main Event, but most times the weekend is spent filing extemp articles and researching some obscure case only one person in the country is running (forage fish, ft-dubz).

2. You see all your people

Despite having no life outside of speech and debate, I have plenty of friends. Unfortunately, not all of them are from my club. Not all of them are from my city. Not all of them are from my state. This means I see these people only at tournaments. This means that I over-react when I do see them and I may get a little... excited.

3. Talking to walls is normal

Under most circumstances, talking to walls is considered socially unacceptable. This changes at tournaments. You'll walk down a hallway and spot an interper making weird facial expressions and consistently shifting body positions, or a platformer reciting their lines with all the passion of a platformer. But they aren't giving their speeches to other competitors or parents. They are reciting their speech at the wall. After observing this occurrence, you proceed to turn towards a nearby corner and begin to give your speech, whatever it may be.

4. Awesome ballot parties commence

Admittedly, not all ballot parties are totally stupendously amazing. Occasionally, there will just be a bunch of debaters hanging around a hotel lobby saying unintelligible things that no one remember come the morning. But then there are the ballot parties that go down in history as ballot parties that changed ballot partying as we know it. (Okay, those don't happen very often.) Most times it's just a lot of fun to hang out with your friends without worrying about being on time to extemp prep.

5. Breaks

When doing postings at club, there are always a few people who try to start the forensic clap after every team name, myself included. We usually (always) get shut down. But during a breaks at a tournament, they can't shut us down. But the forensic clap isn't the only great part about breaks. I love watching people's reactions when they break, and I love hearing my friends names. Even if I can't sleep the night before because of all the nerves.

6. Blog post inspiration

After tournaments, I'm always overflowing with inspiration for blog posts and I have to restrain myself from posting five things in one day.  Thus, there is a post boom during tournament season. You're all welcome.

I could go on, but I'll hold back so you can get back to e-ring.

Vote affirmative, because you know how great tournaments are.

The First Club Meeting of the Year - The Third Year Chronicles #4

This afternoon we had the first club meeting of the year. We met in the sanctuary of the church where we meet for club and our various coaches went over the club's basic information and guidelines. And, being perfectly honest, I knew pretty much knew all the stuff already. But I didn't care. I sat there, listening to the words being spoken, because after the coaches were done and everyone had turned in their registration forms, I knew that I would finally get to talk to my friends.

Summer is great and all. There are popsicles and swim parties and long, boring days spent wishing the debate season would start. That last one isn't so great, but it is true. I spent a lot of time waiting for club to restart and now it's finally here.

I was a few minutes late to club today, so pretty much everyone was already there when I arrived. But I couldn't really talk to anyone because the meeting had already started. So I sat down in the back (and I like, never sit in the back. I don't like being late.) and waited for the socialization to start.

And start it did. There were people. Like, everywhere. My heart jumped into my throat (not literally. I'd be in serious trouble if my heart relocated to my throat). I restrained my excitement and tried not to run around hugging everyone in sight. It was a struggle, seeing as how I hadn't seen most of those people in over a month, which may not seem like that long, but since, aside from speech and debate camps, I had a people-deprived summer, I was ecstatic.

Thankfully, I managed to channel my excitement-charged energy into intelligible conversation. I communicated with my people (I call my friends my people. It's a term of endearment, I promise). I managed to say words with real syllables and real meanings rather than spewing gibberish at an excessive pace and a volume capable of bursting eardrums.

And so I socialized for the first time in forever. We didn't do any speech or debate work, but I saw people and I love people. I'm really tired now. I love people, and they energize me and they also drain me. But they are still awesome - especially my friends. I missed y'all, and I'm super excited that I get to see y'all once a week. (At least most of y'all. But I still love my non-IF friends. You're just as great as my IF friends. <3)

Vote affirmative, because you're awesome and club is back.

(This post is part of a series called The Third Year Chronicles. Click here for TTYC #3.)

Being a Third Year - The Third Year Chronicles #1

(This is the first in a new series called the Third Year Chronicles, in which I document the coming year as I, a third year speecher/debater venture through it.)

Ah. Novices.

August.  The month where we can finally call the coming speech and debate season this year, and confidently refer to the previous season as last year.  The month of writing speeches 3-4 months in advance.  The month debate club starts up again.  The month in which we clear out our debate boxes and speech binders, the month we create new files on Dropbox for this year.

The month I realize that I'm a third year now.

At the beginning of my second year, I admittedly still felt like a novice.  The stock issues were foggy, I didn't get a TP partner until October, and I still had a hard time finding cards. This year is totally different.  I have a (more than slightly amazing) partner.  I know the stock issues better than the back of my hand (I mean seriously, who has memorized the back of their hand? Who has time for that?).  I wrote a whole speech before August 4th, something I only planned to do last year.

There shouldn't be this big of a difference between second years and third years, but there is.  I learned just as much my second year as I did my novice year.  I'll probably learn a lot this year too, but it won't be the same.

Weird parts of being a third year:

1.  I can't remember which speech/debate camp from whichever year is which speech/debate camp.  (As in, I get things that happened at 2013 debate camp and things that happened at 2012 speech camp mixed up.)
2. My debate coach doesn't put me in the same lecture room as novices and 2nd years.
3. I know and can explain what all the stock issues are. (Even inherency. Shocking, I know.)
4. I prefer certain flow pads over others. (Forget legal pads. Short ones are where it's at!)
5. I can find six pieces of evidence without crying.
6. I am well acquainted with the walls at certain tournament facilities.

Cool parts of being a third year:

1. I get to teach novices.
2. Novices will look up to me.
3. I get to mentor a novice.
4. I get to help turn novices into unstoppable forces of debater-ness. 
5. Basically, novices will love me.
6. I understand permutation and parametrics.

In conclusion, we have seen that being a third year in weird and cool and different.  Novices will love me, and maybe 2nd years will too.  (Wait, all the second years are already my friends.  So I guess novices loved me last year as well.)

It's for all these reasons I strongly urge an affirmative ballot at the end of today's debate round erm...  blog post.

Novices

Not quite as adorable as the juniors, but still pretty cute, the twelve year old newbies arenjustbas great as the juniors. And I don't ever have to rank them fifth and below, and that's always a plus.

Ah, novices. So young and ignorant to our strange debater ways. They are only just learning the four legs of the cow (or chair, if you're boring like that). They repeat the components of four point refutation like their lives depend on it. They look on in terror as an advanced student explains counter plans. They try to flow speeches word for word. They get candy for reading evidence (seriously? Why don't I get candy?). They debate about super heroes and cats vs dogs.

Meanwhile, we boring advanceds are researching the resolution six months in advance. We recite our 1ACs in our sleep - literally.  We've already eaten most of the elephant.

But we were novices before started finishing our evidence ring assignments within the first five minutes. We, too, argued about Barbies and J.I. Joe. We cried at our first week of ering. (Well, that may just be me.) We MPXed Disney Princesses to nuclear war. We ran topicality in the 1NR. (Again, that may just be me. Also, never run topicality in the 1NR.) But by the end of the year, we knew (at least sort of) what the stock issues were for (#tipthecow). We learned how to flow kind of legibly and chances are, we won some rounds. Maybe we didn't break. Maybe we didn't win the whole tournament or get thirty speaker points. But we lived. We learned some lessons, both about debate and about life. We made friends.

From the day we arrive at the tournament, and blinking step into the round. There's more to argue than can ever be run, more rounds than can ever be won. There's far too much to take in yet, more postings than can ever be seen. But the bags rolling far, through the first tournament, keep going on, to the end of the week. IT'S THE CIRCLE OF LIFEEEEEEEE, AND IT MOVES US AAAAAALLLLL-

Wait, that's the Lion King.

Vote affirmative, cause they just can't wait to be advanced. Or something.

Juniors

I'm not talking about the year before being a senior in highschool or college or whatever. I am, of course. talking about those really cute kids who are too young to compete in speech and debate, but have older siblings who are winning tournaments and want in on the trophy action. They are 100% cuter than us varsity kids and have a much greater ability to scream at high pitches (don't ask me how I know that. My ears are still hurting).

This past week I got to teach at our club's Junior Speech camp. (I was, of course, the best instructor.) (Okay not really. It depends on which kids you ask.) We played Sharks and Minnows, Elf-Giant-Man (think rock-paper-scissors), Attack the Instructor (actually the game was called Fruit Basket Turnovers. But an instructor was attacked.), and more. I taught cute little kids how to time speeches. I gave cute little kids pizza. I heard cute little kids scream far too loud (and let me tell you, those children are far less cute when they shout at pitches that should only be heard by dogs). I told cute little kids the story of the Stinky Cheese Man. You get the I idea- I was with cute little kids all day.

Okay, confession time: there were some ten and eleven year olds that were almost or as tall as me. Not gonna lie, I thought I would be with people I would feel tall around. I was mistaken. I did get to stand in the back row of the group picture. I don't get to do that very often. Most times I'm directly behind the people on their knees. Thanks, juniors, for being slightly shorter than me.

One of the reasons I love juniors is because I used to be one. That, of course, is a whole other story. If you stalk the archives you can find that story, told in like, four different posts. Judging them is both really fun and really hard. I know from very personal experience the way 5th and Belows on a ballot feel when you're nine. But teaching them is the best. You should try it some time.

Vote affirmative. Otherwise, you'll probably break the nine-year-olds' hearts. And mine.

You Know You're A Christian Homeschooled Speech and Debate Kid When... 2

(So it's been over a month since I posted anything. Let's just say I was on summer break, okay? And that just means that I haven't been feeling particularly creative. So now I'm just posting sequels, because who doesn't love a good sequel. Like HTTYD2. Best. Sequel. Ever. Anyway, this is a direct rip off of Blimeycow's You might be a homeschooler if. So I guess I'm double un-creative.)

You know you're a CHSADK when your speech and debate Pinterest board has more pins than your dress board.

You know you're a CHSADK when you freak out when you finally meet your alumni hero.

You know you're a CHSADK when your vacation is decided by NITOC's location.

You know you're a CHSADK when you get upset when you realize you won't be giving your speeches from this/last year again.

You know you're a CHSADK when you get excited about buying new flowpads and pens before speech and debate camp.

You know you're a CHSADK when you start planning speeches for next year before this year is over.

You know you're a CHSADK when talking to walls is perfectly normal behavior.

You know you're a CHSADK when you have no social life during the summer because there are no club meetings or tournaments.

You know you're a CHSADK when you spend far too much time stalking Facebook for NITOC photos while wishing you were there.

You know you're a CHSADK when the act of throwing away your flowing pens from the past year is a mournful occasion.

You know you're a CHSADK when you get weird stares from the people in Starbucks because you're in full tournament attire.

You know you're a CHSADK when you get confused when people clap more than once for one person.

You know you're a CHSADK when others get on to you for parli knocking outside of tournaments. 

You know you're a CHSADK when you have tournament nightmares in the middle of the summer.

You know you're a CHSADK when you feel bad for not asking if everyone is ready before your piano recital (or whatever activity you do outside of debate.)

You know you're a CHSADK when you gasp in shock when people tell you they have a life outside debate.

You know you're a CHSADK when no one in your youth group understands your obscure debate references.

You know you're a CHSADK when you understand these jokes.

You know you're a CHSADK when your favorite webcomic consists of stick figures and speech and debate themed parodies of popular songs.

You know you're a CHSADK when Blimey Cow nails every aspect of your life.

You know you're a CHSADK when you inform your friends that the Debate Dungeon is very real.

You know you're a CHSADK when the vast majority of your blog posts are centered around how great speech and debate it.

You know you're a CHSADK when you dread the summer because there's no speech and debate.

You know you're a CHSADK when you spend way too much time reading SCHSADKL when you should be writing briefs.

You know you're a CHSADK when watching speeches on Youtube is research for your persuasive.

You know you're a CHSADK when it's hard to recognize your friends when they're not wearing suits. 

You know you're a CHSADK when you say NCFCA so fast that people think you're saying enceeifceea.

You know you're a CHSADK when you laugh at the 'that's debatable' joke no matter how old it gets.

You know you're a CHSADK when you have to take out the debater-ese out of your speech for fear of confusing community judges.

You know you're a CHSADK when you spend free time reading and reorganizing old ballots.

You know you're a CHSADK when you freak out because the timer (like a kid, not a time piece) just started counting down the last ten seconds and you didn't even see the other hand signals.

You know you're a CHSADK when you take a break from blog post writing because you haven't done any speech and debate related activities.

Vote affirmative. Maybe I'll try harder to find things to blog about.

10 More Things I Love About Speech and Debate

At the beginning of the year, I wrote a post called "10 Things I Love About Speech and Debate." Now it's the end of the year. I have trophies, I have a huge amount of ballots, I've done parli, I've made friends. And now I'm writing a sequel. Because I can. So ha.

10. Winning Lots of Trophies

This was number ten in the original post, too. Only this time I actually have trophies. It's not as great as some people make it out to be, but it is pretty fun. They're a representation of how hard we've worked. They look pretty on the shelf. But more importantly, you can sometimes eat ice-cream out of them. I still need to do that...

9. Having Lots of Ballots

I have all of my speech ballots from this year in one folder. They're over an inch thick. If you spread them all out it looks like a rainbow. I've competed in five speech events this year, so there are a lot of colors and a lot of papers. And lots of good comments about how to improve too, but, you know, colors!

8. Becoming Friends with People I Just Debated

The heat of the round, the pressure of CX, the intense penguin analogies. With all the back and forth argumentation in the round, it's hard to imagine becoming tournament buddies with the people who just told the judge not to vote affirmative. But then you start talking after the round, and you realize the people you just debated are actually really awesome, and then you become friends.

7. Hotel Breakfasts

I know what you're thinking. Hotel breakfasts are nasty. They are. But the people you eat them with are not. Staying at the same hotel as your friends is pretty much the best. You're all downstairs, in the lobby, eating undercooked waffles and weird banana-blueberry muffins, counting down to the weather, and basically trying not to fall asleep in our chairs.

6.  Nice Judges

The ones who cry in your speeches. The ones who give you awesome critique. The ones who rank you first. The ones who smile and nod and are attentive. They're the greatest and I just want to hug them and shake their hands and thank them for being so awesome. 

5.  Getting People to Watch My Rounds

I always do better when people come to watch my speeches. Sometimes I have to drag people in (I mean that literally), but it's always worth it to get them to watch it. Also, I like watching other people's speeches. On Youtube. I'm totally not a stalker. I swear. I mean, it's not like I ever sit outside people's competition rooms and listen to their speeches. Ever.

4. Speech and Debate Camp

After the shock of seeing all my tournament friends wearing normal clothing, I always have an amazing time at camp. The lectures, the meals, the candy getting sling-shotted at us from across the room. It's all pretty great. But best of all, I get to see my friends who I usually only see during tournament season.

3. Tournaments

This one is pretty broad, but it needs to be said. Tournaments themselves are really awesome. The exhaustion, the stress, the excitement, the fun. All of it. It wouldn't be a tournament without all the ups and downs, the wait for meals, the inside jokes and, you know, the competition.

2. Debate Jokes

Whether it's resolution puns or postings, debate jokes way less funny than we think they are. If someone says, 'that's debatable', we all (or at least I) start laughing, even if it's fake laughter. And whenever they mention HI and we all break out into feigned laughter. Everyone who hates that joke needs to find their sense of humor.

1. My Awesome CHSADK Friends

My friends are pretty amazing. Whether it's speech, debate, or just being themselves, they're all fantastic, and I'm super lucky to have such awesome people in my life. The inside jokes, weird games we play, excited greetings, awkward side-hugs. The excitement and disappointment during breaks and the awards ceremony. Even if I just met them in a debate round, I love you guys. <3

Vote affirmative, because you love speech and debate too. (Because why would you read to the end of the post if you didn't?) Plus, also, it's my birthday- just so you know.

Let It Flow

(To the tune of 'Let It Go' from Disney's Frozen.)

The negative team brought up great arguments, but we know how to respond
A speech full of solvency args, but they don't stand at all
The round keeps going with no certain end in sight
Here we are at last, in the 2AR

'Don't pass this case, it's not solvent. Their harms aren't significant at all.
Keep the status quo, their plan won't work'
Well, it does work!

Let it flow, let it flow!
Neg can't win this round anymore
Let it flow, let it flow!
Don't keep the status quo
Our plan meets their topicality
Vote affirmative
DA's never bothered me anyway

It's funny how the 2A makes arguments seem small
And the DA's that they've brought up, they aren't unique at all
It's time to pass an aff ballot, to enact our mandates so we can
Break tonight, to the finals round
We win this round!

Let it flow! Let it flow!
Their arguments do not stand
Let it flow! Let it flow!
As this round comes to an end
Pass our plan, and vote for the rez
Vote affirmative

The solvency args really don't apply at all
The topicality press, you can see it falls
They dropped the advantages from the 1AC
Our plan benefits you, don't keep the status quo!

Let it flow! Let it flow!
And we'll break to the finals round
Let it flow! Let it flow!
We've won, I'm sure you've found
Our plan will fix the status quo
Vote affirmative!
The flow never bothered me anyway.

A Christian Homeschooled Speech and Debate Kid's Bucket List

There are certain laws in speech and debate that must never be broken (besides Mrs. Harding's debate law). There is certain etiquette, certain things you have to do. I'm not talking about crossing your ankles or sitting on the correct side of the room based on your side of the resolution.  These are unspoken rules. They're not hard and fast, and some aren't even rules, more suggestions on how to be more professional. But every speech and debate kid has a dream, a desire, to break these unspoken rules.

Basically, what I'm saying is that sometimes we want to do really weird things in our rounds. I have made a list of these things, though I admit it is incomplete. With contributions from viewers like you.

-Write a stupid case and run it in finals.

-Take a nap after giving the 1NR.

-Give a speech with a British accent (or any accent that isn't American).

-Give a speech in song.

-Shake the judges hand without letting go.

-Use Disney quotes as voting issues.

-Ask for someone's number in a point of information.

-End your apologetics speech with an alter call.

-Run out of the room in the middle of the round.

-Look at your opponent during CX.

-Hug your opponent during CX.

-Speak without any notes or a podium.

-Burst into song during your impromptu speech.

-Use cheesy debate pick-up lines in a round.

-Say that you're timeline is 'wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey... stuff.'

-Stand on the chair during storytelling.

-Give a tournament with a really weird name.

-Use a Ron Swanson quote in an extemp speech appropriately.

-Qualify for NITOC in DI and then turn your DI into an HI.

-Hug the judge.

-Make offensive jokes.

-Take stalking postings to the next level. (Interpret that as you please.)

-Win a round on your awesome penguin analogy.

-Write a fictional book about speech and debate (is this just me?).

-Wear rainbow slippers in a round and see if anyone notices.

-Ask the judge to vote on the team you're actually on.

- Say that you're funding comes from the proceeds of this tournament and the generous donations of viewers like you.

-Interpret the resolution as something totally wacky. (i.e. Marine = a division of the US armed forces.)

-Vote affirmative.

Okay, that last one isn't totally crazy. But you should do it anyway.

I Have Been Changed For Good

This past weekend was the Westlake Escalade (or, as I prefer, the Wescalade). It was, for many, the last tournament of the year. It was the sixth tournament I've been to this year and my thirteenth tournament total, and out of all those tournament, this was one of my favorites. It was well run, the facility was good, and the competition was great. But those aren't the reasons why it was one of my favorite tournament of all time. The real reason is because of my friends.

I made a conscious decision before the tournament not to focus on the competition portion of the tournament, but rather to focus on friendships. Before the 2012-2013 tournament season, I had about two friends total. But I made a promise to make friends. That promise has paid off.

I pretty much have the best friends ever. They're encouraging, inspiring, funny, loving, caring, kind, and basically the best. I'm so proud of all of them. They aren't perfect, and neither am I. I don't expect them to be perfect. But I still love them all. I wouldn't be who I am without my friends. They have taught me lessons I may never have learned without them, and they have impacted my life in ways even I can't know.

Even when I'm teasing my friends about who they like, or their lack of vest, or their bony hugs, or anything at all, I still love them. I'm absolutely thrilled when my friends break to finals. I'm absolutely thrilled when my friends tell me that their round went well and then tell me why. I love it when they know I care, and I love it when I know they care. Friends like that are hard to find, and I'm glad that I have been so blessed by such amazing people.

I honestly don't know where I'd be without you guys. I love you all so much. You have blessed me so much and I can only pray that I have blessed you as well. "Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not easily broken." (Ecclesiastes 4:12)

Now then. I'm off to see Wicked. Vote affirmative, because I already voted affirmative for you.

You Know You're A Christian Homeschooled Speech and Debate Kid When...

(For the record, this is a direct rip off of Blimeycow's You might be a homeschooler... I'll try to make up in the creativity department for the lack of originality.)

You know you're a CHSADK when you have specific pens for all the stock issues.

You know you're a CHSADK when you spend hours trying to decypher judge handwriting.

You know you're a CHSADK when you start wearing suits for fun.

You know you're a CHSADK when the word 'parametrics' is more than random letters put together.

You know you're a CHSADK when you start impact calculating what food you should order at McDonald's.

You know you're a CHSADK when you have a mini panic attack because a speech and debate legend just started talking to you.

You know you're a CHSADK when the Heritage Foundation is in your top ten most visited sites.

You know you're a CHSADK when 'breaking' is a good thing.

You know you're a CHSADK when you have to explain the difference between 'expos' and 'extemp' to your non-CHSADK friend... for the twelfth time.

You know you're a CHSADK when you accidentally walk in on a meeting of the LD Secret Society.

You know you're a CHSADK when you witness the deepest theological debate you've heard outside of apologetics finals.

You know you're a CHSADK when you end up stalking your ex-debate partner's current debate partner's brother's ex-debate partner after ten minutes on speech ranks.

You know you're a CHSADK when you get trampled in the race for postings for the third time this tournament.

You know you're a CHSADK when you quote your debate partner in the 2NR.

You know you're a CHSADK when you crowd into duo finals and end up sitting under the judge's table.

You know you're a CHSADK when you lash out at someone for calling impromptu 'improv.'

You know you're a CHSADK when you've spent hours watching speeches on Youtube.

You know you're a CHSADK when you say words like permutation and tabula rosa just to confuse your non-CHSADK friends.

You know you're a CHSADK when you come close to burning your ballots because the judge voted on your dinosaur socks and not the flow.

You know you're a CHSADK when you stopped reading the first part a long time ago.

You know you're a CHSADK when you start writing your platform five months before the first tournament.

You know you're a CHSADK when you give more speeches to walls and stuffed animals than you do to people.

You know you're a CHSADK when you've started quoting your duo.

You know you're a CHSADK when you know the best ways to avoid the timer lady.

You know you're a CHSADK when you come up with nicknames for tournaments.

You know you're a CHSADK when people start glaring at you because of your amazing penguin analogy.

You know you're a CHSADK when you can effortlessly speak in public.

You know you're a CHSADK when you accidently end a prayer with 'thank you for judging.'

You know you're a CHSADK when you end every blog post with 'vote affirmative.'

You know you're a CHSADK when you do vote affirmative.

Go Light Your World - Just Try Not to Set Anything On Fire: A Tournament Recap

(Warning: This post is dangerously long. Proceed with caution.)
(Warning- The Sequel: This is totally out of order, because the order of events is really foggy in my memory, and it would take about a week to get the order right and by that time I would already be having panic attacks because of the Wescalade next week.)

I wasn't exactly ready for GLYW (pronounced GLU-wa). I've been giving my speeches all year and I wasn't even doing duo because *coughcoughkalebcoughcough*, but it wasn't speech I wasn't prepared for. Mostly it was parli. Yep. I did parli for the first time (in forever). I did it with my awesome TP partner. I had my first parli round ever the Sunday before the tournament with a makeshift partner, and my second ever the night before with my actual partner. We were doing parli, an event that is already difficult to prepare for, for the first time with next to no prep before hand. And it. was. AWESOME.

Even though we only went 1-5, we had a blast. We had nothing to lose, so we went in there and got an adrenaline rush and a fatter ballot packet. I deciphered my writing, which had been scribbled down as fast as possible in the shortest fifteen minutes of our lives. Why is it that waiting for a ten minute speech to be done for your turn in a round feels like thirty minutes and the fifteen minutes we have for parli seems shorter than impromptu prep? Mysteries that will never be solved.

Because my wonderful duo partner didn't come, and because they didn't have impromptu (L), I only had two speech events. I switched my persuasive to an OO after the Oklahoma tournament, figuring I had nothing to lose since I had yet to get any checks in anything but duo and impromptu, and impromptu doesn't even count. But anyway. Both of my speeches were in one pattern which means I had a free pattern. And during this pattern I was outside singing, "I could go running, and racing, and dancing, and chasing, and leaping, and bounding, hair flying, heart pounding, and splashing and reeling and finally feeling now's when my time is free!"

I managed to drag a bunch of people in to watch my OO first round and they all squeezed into the tiny room that my round was in. They all loved it and they all said I was great and it really encouraged me to hear that people liked it, even the judges didn't. And I finally got the kid who inspired my speech to watch it the second round.

My DI (yes, I'm doing a DI. #thingsyoudidntknowbouthadley) was 10:05 first round, and I'm not sure how that happened since it used to be eight minutes and I didn't add anything to it. I had some friends who were really nice and encouraging after seeing it and they were (and are) amazing. I ended up one spot away from getting a greencheck mark.

On the first day, I was second to last in my OO room, and I stayed and watched my friend's OO (Which, by the way, is more than a little amazing.) So I was walking to go to lunch, but everyone was already going to worship, so I figured they were having lunch after worship. So I went to worship and then they announced that postings for the second TP round were up. I realized that they had served lunch before worship. And now I have to go to a debate round. And now I'm mad, because I wanted Chick-Fi-La. And I didn't get Chick-Fi-La. And after managing to calm myself to down to a point of being able to debate without having a panic attack, I debated and eventually ended up with food in my mouth. Needless to say (that phrase makes no sense), I made sure to get to lunch on time from then on.

Me and my awesome tournament buddies (you know who you are) hung out behind the tournament facility (I swear we weren't like doing drugs or anything). This is probably my favorite tournament facility, for a couple of reasons. 1. The rooms are near perfect. They're all pretty decent sizes, with a good number of rooms. It's only one story, and the three sections are all easy to figure out. 2. The other (better) reason this facility is so great is the woods out back. A very short way from the church there's a fairly secluded area with a swinging bench (that totally isn't broken) and a round table where we held our knight meetings.

I made friends, hung-out with friends, counted down to the weather with friends, and actually debated against my best friend.

When my Really Buddy told me we were hitting each other in parli, I honestly thought she was joking. When I realized she was serious, I kind of freaked out and hoped I wouldn't get up and say, "my really buddy, in her last speech said something about something." That would have been awkward. And we had a huge group come in and watch, and we never had a group come to specifically watch us in parli the whole rest of the tournament. But that's not all.

Two seconds after I left the room, my Really Buddy came and was like, 'we're hitting you again!' I did not believe her. But she isn't one to say things like that. So after a moment I realized she was telling the truth and I freaked out. And it was a lot of fun, and really fun, and we passed notes like every two seconds. ("Would you agree that five billion plus three billion equals ten billion"?)

At one point during the tournament, I was walking through the woods with my friends, and I wearing a skirt and we happened to walk by some thorns, and my ankle happened to come in contact with some of those thorns. And we kept walking even though I was bleeding. It wasn't that bad, but eventually I was like, "Okay, I should probably go wash this and put a band-aid on it, seeing as I have a debate round soon.'

I was really nervous during the awards ceremony, because I didn't break to finals in OO (they just had a third round for DI), so I didn't know if I would get a check mark. I had been really frustrated earlier because I've been giving my speech all year and, even with improvements, it still hadn't improved. I was always three or fewer spots away from a check. I changed it from a persuasive to an OO because I felt I would do better there, and when I didn't I was kind of mad.

So I sat nervously in my seat when they announced that there would be twelve checks in OO. I still had four chances for a check. I bit my lip as they called twelve place up to get one of the sparkly check marks they always give at GLYW. When they called my name for eleventh place, I freaked out. I practically ran on stage and I swear the people (mostly my awesome tournament buddies cheered louder than they did for first place. If you were just to see my expression, and the way people reacted, you would've thought I had gotten first.

We had a small, pathetically short ballot party in the lobby of our hotel that ended really early because of some baseball kids, and then I hung out with my debate partner in her hotel room until 12:00AM talking about how much fun we had, and about how crazy judges are.

A lot more things than the few mentioned in the post happened. From the 15 Game to Batman, this tournament was pretty crazy. I got to see almost all of my speech and debate friends. I learned that sometimes the people who need to hear your speech aren't the judges. Maybe it's the timer, or an audience who came in to watch someone else's speech, or the person you had to drag in to watch your speech. Because it's not about winning the trophies, the medals, or the green check marks. It's about lighting your world. Which was kind of the entire point of the tournament.

Go light your world, and vote affirmative, because that would light up my day. :) But try not to set your yard on fire. (And wow this is super out of order. I warned you.)