By KLAS STOLPE
PURE SOLE
I lost the first debate I engaged in.
Granted, I was pinned in a cloth swaddling, had drool on my chin, and my flailing arms and legs were just a pudgy precursor of the appendages years down the aging process.
At that time my passionate discourse on what I perceived as unfair feeding and sleeping schedules was easily debunked by the application of another’s warm skin against my cheek and the rhythmic circular pattern lightly played upon my heaving shoulders.
I lost more debates throughout my growth... extra dessert portions, distribution of chores, extended twilight visitations with friends, unchaperoned dates, room cleanliness...
I also won a few, including the prestigious removal of garbage oration that has become Stolpe family lore, and of which I proudly recited daily as I placed smelly goods into city receptacles on our street. Yes, of course I had been duped by the initial smooth speeches of my brother as he argued for his own passion and skill for sanitation, and my competitive nature had blurred the reality that sometimes, even when you win, you lose.
In eighth grade I learned that being argumentative was actually a sport.
God bless English teacher Eli Ribich for attempting to organize the hormonal brain seepage of my mates and myself in a variety of graded encounters.
Standing in front of Norwegian lads and lasses I preached, backed by scientific facts mind you, that lutefisk was not a snack absentmindedly left behind by aliens who picnicked on our planet.
However, I did lose that debate when my opponent Lars, the son of Christen (Christenson to those of you unfamiliar with the Scandinavian naming process), brought in grainy photos of his family dancing on a hillside, and a variety of his friends who spoke of seeing the snacking extraterrestrials.
Yes, it was outlandish propaganda, but the lesson learned was that belief is easily earned when fantastical, and accepted as fact among the uneducated, downtrodden, or bored... something most of my mates, who turned away from my political view on the subject, were at that time. It should also be noted that Lars’ sister Helga, the photo of whom should be included next to Webster’s definition of “beauty,” stood next to him throughout the entirety of our discourse, using wild gesticulations that enamored the majority of the classroom, sans the loyalty of my one attending cousin.
Over the years I have come to appreciate a good debate.
Not participating in one, heaven’s no! I am still reeling from the extended loss of driving privileges when I explained my parallel parking attempt would have been acceptable in other countries.
No, today I appreciate watching a good debate.
As we all should, and speaking of which, today is a great day to start by observing the high school Drama, Debate and Forensic tournament at Mt. Edgecumbe High School. Events begin with a welcoming ceremony at the MEHS activities center, beginning at 3:15 p.m., and classrooms in the academic building (past the gym) will be used for the orations and expos.
Grab a Saturday morning coffee and continue watching the best youth deliberations from across Southeast as they resume a variety of rounds at 10:30 a.m., leading up to final debates in the library and finishing with commands at 7 p.m. in the activities center. In between are duets, mimes, more orations and expos, readers theater, solos, duos, and the daunting event that exploited my youthful shortcomings - the extemporaneous speaking. Sigh, darn old research and original analysis.
In today’s world of shocking presentation, social media blitzes, news based on unsubstantiated facts cultivated from opinion, and leadership that demoralizes cultures and divides nationalities, the attempts at discourse instead lead to anger.
Today and Saturday we can forget all that.
We can just watch a collection of good old classic debates from wellmannered and educated students that will provide a glimpse of our future leadership.
Because sometimes all we really need is to be held softly and patted on the back.
