"I feel like I'm always learning my opponent."

My friend Philip has been a teacher and writer for longer than I have, and is an undeniable hotshot in both fields. He's all the things good teachers and writers should be: kind, creative, honest, funny, and tough. Plus he's won awards, written under the advisement of the dude who wrote Hotshots, does Kung Fu, and has a downright oldtimey mustache.

Philip: he's pretty great.

So it was great to get to vent and moan and be all the things good teachers and writers are in their off hours with him. To let all the cuckoo-clock-wound muscles unfurl and show their strain. To talk solutions, small losses and wins. To know other teachers have hit walls too, beg signs of life from a sea of blank stares and don't get so much as blinks. To hear of other Larissas and Philips giving up or doubling down, finally walking out or finally getting through.

Philip said something earlier about a cage fight he recently attended. He said, "the guy we were rooting for didn't win but he fought a good fight. He really dominated in the third round, was stronger in the second, but the first...I dunno, it took him too long to learn his opponent."

Earlier, in class, the kids and I were talking about conflict and conflict resolution. It was a great conversation, blooming like the rose at the end of some serious scrub-brush season. It got heavy, with kids opening up about a lot of the hardships they face and wondering about the effect small losses have on the psyche of themselves and others.

One kid said, "well even if we never win, we've still got to try."

I said, "Yes! Why??"

I looked around the room at twenty faces screwed up in thought. Finally, another kid piped up.

"We just have to. Right?"

"Right." I said. Then looked out at the class again. "Right?"

Twenty kids shrugged and nodded. The sound of a small win symphony.