I also enjoyed my adjunct professorship at the college. For the first time since leaving Contessa Cosmetics, I had after-hours responsibilities. Yet, these were not torture. Firstly, I only taught two classes per week, both on the same day. I had the rest of the week to prepare my lesson and grade assignments and tests. I loved teaching experimental psychology and interacted well with my students. I felt a great sense of pride being their teacher. It was similar to the sensation of goodness I experienced working in my husband’s veterinary clinic. I was a sympathetic, approachable teacher, one with whom students could be open and honest. Of course, not everyone liked me, but I was mature enough to accept difference of opinion. Teaching gave me purpose outside skating and made me feel like a legitimate adult, considering most people my age worked. My life again had dimension, but not to the point of smothering all else in its path. During that time, my confidence soared.
Adjunct positions are temporary and part-time by definition. They are really only worthwhile as resume builders, allowing a potential tenure-track professor to pay his dues. Since psychology is a very common college and university offering, almost every school has a psych department. Students are often required to take a psychology course to fill a general education requirement, and many majors require a couple of psychology courses. With a master’s degree in a traditional field of psychology in addition to my doctorate in consumer science and Master of Arts in consumer psychology, I would make an attractive candidate for a permanent post at a two-year community college. The nucleus of a sensible goal had begun to form.
However, any master’s degree entails at least two years of fulltime study. I could do this piecemeal at night over four or more years. I simply could not allow myself to go back to graduate school fulltime. A class here or there was fine to keep my mind sharp, but I needed to do something else as my primary occupation.
While contemplating my professional future, I became even more tuned in to other people; people from all walks of life who fulfilled their career and social needs through diverse approaches. These meetings exposed me to new possibilities and heightened my respect for others. I became more comfortable talking with people I did not know and was more readily able to approach someone new and introduce myself. I had been shy most of my life, though moving away from home helped considerably. Apparently, I had finally begun to develop the self-confidence I craved and required. Confidence did not come from a degree or a prestigious job title; it came from my own openness to world around me.
I also met Felicia’s friends. In an effort to further incorporate me into their circle, she tried to teach me to play tennis, which was a disaster. I had no experience and fumbled around the tennis court like a beginning skater in a pair of ugly brown rental boots. Now I thoroughly understood my sister-in-law’s skating predicament. A grown woman, she stepped onto the ice as an absolute beginner. As a child, I had played with enough pairs of roller skates to at least balance on blades and stroke around a rink. Tennis would have been a gargantuan commitment for me. I could not participate in the sport if I were capable of nothing but an occasional random contact with the ball. And I could only serve one master. That master was ice skating.
Probably one of the most interesting people I met managed the seafood counter of the local grocery store. Unlike Howard Millbank, who held a college degree, Trish had merely worked at various jobs, eventually earning management responsibilities. She was a big jolly woman, not much older than me. Her rosy cheeks and sunny smile welcomed everyone who approached her fish counter. She decorated the specials boards with her own artwork and lettering, making the area appear cheerful and personalized.
I had bought fish twice per week since discovering my potbelly. My husband and I ate wholesome meals and had lost our honeymoon weight. The seafood habit continued for the sake of our long-term health. Throughout my frequent jaunts to the seafood department, Trish had always been tremendously pleasant. We often chatted after she recommended the weekly special, which was always as good as she promised. Trish knew her merchandise and was an excellent manager. She related well to customers and other employees. She possessed the greatest professional enthusiasm I had ever witnessed. She loved her job and took her positive attitude and pleasant demeanor to work every day literally lighting up the appetizing section of the store. Trish earned a modest living. She would never be wealthy, but she was satisfied and happy. From that perspective, Trish, the lady at the fish counter, was one of the most successful people I knew.
I admired her for many reasons. She had found a place for herself in the world and from that place touched other people with her delightful personality. Long before Trish and I became friends outside my regular visits to the supermarket, she brightened my day. I enjoyed talking with her and complimenting the freshness and lovely flavor of her most recent dinner suggestion. My mother would have regarded Trish’s job as lowly and suitable only to a person incapable of more prestigious achievement. Trish admitted she was not an academic person and would not have survived college had she chosen to try. Trish knew herself and recognized her own talents. She did not have limitations; she merely possessed potential in other areas. I admired this in Trish as much as I admired Melissa Kowalchuk’s mathematics doctorate.
A habit that eventually developed into our genuine friendship involved the verbal exchange of recipes. I broiled everything in lemon or wine, reducing fat intake. Trish deep-fried the succulent seafood from her department, disguising the delicacy under a layer of greasy breading. I rarely tried Trish’s recipes other than adapting her seasoning blends for less caloric purposes. My friend finally conceded that she had to stop frying her meals and try to lose weight. Of course, my first instinct was to drag Trish along to the rink with me. She took a comical look down at her pudgy body and laughed. I knew people Trish’s size who skated, but I did not expect her to honestly want to take up ice skating. Instead, she came as a guest to my aerobics class and joined the next week, earning me a t-shirt prize from the instructor.
Although I already consciously knew this, Trish provided physical evidence that one did not have to be well educated and hold an esteemed position to be happy. This sounds obvious; however, the simple value of personal happiness and self-satisfaction within one’s own parameters was entirely absent from my upbringing. I am not sure I internalized this fact until I became friendly with Trish, the wonderful lady at the fish counter.
Over the years, I encouraged more people to join aerobics classes than lace up ice skates. Trish stuck with aerobics and gradually lost weight. She did eventually come to the rink with me and rented a pair of skates. She seemed truly impressed by what I could do on the ice, but she could not imagine herself (even her slenderized self) attempting those moves. Trish’s apprehension was not necessarily grounded in fear. She was a practical person who recognized hard work. As a grocery manager, Trish could have easily accommodated one or two weekday sessions at Chestnut Valley, but skating was not important to her. She had never fantasized about skating as a little girl. I thought every girl wanted to twirl around in a frou-frou skating costume. Trish had played girls’ softball and other team sports. A similar passion burned deep inside my friend, but not for figure skating. She joined a women’s softball league and also became active as a volunteer for her daughter’s soccer team.
Whatever decisions I would make about my professional future would have to wait another semester. The college offered to keep me on the payroll for the spring, teaching two experimental psychology labs. I accepted this assignment and registered for the final undergraduate class I would need to apply to a master’s program in traditional psychology. Since I had taught experimental psychology already, I would require almost no preparatory time and could walk into the room with recycled notes and a semester of experience. I decided holding this job and witnessing my own improvement would be worthwhile. It also padded my resume while allowing continued free time for morning skating at Chestnut Valley, perhaps the most precious commodity in my daily life.
Passing the next adult freestyle test became my immediate skating goal and justified the time spent as a low paid adjunct professor. With the silver test behind me, I would only have to pass the gold standard in order to achieve the highest rung on the adult ladder. Unfortunately, that final test would be exponentially more difficult than its predecessor because it required an axel jump.
After making a rather poor showing in my first program test, I dreaded going before the judges again. However, Preston and I decided to reuse the same routine and modify its content accordingly, substituting silver jumps and spins for the easier skills I had already mastered. When I failed to perfect the opening steps, Preston reluctantly agreed to insert a sequence that accentuated my abilities rather than magnified my deficiencies. He substituted awkward turns into the slow section, so I could concentrate on them after working the nervousness out of my muscles with more comfortable opening movements.
Again, the actual required elements presented little challenge. I struggled with Preston’s choreography and presentation. With increasing test difficulty, not only are supposedly harder skills expected, the overall quality of the skating must also improve. Edges should be sharper, turns cleaner, and speed greater. Body carriage and position should be more polished and graceful. An appropriate program includes a balanced assortment of jumps, spins, and footwork. Other than the axel, jumps did not pose a problem for me, but I was a klutz with step patterns. However, at this level, simply stringing elements together with basic stroking and crossovers would earn inadequate scores.
So I struggled at the rink trying to transform a rough program into a silver masterpiece. Meanwhile, I glided through my duties as a college laboratory instructor. I was well on my way to another excellent grade in a psychology class, and my summer research supervisor tried to recruit me as his graduate student. I enjoyed animal behavior, but “skater behavior” interested me more. My professional musings focused on sports psychology and adolescent counseling. I probably should have explored the psychological aspects of adult figure skating. That would have made a fascinating thesis.
Friendship with Felicia awakened my receptivity to people all around me. I made many friends at Chestnut Valley, ultimately becoming entrenched in the rink’s adult community. Since I lived a sizable commute from the facility, I did not become involved in club activities or volunteer for test session duties. I was more interested in interacting with other adults than becoming part of the eligible track culture. That domain belonged to parents of young skaters. But I was certainly a regular. I enjoyed a pleasant rapport with other adult skaters and had become acquainted with many of the parents who took their children out of school and congregated in the lobby while their promising little ones practiced in the chilly arena.
Chapter 84 posted 11/24/03
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