Aaaahhhh, the beginning of yet another semester. New students wandering around campus … old students wandering around campus … last minute renovations being completed on the dorm rooms or in the cafeteria … faculty and staff members counting down the minutes to the dreaded development workshop days, fighting off the terrifying memories of last years FERPA lecture.
Another fall term is about to get underway. And with the beginning of school comes the beginning of athletic season. We don’t play football at our university. I know, you’re shocked that a West Texas school doesn’t have a football team, but the Fighting Jackrabbits bit the dust many moons ago. However, we do play volleyball.
Yesterday it was my *cough, cough* pleasure to spend roughly an hour and a half with the volleyball team taking publicity photos for various publications. I am always amazed at the relationship dynamics when you bring together a group of women/girls. As I observed this group interacting with one another it dawned on me that there were issues that might have to be dealt with somewhere along the way – personalities just waiting to conflict.
Among this group representing our faith-based university there are a couple of girls that I know a little bit who seem to be good, solid, Christian young women. Then there are a few who I really don’t have a read on, but I have some reservations about. Then there are some that, well, frighten me.
There is the loud, opinionated one who comes across as a bit of a spoiled prima donna … several others who follow her lead. Then there are the quiet, strong ones who will speak up only to get shot down by the more opinionated group. Then there is the one who, in all probability will be the best player on the team, but who is quiet and reserved and would rather not get involved in the controversy. And, of course, you have the doe-eyed freshmen who aren’t quite sure what to think and just wander around doing whatever they are told.
Then you have the one who every time she walked over to look at the digital readout on the camera I was using for photographs made sure her endowment brushed up against my arm. Little bit uncomfortable with that, but what do you do. I understand if it was an accident, but after three times, I would think you would know where your breasts are going. But what can a guy say? My arms are tucked into my rib cage as tightly as I can get them. There is no place for me to go. I don’t really want to call attention to it because our university has just relieved a professor of his work-related responsibility due to accusation of harassment, and I feel that me pointing at her and saying, 'Put those things away' could be cause for reprimand. God forbid it shows up on my "permanent record." So … I resign myself to getting boobed. By the way, I know I have commented on the assets (that a-s-s-e-t-s) of the fairer sex before in this blog, but I’m a guy so get used to it.
Quite an eclectic array of personalities among this group of 11 young women. Being a veteran team-watcher of many years, I only had one thing to say to the SID when the photo shoot was over.
“Wow! It’s going to be a long season.”