Geography Reference
In-Depth Information
“Do you ever think, no geography is worth this?” I ask Mary Lee Elden after the match.
“I think they learn something from it,” she says. “Yes, they feel disappointed, but they
learn to handle their disappointment.” The bee, as you might expect, attracts more than its
shareofkidswithAspergersyndromeandothersocialinteractionissues,andthesekidsare
particularly prone to losing control after a tough loss. “I'll be honest with you,” says Mary
Lee. “As a teacher and a parent, I don't think I'd put my child through it.”
Buttheorganizersdowhattheycantosoothecrusheddreamsandbruisedegos.Contest-
ants eliminated in the finals get to decompress in a backstage greenroom with milk and
cookies and staff members telling them how great they were. Children may feel life's set-
backs more keenly than adults, but they also bounce back quicker. “It happens every year,”
laughs Mary Lee. “I have to send somebody back there because they start having a party
and they get a little loud, and you start hearing them from outside.”
Parents aren't allowed in the cookie room, and that's not an accident. At the start of
everybee,MaryLeesendsthestudentsaheadintoareceptionandaskstheirparentstostay
behind for a moment. “I give them a little talk, saying that they're there to support their
children. This is their children's contest, not theirs.” The yearly lecture is a result of past
run-ins with the atlas-cramming equivalent of high-pressure Little League dads. “I once
hadafathergouptoayoungboyafterthepreliminaryroundsandstartyellingathim:how
could he get this wrong, and why didn't he make the finals? It just tore my heart. I went up
andtooktheboyawayfromhisfatherandsaid,'Let'sgooverhere.'Theyloseperspective,
that their child is just doing the best they can. Just give them a hug and tell them they're
wonderful.”
That afternoon I hop aboard one of a flotilla of buses parked in front of the hotel. The
bee weekend isn't all questions and answers: the day before the prelims, the contestants
and their parents get a tour of Washington, and the night before the finals, there's always
a picnic. Most of the kids can relax, with the bee finally behind them; for the ten finalists,
it's a chance to blow off a little steam before tomorrow's baptism by fire: more of the same
brain-straining questions, only now with the added stress of TV cameras and Alex Trebek.
Vansh Jain of Wisconsin and Shiva Kangeyan of Florida, sitting behind me, are among
tomorrow'sbatchoffinalists,andthey'retalkingshop.“IsthelowestpointinAfricainDji-
bouti?” Vansh asks. “Yes!” comes a unanimous chorus of replies. The conversation moves
on to the tides in the Bay of Fundy.
They all seem lively and relaxed, whether they're finalists like Vansh and Shiva or
nearly-made-its like their friend across the aisle, South Dakota's Alex Kimn. They're not
sitting with their parents anymore, and the contrast to the high-strung little huddles in the
hotel lobby this morning is remarkable. This is band-of-brothers camaraderie, this is fur-
lough from the parental grind.
“So were you guys nervous today?” I turn around to ask.
There is general scorn. “I think being nervous is funny,” says Alex.
