6. Athletic Team
Winter vacation passed quickly, and the second semester of the third year began on February 1, 1980. My friends and I climbed the snow-paved hill, pushing and holding onto each other to arrive at school. Students entered the classroom, excitedly greeting one another. As everyone settled into their seats, the class president announced that we should tidy up the classroom after class since it was the first day back. We then prepared to start our lessons, still chatting about our vacation experiences.
All of us, chatting and playing pranks, stood in unison as the front door of the classroom opened. Our subject teacher entered. The first class of the day was English. The teacher, who had previously taught at Pyongyang University of Foreign Studies (평양외국어대학) before coming to the countryside, had gray hair. Because of his hair color, he was affectionately called ‘Grandpa,’ even though he was less than 60 years old.
He was easy-going, exchanging jokes with students and possessing a quick wit. My family was originally from Pyongyang, so I easily understood his Pyongyang accent, though his English was still challenging for me. However, other students struggled with his Pyongyang accent.
He began the class after acknowledging the students’ greetings. While writing English words on the blackboard and explaining, a student raised her hand and said, “Teacher, could you please speak more slowly? I’m having trouble understanding your explanation.”
Upon this request, the teacher paused, removed his hand from the blackboard, and turned around. After a moment of contemplation, he asked the class president to bring an extra chair to the front of the classroom. All eyes were on them as the class president fetched the chair and placed it near the lectern. “Do you all have difficulty understanding me?” he inquired, promptly taking a seat as soon as the chair was positioned. “Yes,” came the unanimous response from the students.
With a smile, he surveyed the students before calmly beginning to tell a story.
He recounted his experiences at Pyongyang University of Foreign Studies, expressing doubts about his qualifications as a teacher due to his tendency to speak quickly whenever students asked for explanations repeatedly. Before transitioning to teaching, he had worked as an interpreter in the trade sector and was eventually assigned to the university, which led him to his current role. Despite his efforts, including practicing speaking slowly while walking down the street, he found it challenging to overcome his innate habit of speaking quickly.
He reflected that correcting this speech habit might have been easier if he had initially pursued a career in education rather than interpretation. Despite his ongoing efforts, he recalled being asked to slow down from the very first class, prompting many thoughts about his teaching style.
The 45-minute class was filled with the English teacher’s captivating anecdotes. From that day forward, we always brought a chair to the lecture desk before an English class.
All the subject teachers shared interesting stories on the first day of school, without covering any academic material. As classes came to a close, the class president announced that the wooden floor needed to be cleaned and polished to shine before we could head home. Pairing up students, she assigned each duo a section of the floor. Soon, all 45 students sat on the floor, diligently rubbing it with a candle and cloth, resembling a swarm of crawling ants.
Those without candles made do with only cloth, struggling to bring out the pale yellow, painted color, and achieve a smooth surface.
A candle and a piece of cloth were always essential items for students, alongside textbooks and notebooks.
Our homeroom teacher had a perverse temperament; she wouldn’t even allow us to go home for lunch if the cleaning wasn’t up to her standards. Aware of this, all the students crouched down and diligently rubbed their assigned sections. It wasn’t until after 40 minutes had passed that she finally called a halt, held a reflection session, and dismissed us. Despite feeling disheartened about having to clean from the very first day of school, not a single complaint was uttered.
Parade practice for April 15th commenced a month into the second semester. As March approached, everyone naturally began thinking about Kim Il Sung’s birthday. News spread quietly that my school would start its practice past mid-March, sparking excitement among everyone. Even a delay of just one day meant less time spent marching to the stadium.
In early March, the PE teacher began scouting athletes for the April 15th competitions. My school’s basketball team had a reputation as the best in the city, and the PE teacher seemed determined to excel in the field and track events as well.
It was a day when we had two consecutive hours of PE class. The first period involved using equipment, and in the second class, the teacher announced that we would form groups of four and compete in a 100-meter dash, with the fastest individuals being noted. We lined up in order of our height, and being small, I found myself near the back.
One by one, starting from the front row, students sprinted from the line drawn on the ground to the PE teacher, who was stationed 100 meters away. As each classmate completed their dash, I watched eagerly until it was finally my turn. I took off towards the teacher like a shot arrow. He separated those who arrived first, making them run multiple times until only three remained. I was among the last three.
‘I will be the first again,’ I resolved within myself. I was determined to excel because I knew he was selecting athletes to represent the school. As the signal was given, the three of us dashed towards the teacher.
I crossed the finish line ahead of the other two competitors. The teacher announced my time: 12.9 seconds. He instructed me to join the Athletic Team after school the following day. I was overjoyed; I could barely contain my excitement. Everyone around me envied my success. They patted my back and remarked on how fortunate it would be to no longer have to walk to the stadium or be under the homeroom teacher’s strict supervision.
From the next day onward, I became a member of the athletic team, training for running on the school grounds. Meanwhile, the other students continued shuttling back and forth to the stadium from mid-March.
The pivotal day of the year, April 15, 1980, marked the distribution of our school uniforms. The government provided uniforms for students from elementary school through university. I received mine three times throughout my schooling. Despite having many children, my parents didn’t need to worry about the expense of school uniforms, much like school tuition.
Students, and even teachers, often shed tears of gratitude during the uniform distribution. “Thank you, dear father, Kim Il Sung,” students chanted, pledging to repay the leader’s kindness by dedicating themselves to diligent study and aspiring to become pillars of the nation. The receipt of the uniform served as an inspiration for students to study harder and practice diligently for the parade.
In the afternoon of April 15th, Jongnam and I participated in the 100-meter dash as school representatives. The stadium buzzed with deafening cheers from students representing all the schools in the city. Clad in the sportswear my mother had made for me, I greeted my fellow schoolmates and proceeded to the starting line. Across the field, the PE teacher stood by the students holding the finish line.
Anxiety coursed through my entire body as I stood at the starting line. Beside me were eight other students from various schools, all displaying signs of nervousness. Jongnam, positioned in the next row, seemed more relaxed, likely due to her previous experience as a basketball player in competitions.
At the sound of the whistle, I surged forward. With no awareness of my position relative to the other runners, I focused solely on reaching the finish line and the PE teacher’s exuberant shouts. As he grasped my hand and led me to our school’s section, where students erupted in cheers. I had clinched first place. I made a bow before the entire school.
It was my inaugural track-and-field meet, a triumph that brought honor to my school and catapulted me to newfound fame. From that day until I married, I continued to compete as an athlete, representing both my school and later my workplace. Despite lacking stellar academic grades, my status as a school athlete made me the envy of my peers.