Initially, I thought I had misheard him. Apparently, the big fat D I received in gym class the year before had consequences. It was the start of my senior year of high school. My high school guidance counselor had informed me that I needed to take two gym classes. I could risk not graduating if I didn’t get satisfactory scores in both classes. Remembering what brought me to such a low grade, I was nauseated when I left his office.
“Just hit the ball!”
A few people yelled, some with frustration and anger, others with good intention. But I take them all the say way – an admonishment, a command. I’m not doing what they need me to do. No matter what, when that big white ball sailed into my part of the volleyball court, it would pass me because I would not hit it. To compensate for my foibles my team mates would then try to play …show more content…
My (temporary) solution was to skip the class. I did not return to gym class until volleyball was over, a few weeks worth of the semester was lost. I hid out in the girl’s bathroom, moving to a different one each day. I would just hang out there and if someone came in I pretended I had just gotten there or some other fake excuse that wouldn’t raise suspicion. I would see some of my gym period classmates and they would wonder where I’d been. I told them I was ill, or training elephants, anything but the truth: I was licking the wounds your shouts, yells, and disapproval had caused.
This was unusual behavior for me. I was a good girl. My older sisters kept my mom busy with enough worry. I never got into trouble and made a point to be good for my parents. I was the kid who worked since I was 14 and did my own laundry since was 8 years-old. My parents didn’t have worry about me. I strived to not give her any trouble. And I mostly succeeded. The problem with being “the good kid” is you that have to take care of you needs alone or risk give up the veneer of perfection you now have come to depend