I freely admit that I am addicted to Frasier. I have all eleven seasons on DVD, and watch them over and over. Everyone who's watched the show knows it is brilliantly written and acted, but most likely my addiction is based on the many things I have in common with the characters of Frasier and Niles (Niles is my hero): love of the arts, particularly opera, love of fine food (unfortunately, I can't drink, so I can't share their love of wine), love of language and literature; last, but certainly not least, their early ineptitude at sports and athletics. Niles, of course, took fencing in prep school, then as an adult got into kickboxing; and both he and Frasier eventually became squash enthusiasts. But all through school, they were among those unfortunate students who were humiliated in gym class.
One of my favorite episodes is from season 10, called "Trophy Girlfriend," in which Frasier dates an attractive P. E. teacher (played by Jeanne Tripplehorn). He visits her at her school and watches her (unwittingly) humiliate an overweight young girl by holding the entire class after the dismissal bell while the poor girl tries in vain to climb up a rope. This triggers a flood of unpleasant memories in Frasier, which temporarily cripples his relationship with the P. E. teacher. He eventually tells her that her treatment of that student could possibly scar the girl for life, as his own experience has scarred him.
Oh, how I felt for both Frasier and that young girl when I first saw that episode! My own memories of P. E. hell came rushing back, along with the old resentment at being made to feel inadequate and indeed abnormal because I couldn't climb a rope or do more than a few pull-ups. Fortunately, I also have a vivid memory of the one time I was avenged by a kind God against my middle school gym teacher, whom I'll simply call Ms. O. One day, I can't remember why, probably because I couldn't accomplish whatever physical feat she had us do, she ordered me to run extra laps till the end of class. It was exceptionally hot that day, and I wasn't feeling well to begin with, but I of course obeyed and ran round the track until her shrill whistle called us all in to shower. I staggered into the shower room, sat down, and my face must have been a ghastly shade of green, because one of my classmates ran to get Ms. O, telling her I was sick. Ms. O approached me where I sat on the bench, but before she could say a word, I baptized her snowy white tennis shoes with the manifestation of my infirmity. Needless to say, that was the last time she made me run extra laps.
My biggest nemesis, though, was my high school gym teacher, Ms. S. How she loved to mock my reluctance to take part in sports that could possibly injure my hands! Being a pianist, my hands were the most important part of my body, and I was understandably loath to expose them to possible peril. I participated as much as I could, however, but even those efforts were more often than not rewarded with snide remarks from Ms. S. And it didn't help that, even when I did try, the results were less than stellar. I just wasn't athletic, and she couldn't accept or acknowledge that with any kind of sympathy. Finally, I got heartily sick of it all and started skipping P. E. altogether—which is one of the reasons I never graduated high school.
Oh, well. There is more to life than P. E., though I had to wait many years before I could screw up the nerve even to join an aerobics class—and by the way, I was great at aerobics. I can look back on my confrontations with the Misses O. and S., laugh at some, cringe at others; either way, I'm thankful that's all in the past. Scars can heal. Slowly but surely.
One more thing we have in common! I hated my weakness. I remember falling down on the playground in Fort Sam Houston Elementary and skinning my knees on the asphalt - and forever after being afraid to run on a playground. I have never done a single pull-up, could push the merry-go-round only one or two spins without falling down, and never could lift myself one handbreadth on a rope. One disastrous game of "Red Rover" had all of the kids running into my arm to break the chain, because they knew I was so weak.
ReplyDeleteI exercise daily now, but am happy those disastrous early years of humiliation and frustration are gone.
My mother used to delight in telling us of her college experiences in "rest gym." Gym was a required college course at Newcomb College for Women in New Orleans, but my mother was not an athlete (although she equally delighted in telling stories about her escapades scrambling onto the third story roof of the closest convent). One of her friends was the daughter of a doctor, and managed to finagle notes excusing a bunch of her sorority sisters from gym class. This excused them from regular gym, but they were required to attend "rest gym," which apparently consisted of donning a swim suit and "resting" in the sun on the roof of the women's gymnasium.
ReplyDeleteAnn: I sure wish they had "rest gym" where I went to school! And that's so funny about your mother climbing onto the convent roof.
ReplyDeleteAnita: Do you remember the "Misses O. and S."?
ReplyDeleteIndeed I do! I was creeped out by the female gym teachers. Even to a young middle schooler who was incredibly naive, something just didn't feel right in those classes.
ReplyDeleteI always thought Ms. S. was a lesbian, even way back then. Like Anita, it was very uncomfortable as she walked around the showers with no privacy. In addition, she was unlikeable and often cruel.
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