Those Who Can't Teach...

Two letters used to send a chill through my bones: PE. As a round kid whose school clothes came from the "husky" rack, I learned to cringe once a week when it was time to head to the "all-purpose room." I took secret pride in the fact that my fourth grade teacher seemed to share some of my disdain, as she referred to it as the "no-purpose room."
It probably didn't help matters that our phys-ed teacher was a caricature of phys-ed teachers. His hair was slicked back with Vitalis. His extraordinarily muscular physique was always on display in a dazzling array of polo shirts that were one size too small. His tan skin gave off a healthy George Hamilton glow, and a stick of Juicy Fruit kept his jaw working when it wasn't blowing a whistle.
The girls loved him, and he loved them right back - not in any particularly unhealthy way, just in a way that made us gawky boys feel just a little more insignificant. He made very little secret as to which ones of us were his favorites. I spent four years in the gymnastics unit mastering the backwards roll while others were learning to do handsprings and roundoffs and tinsicas (my God, how exotic!). While the rest of the class was flying about on trampolines doing swivel-hips and cradles, I was stuck on check bounce. That's the one where you learn how to bounce and stop. I crawled up on the trampoline, made my three attempts to bounce and stop - and then headed back to the edge again to wait for another chance at ritual humiliation.
And so it went. I actually looked forward to the square dancing unit, since it was the one activity with which I was comfortable. Boys didn't much care for the Virginia Reel, but it came as a welcome relief for me. I knew that there was still months of embarrassment left ahead.
I knew that just before the spring thaw came, we would be doing "Stations" - a kind of obstacle course for the under-coordinated. There was jump-roping, pull-ups, peg-board climbing, and my personal albatross: the rope. It sure seemed simple enough to just pull yourself up a little way, then grab on with your legs until you were ready to pull yourself up again. Simple in principle, all but impossible in execution. I was able to conquer the backward roll, the cartwheel, the round-off, and the front-seat-back-front-seat combination on the trampoline before I could climb even half-way up that rope.
By the time I was in sixth grade, my upper body strength had started to catch up to my size, and I was finally able to struggle to the top. I wasn't greeted at the bottom with cheers and appreciation for my grand ascent. I got a check next to my name.
More than thirty years later, I take my own class full of kids out on the yard for PE. We play cooperative games. We encourage each other. I emphasize the education over the physical. I let the physical part happen. Some kids are fast, some can throw, some can catch. They can pass just by participating. They're kids, after all.