Netball at School
I was raised in Jamaica and throughout my adolescence, I attended a girls’ only high school in Jamaica called Wolmer’s High School for Girls. In order to attend this school, you had to pass the Common Entrance, an exam which all Jamaican children take in the fifth grade. Once a week up until approximately the time of my 13th birthday we had PE. PE stands for the dreaded Physical Education. My friends and I hated PE with a passion. We were the smart kids. We won all the academic prizes and were accustomed to hearing our names called out before the entire school and invited guests during our annual Prize Giving ceremony. We could not possibly be expected to be good at PE too. Surely that was too much to expect.
During this once-a-week class my friends and I would stand quietly in the background when teams were being chosen and pray fervently that we would be the odd man out so we wouldn’t have to participate. There were pretty girls who brought an excuse (allegedly signed by their parents) to class every week, but my friends and I knew that in order for our report cards to look good at the end of the year, we had to participate. But, we reasoned, surely it wouldn’t be our fault if there were too many people and they didn’t need us to make up a team, now would it? So we would strive mightily to disappear at the back of the group of girls in white PE outfits. Unfortunately this was a huge gamble which rarely panned out and we were too often forced to join in the physical activities that we were convinced our teachers had invented solely to torture us.
While many of the physical activities were tolerable, one game most definitely was not. That game is called netball. I still break out in a sweat whenever my memory tries to resurrect the horrible contortions we were expected to perform in this game. My mind cringes away from the horrible memories. Netball is a game that is played in the United Kingdom and in many of her former territories. It is a game much like basketball in that it is a sport played by a small team and scoring involves shooting a ball from various distances into a net. The shooting part was bad enough but I seem to recall that when playing the game, depending on what position you played there were certain boundaries you had to observe to avoid being declared “out of bounds”. In addition to that you could shoot only from certain positions and you had to bend and twist in a specified set of contortions in order for your goal or your pass to your teammates to count. It was a nightmare. Mercifully the passage of time has wiped out much of my recall of the details of that detested game.
Now as in every random group of people, in my class there were those athletically gifted individuals who were coordinated and graceful and good at physical activities. Their vision was excellent and they did not require corrective lenses which could easily be sent flying from sweaty faces with a careless blow, rendering the hapless wearer half blind. Their breath did not desert them after only a few minutes of exertion leaving them doubled over and gasping for breath while the other players went on throwing balls and running heedlessly around them. These netball stars could twist and turn in all the right routines and were capable of shooting balls into the net from seemingly impossible distances half way across the court.
Suzette had many of the skills of those players. She was tall and willowy, perfectly suited for running tirelessly and passing and throwing balls fairly accurately into the netball net. She was not one of the netball stars but her skills were adequate. She also had the reputation of being somewhat of a troublemaker.
Suzette had many of the skills of those players. She was tall and willowy, perfectly suited for running tirelessly and passing and throwing balls fairly accurately into the netball net. She was not one of the netball stars but her skills were adequate. She also had the reputation of being somewhat of a troublemaker.
My friends and I admired the skills of Suzette and her ilk while hopelessly dreading our turns to exhibit our own non-existent or at best paltry netball skills. One bright, hot sunny day (as most days are in Jamaica), after a particularly demoralizing performance on the netball court on my part, we were headed back to the locker room to change when I heard Suzette call out “ Deborah, you made our team lose”. Unfortunately for me, I had been placed on her team and since the teacher wanted us to play all positions, I had been assigned to the position of Goal Shooter. I had failed miserably in spite of my exertions and Suzette decided to hold me responsible for our loss. I was furious at her comment but decided to ignore her. We changed from our PE clothes back into our tunics and blouses and went up to our classroom on the second floor but Suzette was not done with me. She continued to make snide comments about my performance and my lack of scoring skills on the netball court. I was already mortified enough by my performance but as one who had always been considered “bookish” and “different”, I was used to the sneers and insults that sometimes came my way from those more attuned to the world around them. I had a thick armor but I was also impulsive and quick tempered. As the taunting continued the fury inside me continued to grow. The teacher for our next class was late and as we were the “good class” we were often trusted to work quietly on our own until the teacher arrived. Suzette moved over from her seat near the rear of the class to stand close to where I was seated and continued to tease and taunt me. Her friends laughed with her though they did not overtly join in with the teasing. As they continued to laugh and Suzette continued to make teasing remarks a blinding fury soon overcame me. I forgot who I was. I sprang up from behind my desk and pounced on her. My sudden charge backed her up against the wall and I started to punch her. I punched her over and over again using both fists. I was so furious and she was so surprised that she did not even retaliate. She had not expected me to fight back much less with my fists. The noise that now arose from our classroom soon had the teacher from next door running in. She pulled me off Suzette.
At that point my reason returned. I was shocked at my behavior. I had never behaved like that before and certainly not at school. I was a good girl. I was a smart girl. Only bad kids fought at school.
The teacher and my classmates looked at me with shock on their faces. I was overcome with shame at my behavior. Strangely enough I do not remember my punishment for fighting at school as being all that arduous. I was not known for being a trouble maker and Suzette was. My greatest punishment I think is the shame I still feel whenever I recall my loss of control that day.
Yet, while there is a sense of lingering embarrassment, somewhere deep down inside me then and even now, there lives an evil little imp who cackles and capers and sings. “Served her right”, it says “It served her damned right”.
The doll is from a Valentine's swap I am not supposed to post about till this Sunday. Some of you may have noticed "The Disappearing Post" as some were kind enough to comment on it when it appeared. However on returning to my inbox recently to finally properly read a letter with instructions I received a month ago, I noted that no posts should be made regarding the swap until February 14th so I removed it. Sorry Cathy.
The doll was bare naked when I got it from sweet Karen so I made her a dress and gave her new hair as I decided she needed a hair style and hair color change.
The Essay above is another assignment for creative Writing Class. Our assignment was to write about an embarrassing incident in our lives.
Have a wonderful day with lots of Vintage style.
Deborah Read more...
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