I was fast. Not the fastest, but fast enough. Mr. Ianocone asked me to join the track and field team. I was rail thin and sucked at distances but give me a 50-yard dash and I couldn’t help but show out. My parents wouldn’t allow me to join Track and Field. My father said, Be no part of this world. I wanted to be a part of the world. I wanted to be a part of a team. I wanted to feel wanted. I awkwardly declined. I wasn’t very outgoing, but I knew the boys on the team. They were nice enough. I was embarrassed; I couldn’t tell Mr. Ianocone my parents said no. Instead, I was weird about it.
A few months later in PE we did the 50-yard dash. It was neck and neck. Joel was fast, but I was faster. Mr. Ianocone said Joel won the race even though I beat him by at least a half-step. During another PE class, I dropped the baton. It was an accident, but Mr. Ianocone took it as sabotage. Called me Butterfingers like it was the dirtiest word. Teachers called you all kinds of names back in the 80s. In the locker room all the boys called me Butterfingers while throwing their sweaty tighty-whities at me.
jfc this hits me in the gut those names horrible remembrances tiny bullies and school cruelty the American way ugh