When I was in Junior High School and Senior High School, the Dallas ISD (Independent School District) decreed that all students must have four years of PE in order to graduate. Funny, in those days we didn’t have the epidemic of childhood obesity that we see today. I can only recall one person in my entire graduating class of over 500 students at Thomas Jefferson High School who was “fat,” as we so nastily referred to it. In elementary school, we ran ourselves silly with playing Cowboys and Indians, King of the Hill, or Red Rover. I also stayed active with swim classes, tumbling class, riding my horse, and plenty of outdoor activities. I was the true tomboy in those days. Interesting, we had no diet sodas, little or no fast food, no computers or tablets. We entertained ourselves and were generally outside the entire day when we were not in school.
For the infamous PE classes, we had the most hideous one-piece gym suits ever. They were a stiff white, muslin type of fabric with an elastic waistband. Our first name was embroidered in red on the front pocket and our full name on the back. Maybe that was so that our gym teachers didn’t have to worry with trying to learn our names! “Hey you, Waldman, get over here!” Those gym suits would have made Marilyn Monroe look frumpy. I was a tall skinny beanpole in those days so I looked somewhat like an old flour sack hanging on a flagpole. I suspect they were designed by someone who flunked out of the New York Academy of Design or some such! I am quite sure that the designer moved on to another highly successful career designing uniforms for our nation’s jails and prisons! Maybe it was all a plot to be sure that the boys weren’t looking in our direction.
We only had two regular activities in those awful Gym classes year after year, both of which I detested. When the weather was warm, which was most of the time in Dallas, we played girls’ softball outside. Now I have to tell you I hate what I call object-implement games! This entails any activity where I have to hit an object, such as a ball, shuttlecock, puck, etc., with an implement of any kind. This would include bats, rackets, golf clubs, or even my own hands or feet. Before I arrived on this earth, I’m sure God had a good chuckle as he was dishing out the chromosomes. “Let’s not give this one any hand-eye coordination genes. That should be amusing!”
The other activity when it was too cold or rainy to be tortured outside with softball, was volleyball inside the girls’ Gym. Other people did spectacular leaps and hits back and forth over the net. Not me, I mostly just stood there surreptitiously eyeing the clock on the wall. Even time stood still for those endless games. Once in a great while we got to do calisthenics. That was fine; I loved that! I probably would have loved and excelled at track and field types of activities or competitive swimming. It is a shame that those activities were not offered or encouraged. It was really a toss-up which I hated more, the softball or the volleyball, and I haven’t changed my opinion of either over the years.
Only one good thing in my life ever came out of volleyball. At the beginning of my second year at NTSU (North Texas State University), now known by the loftier name of the University of North Texas, I went one evening with a couple of friends to the BSU or Baptist Student Union. Now I was not Baptist or even overly religious, but figured I might meet some cute guys, so it was worth a visit. With my hair fixed and make-up on, I wore one of my favorite dresses, an orange, two- piece dotted-swiss one. We arrived at the BSU, and, God protect me, they were having a volleyball game! Against my better judgement, I was coerced into playing that horrendous game yet again.
Then suddenly, Whap, right in the side of my head! I got taken out by a spiked ball from some sadistic player across the net. If I had been a cartoon character, I would have been covered with stars and chirping birds. The culprit rushed to help me up and ended up walking me back to my dorm later that evening. He turned out to be a tall, blue-eyed guy with a blond flat top. We began dating, and the rest is history! We now have two great looking blue-eyed, blond sons, and two adorable grandsons (and of course, two wonderful daughters-in-law as well).
It wasn’t until after we had been married for several years that Bill finally summed up the courage to tell me that he hated my beloved orange dress and thought it was hideous. It was probably a good thing he didn’t tell me that sooner, or history might have taken a different path!
©The Eclectic Grandma, 2017
