I am 9 and we are doing P.E.
Not currently, obviously.
Currently, I am 31 and sat at my kitchen table, writing this newsletter.
Currently, I am trying to not get distracted by the two birds in the big tree outside the window. They’re taking it in turns to bring sticks back for each other. One will fly away, in search of more suitable sticks, meanwhile the other will inspect the current stick; give it a peck, flip it over and back again, decide whether it’s worth adding to the pre-nest pile or should be surrendered to the pavement below. Then, the first bird will return to the branch, like, okay, forget everything you thought you knew about sticks, whaddaya think of this? And it goes on.
I love this tree. Because it’s right outside the window, it’s probably the tree I have looked at most out of all the trees in the entire world. I have found so much delight in watching its reliable branches signal the presence of each season.
Okay, I think I was saying something about not getting distracted…
Maybe it’s better if I don’t set this in the present tense. For clarity, and for the avoidance of any/all future distractions.
Once upon a time, (classic start) I was 9 and we were doing P.E.
If I remember correctly, we were taking it in turns to lob small bean bags, the same colour as our t-shirts, into the centre of a hula hoop that was lying on the floor, about 6 feet away; most central bean bag wins.
My t-shirt (and therefore also my bean bag) was red.
Undeterred by the chants (reds reds wet their beds, put their nappies on their heads) I was, objectively, killing it. Bean Bag Hula Hoop game; the absolute zenith of my sporting prowess.
A boy, to protect his identity let’s call him Schmalex, spent the entire lesson combing my leg hair with a small plastic comb he kept up his sleeve, just in case (that don’t impress-a me much).
Sigh.
It’s exactly the kind of behaviour I’d expect from the yellow team (yellows, yellows, eat marshmallows) I know… I found my passion for poetry much later in life.
But what’s even more heartbreaking than my smack talk is; this was the first time I felt embarrassed by my body. I mean, the absolute audacity of my legs to have exhibited sunshine strands of gold, to have even grown them without my permission. Mortifying.
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