How the Kids Are Told They're Not Good Enough to Keep Them Broken Down
More tales of misery from growing up in a red, rural town
Mr. Mustache was the gym teacher.
He was one of those guys who would walk down the hallway and say, “Hello ladies,” to the young teachers.
They laughed in a way Kip didn’t understand.
Sometimes Mr. Mustache would walk up to a group of girl students and say, “Hello ladies.”
Kip knew those girls well enough to recognize when they were uncomfortable.
Mr. Mustache never acknowledged the boys.
Today, Mr. Mustache stood in front of the class holding a basketball. He was wearing white shorts that were too tight. His knee-high socks were white with a red and blue stripe on the top. He also had a white headband with a red and blue stripe.
Kip wondered if the headband and socks had all come together in the same plastic package.
“Today, we’ll be learning about basketball!” Mr. Mustache said. He held up the ball. “Some of you will go on to be student athletes.”
As he talked, he walked back and forth in the gymnasium. For some reason, they kept the lights off. The only illumination came through the thin row of windows located beneath the asbestos coated ducts.
The light made wavy patterns on the shiny floor.
“You’ll either grow up to be a student athlete, or you’ll be a loser!”
Mr. Mustache swiveled to stare at the students. His eyes blazed from behind his black, handlebar mustache.
Kip thought he was trying to look like Magnum P.I.
The socks and the headband were working against him.
Now Mr. Mustache casually rested the basketball against his hip and leisurely pointed up into the rafters. He looked like the statue of David.
“Who can tell me what’s coming to the intersection on the south side of town?
Silence.
Nobody ever answered a question right away. Half the time when you gave an obvious answer, it turned out to be a trick question and you got ridiculed.
“Come on! Are you all a bunch of dupes? Don’t you have any interest as to what’s going on in the community?”
So it was going to be direct hostility.
That ended any chance of Kip offering an answer.
“Come on, come on, come on, come on, come on,” Mr. Mustache said. And now he held the basketball in front of him and began pawing at it, or stroking it in a way that made Kip feel uncomfortable.
“They’re putting in a stoplight?” somebody said.
Kip glanced over. It was Jake Martin.
Mr. Mustache responded by chest passing the ball at Jake with surprising force.
The ball hit Jake in the face and bounced off.
“Ow!” Jake complained.
“Try to catch that next time!” Mr. Mustache said.
The class laughed.
Mr. Mustache smiled as he reached down to pick up the ball. Now he started dribbling it slowly.
The dribbling made a loud thump and a high-pitched ringing.
Thump!
“Does Chetek have a stop light?”
Kip knew the class didn’t know, but they all answered anyway.
“No!”
Thump!
“That’s right!” Mr. Mustache said. He was getting excited. The class seemed to be getting excited.
“Does Shell Lake have a stop light?”
“No!”
Thump!
“Right again!” Now, Mr. Mustache caught the ball and again started pawing at it. He started staring off into the middle distance and slowly turned in circles as he talked. “We are the only community that has a stop light. That means that we are the best community in the area. Am I right?”
“Yes!” the boys shouted.
They all seemed to inherently understand that this was something to get excited about.
Kip felt very alone.
“Some of you will have the great honor of being selected to represent our community in this arena!” Mr. Mustache said. He reached out with both arms, he held the ball in one and accidentally dropped it prompting him to chase it, pick it up, and hold it out again.
The kids knew better than to giggle.
“If you are fortunate enough to be selected as a member of our community basketball team, you will represent us. Do you understand?
Nobody understood.
Mr. Mustache began to nod his head.
“Being selected for the varsity basketball team is the highest honor any young man can aspire to. If you make that team, you’re somebody. If you don’t make the team, you’re nothing. Understand?”
“Yes!” cried the kids because they knew that’s what they were supposed to cry.
“Good, now break into groups of three, get a ball and let’s see what you’ve got!”
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Thay ứa very common in sports back in the 50's and 60's when i was in school. It made people feel inferior and not want to participate.
“Kip wondered if the headband and socks had all come together in the same plastic package.” What a great touch you have! When you interject these small yet significant descriptions I AM THERE! Beautiful writing, Walter.