Giving 110 percent

I bought a shiny silver whistle at W@l-M@rt this weekend.

I figured it might be useful in my next substitute assignment – gym teacher.

Now, don’t laugh. I know this is ironic, given that I was the kid who hid in the bathroom when the P.E. teacher was grading us on whether we could do froggy headstands. I couldn’t even do a cartwheel. And somersaults make me nauseous.

But there are some parts of being a P.E. teacher that I don’t mind. I like the fact that I’m doing a service to the classroom teachers by running the kids ragged so they can sit still later when they’re supposed to be learning. And I only have to listen to one particular group of students screaming for about 30 minutes, before I get the next batch. But, then again, you have to prove yourself ten times in one day instead of just once.

I have to admit I was a bit nervous to teach basketball yesterday. I can’t even play HORSE. And I swear there’s something about my head that attracts flying objects. It doesn’t matter if we’re playing volleyball, football or basketball, the ball always seems to hit me in the head somehow. Yes, that happened twice yesterday. And I wasn’t the only one who got injured. I peeled and applied more Band-Aids than a triage unit.

And am I the only person in the world who hates high-fives? I felt like I was hanging out with 100 David Puttys from Seinfeld yesterday. For someone who hates sports, this was a real challenge.

I’m back today with the trusty whistle, ensuring that I’ll have a voice at the end of the day. Gimme a high five.