Physical Education 

~ A Short Story by Allen Kopp ~

We each had one chance to “serve” the ball over the net. The net was about ten feet high and the ceiling was thirty feet high. We had to get the ball over the net and through that twenty foot space between the net and the ceiling. Like inmates in a prison camp, we were lined up alphabetically. The pressure was on. What was going to happen if we couldn’t make the grade? We were fifteen years old. Most of us were as unathletic as a boy can be. As much as we hated gym class, we had to get a passing grade.

We were used to Mr. White humiliating us, but mostly he would humiliate us singly. He humiliated Claude Fowler in front of the whole class for wearing his regular socks with his gym shorts instead of his gym socks. We all knew that Claude was from a poor family and was lucky to have one pair of socks on his feet of any kind. He was denied the luxury of having one pair of socks for one thing and another pair of socks for something entirely different.

Another time Mr. White humiliated Johnny Bottoms for having beard stubble on his cheeks. Johnny Bottoms was older than the rest of us from having been held back a couple of grades and already had a man’s beard. Mr. White became furious that Johnny hadn’t shaved since the last gym class. He threatened to go to the shop building and get a plane and shave Johnny’s whiskers off (and most of Johnny’s skin in the process). Of course, this was only a bluff, but we could easily picture it happening.

When my turn came to serve the ball, I had a stomach ache and my knees shook.  I went to the end of the court to the starting point, looking at my feet again to make sure I was standing in the right spot. With the ball in my left hand, I gave it as forceful a “punch” with the inside of my right wrist as I could. I thought for a second it would sail effortlessly over the net, but instead it went straight up and hit the ceiling with a whomp. Someone laughed. I saw Mr. White over to my right, entering an “F” in his grade book beside my name.

Out of the class of thirty-four boys, twelve could get the ball over the net with one attempt. The rest of us, according to Mr. White, were sissies. We were girls. We were a disgrace to our gender. We weren’t worthy of the jockstrap we wore about our loins. He was going to bring some dolls for us to play with next time.

I hated volleyball. I hated dodgeball. I hated softball. I hated basketball. I hated every kind of ball devised by man. Playing with dolls couldn’t be as bad as any of them. I wanted to ask if we would have to “dress out” to play with dolls, but I didn’t want Mr. White to turn his wrath on me.

When we heard that Mr. White broke his ankle, we were all jubilant. We hoped he’d be laid up in bed for a long time, but he was only out of school for three days. When he came back, he walked with crutches and he had a mean scowl on his face. Breaking a major bone in his body didn’t help to sweeten his disposition.

It was our first gym class since Mr. White returned from breaking his ankle. I had been dreading the hour, wondering what kind of verbal abuse we would be subjected to. When he came into the gym, he was eight minutes late. I was hoping he wouldn’t come at all and we could go on to our next class which, for me, was American history.

He was fuming about something, as usual, but his ill will, this time, was directed toward one person, instead of all of us. A boy named Terry Caplinger had taken his gum out of his mouth upon leaving the locker room and, instead of finding a handy trash can where he might deposit  it, threw it against the wall, where it stuck and then fell to the floor. Mr. White saw him do it.

Instead of making an example of Terry Caplinger and embarrassing him in front of the whole class for being such a “pig,” Mr. White thought of a unique punishment: Make Terry get down on his hands and knees and “push” the gum from one end of the gym to the other with his nose (a painfully long way).

As Terry got down on the floor to push the gum with his nose, he was trembling and he fought back tears. I didn’t know him very well since he was new to our school, but I didn’t like seeing him demeaned in this way. It was something he would always remember. Maybe the defining moment of his school years. I wished a thunderbolt might come out of the sky and strike Mr. White dead.

I thought that somebody outside the class should know about Mr. White’s bullying teaching methods. I sent an anonymous letter to the school principal, telling him all I had witnessed, but especially about Terry Caplinger’s gum. I didn’t have the courage to sign my name, but it didn’t make any difference. I think it found its mark.

At the end of the school year, we heard that Mr. White wouldn’t be back next year. Satan was waiting for him in the nether region.

Copyright © 2025 by Allen Kopp