by Marlena Elias
September 23, 2000

As I watched the Olympic Ladies' Gymnastics last night, and saw these very muscular, finely toned athletic machines hurl their bodies at an alarming rate, AND make mistakes, it brought back memories of the Neo Nazi PE teacher from High School and her favorite target for torture.

Our PE teacher felt that the PE was as important as all of our other subjects, so if we didn't do all the "requirements" we could not graduate from high school. Coming from Indiana where you only were required to take TWO SEMESTERS, it was a shock to find out Illinois required FOUR YEARS of PE. The Neo Nazi had us by the proverbial "balls". Not only did we have to fulfill the requirements, but also we had to take written tests. This woman actually wrote a PE book for this purpose!

So as I watched the gymnastics last night and saw these girls who have been practicing for YEARS fall off the balance beam, I am reminded of a girl who was tortured by Mrs. X. Her name was Missy McDougal (not her real name). Missy was one year behind me in school; she was painfully shy, completely uncomfortable in her own skin, and was enduring her parents' divorce. On top of all the joy that puberty brings, Missy was extremely overweight.

The only reason I knew of Missy was her Mother played Bingo with my sister Cathy. To the horror of all teenagers, my sister suggested (you know that means I was volunteered) that I spend some time with Missy. Now there is nothing worse than being forced to "play" with someone when you are trying desperately to fit in yourself. To say the least, Missy was at the bottom of the food chain and I did not want to be seen with her. Being a good Catholic girl, I felt very guilty for not wanting to hang out with her, but not so guilty that I would actually do it. When her parents' divorce was getting very ugly, she had come up to me in the hallway and gave me a note. She described her fears, her pain, her anger, and was looking for a friend. In this note she also mentioned the exact date of the divorce. She came up to me on that specific day looking for support and I totally put her pain out of my head. Missy was devastated that I didn't remember and I felt about one inch tall at the point.

Gymnastics was the only sport that I excelled in. I actually got an "A" that month in PE, never to be repeated again. Mrs. X had routines for the floor exercise, the balance beam, and the uneven bars. She had a jock girl demonstrate the routines and we had to practice and then perform two of the three. Missy had no coordination and no grace what so ever. Mrs. X would pick on her because of her size and purposely humiliate her in front of all the girls. Missy was forced on the balance beam and fell off, spraining her ankle. How much shame and humiliation can one person go through? Mrs. X failed Missy because she never finished the requirements. Her pain and humiliation and fear kept her from getting back on the balance beam.

So I'm watching these paragons of perfection at the Olympics last night and I couldn't help but think about the hell Missy went through. Our PE teacher had no tolerance for imperfection or fear. You could get all the Doctor's notes you wanted, but if you didn't do the requirements you failed. In just thinking about those four years of PE, I can still feel the anxiety and fear. I can sill sense Missy's misery and discomfort with her life and I marvel at how unfair life really is.

I have no idea what happened to Missy McDougal, her mother moved the family to California my junior year. Her unhappiness was like a disease that I didn't want to catch, so I hope she was able to find some one to connect with. I still have flashbacks of when Missy came up to my locker to give me the note, she was overflowing with anxiety and pain and that just made me what to ignore her even more. I feel ashamed that I could not offer her friendship. I also feel like I have not given justice to Missy's story. Words have failed me as I have tried to describe her pain. I never lived her life, so describing it has been difficult. I do know that I was capable of being sensitive to her pain, but not courageous enough to be supportive. I guess what I hate the most is that I was being a "typical" teenager. I had always fancied myself as "unique" and above the "teenage angst". I was no different than any other kid. Missy was the unique teenager, special beyond my recognition as well as her own. I hope someone helped her find out just how special she really was and I know still is. <EM>