I’ve always hated running down hills. Gym teachers guide the class toward neverending trails we are forced into running. People in class, looking for Mr.Brightside, always recite “well atleast it’s all downhill” many times. I, even at a young age, never could think of it in that way. I knew at some point, no matter what, we would have to go back up that hill on our trip back to the gymnasium. This mentality stuck with me throughout the years. If one chapter of math was easy, the next one just has to be hard. If the teacher gives us a study hall for a class period, more work just needs to be done in a shorter amount of time. If someone even gives me a compliment, I think they’re just mocking me. Instead of simply accepting unfortunate things may happen, I tend to sit back and just wait until they do. It’s more of a curse than anything else, because it doesn’t seem as if I’m enjoying things as much as others. But this curse can also come to my advantage.

When the same young, overly enthusiastic gym teacher used to bring out the dodgeballs before we even knew what heart rate meant, I could foretell what was about to happen.  The obnoxious, narcissistic player on the team, that was never mine, would bring my team down one man at a time. But I had a trick to get them out on the sidelines. When they would effortlessly whirl that fat foam ball at a speed Jackie Robinson could only dream of, it was almost guaranteed to thud against a poor kid who just wants to be doing arts and crafts. This is when I seized the opportunity. He or she would be so boastful for a few good seconds, laughing and gushing in their triumph with fellow team mates. At this point, I would stand behind my remaining, disappointed team holding the old, beaten up dodgeball no one else bothered to notice. I would just toss the sad excuse for a dodgeball across the half court line dividing the war zone with an arm that has surely never held a baseball for a second. I’ll just say the sadness, remorse, disappointment, and despair that would shoot through their once warm eyes can not be described. They didn’t even consider something bad could possibly happen to them. Having the ability to understand their celebrations could not last forever and I, the kid who liked days of indoor recess, was the one who would actually be the one stopping it instead of being the victim gave me reinsurance. It’s not necessarily a terrible thing to look at situations as they will almost always play out. It simply means the music notes on my sheet music of existence are a little more literal.