I am certain that the student teacher of my freshman gym class did not mean to hurt me, and I am equally she sure that she would be horrified to learn she plays a role in my nightmares.
But for me, her comment sort of represents high school, a miserable time when even nice people were stymied by how to deal with me and my just-appearing Friedreich's ataxia.
Struggling off the outside track one morning, I was the only one left besides her and the Coach, as my gym teacher was called.
She looked at me, "Out of shape, Coach?" she asked. In my mind, I can still see where she was and what she looked like. He agreed with her and said her job was to get me in shape.
Unsurprisingly, she failed.
I am pretty sure Charles Atlas couldn't have gotten me in better shape because, you know, I was just starting down a road that would leave me in a chair.
Mom regrets not noticing the FA in me and m brother sooner, not that there was anything to do about it.
I guess if we knew I wouldn't have had to put up with stupid comments like that, but it undoubtedly would have opened the door to others.
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