Listening this evening to my artistically very talented friend talk down about his kid's current favorite healthy interest because it is not "artistic" made the hair on my neck stand up. My stomach's flippy now too.

I am an artist. I have been making art passionately since childhood. Heck! Several times my art project got stolen from the classroom- once from the school's big annual open house art display! Art made me happy- no team, no uniform, no practice after school, coach or team mates needed.

The difference between me and my friend is I don't project my good relationship with art on other people acting like it is the only good way to be. The paths ascending Mt Fuji are all different. Sport isn't art- but it is still creative. That team stuff totally nurtures many kids.

One of my buttons got pushed tonight. The button connected non-stop, one way, and "straight-as-the-crow-flies" toward stuff I must purge. Memories wafted by, feelings, smells, sounds- from high school! The only team for me, ever, is a profound surreal sickening memory.

Any activity named something ending with "ball" I hated. In gym class I loved activities like rope climbing, dance, and gymnastics. Gymnastics turned me on! Fun to do in the yard at home too. Stretching, splits, cartwheels, walk-overs- I loved it all.

The summer between leaving junior high and starting high school I joined the girl's gym team. I entered a new world! As we all spent time spotting each other learning new gymnastics tricks real respect and friendship blossomed; we became friends. Not part of my clique we dressed differently, etc. but that never mattered between us.

Summer came to Fall, classes started. At gymnastics practice one afternoon after school the coach lady called me to her office. There was a glass wall between her office and the gym floor. You could see the girls were practicing on the mats. (I am starting to cry thinking about this)

The coach said something like, "Look," pointing at the other girls. "They are different than you. You look different. You dress different. Their friends are different. Your friends are freaks. You are not the right type girl for the team and don't belong here."

She told me to leave and not come back. I went to the locker room, took off my leotard, put my leather jacket, patched jeans and black everything else on. Leaving the locker room walking down the long hall by the gym I felt soooo crushed.

Yeah I was different from the other girls socially. I didn't dress like them. The guys I liked best didn't play sports or wear izod shirts. That didn't seem bother my team mates. We even talked about all that stuff; they thought I was good at gymnastics. The coach didn't like me. She tried to make me think the other girls didn't want me on the team.

At one point after I hadn't shown up for practice in a while one of the other girls asked me why I quit. I told her I was kicked out. She was totally shocked! That helped me feel a little better.

That coach lady's action was pure abuse. These days someone would get sued or fired for that. I've only told a very few people that story. Who knows what good stuff I missed out on that would have been beneficial for me because of that sick educator's action. All I got from her is shame. Tonight I find I still feel that sadness as an adult.