Eye of the Tiger. (The photographer told us to look aggressive. My attempt wasn't convincing.)
My decision to join the middle school boys’ wrestling team was, like many of my life choices, an impulse decision motivated by a desire to piss off some fat old white guy on a sexist power trip.
I was 13 and in eighth grade at a combination middle/high school in the middle of an Indiana cornfield, where--I shit you not--one of the theme days during school spirit week was “Drive Your Tractor to School Day” (six students participated) and where my history teacher would go on rants about how the queers needed to be put on an island and how the red dot on the Japanese flag represented communism.
Anyway, I was wandering the halls during lunch, and a man seated behind a folding table made eye contact.
“Wanna join the wrestling team?” he asked, then chuckled and folded his arms, clearly pleased with himself. This irritated the shit out of me.
“Okay, sure. I’ll try it,” I said. I went over and signed my name on the sheet. The man’s expression faded into a scowl.
this reminds me of the royal S**T I got for taking Wood shop 2 in junior high (1981/1982). Wood shop 1 was OK - there were lots of girls in WS 1. But Wood shop 2 was reserved for the boys. The boys especially hated it cause I was so much better at woodworking than they were - cause I took the time to make sure my projects looked good and were smooth as a baby's bottom. One of my biggest regrets is that I let the bullying affect me and never took any other shop classes in HS. Closed a lot of doors for me which I didn't even know existed. There's a good chance I might have become a mechanical engineer if I'd continued.