Personal Narrative: Flag Football

Eighth grade year, gym class, flag football. I remember this day like it was yesterday. I had a fuming hatred for the gym teachers and their actions toward these pre-pubescent kids who take everything a little too personally, but with these rude teachers each and every reaction from each and every kid was appropriate. The only way I could describe these teachers is 40 year olds who find joy in making 13 year olds miserable. So, it all began when the flag football unit started. I wasn’t afraid of the evil humans we called gym teachers; I spoke my mind. Football was usually the last unit every year and every year the girls had to relearn how to play football, while the boys got to go play outside right away without an ounce of review. Because I am me, this wasn’t going to fly.
I will call her Ms. V. “Why do the girls have to learn how to play football every year and the guys get to play right away?” I say, voice strong. Not even a millisecond after I answer, Ms. V lets out the loudest, ugliest chuckle that has ever vibrated my eardrums and I remember just being taken back and grossed out. This is how you act in front of 30 middle schoolers? I just let her go on a rant about how out of place my argument was. I wanted to let her get her satisfaction without getting a reaction out of me. Ms. V would get her karma. Later in the week I typed up a well-mannered petition to get Ms. V fired or suspended. A bountiful amount of girls signed