What’s Not Motivating

Motivation is a very personal thing.  What motivates me is not necessarily what motives you.  I know this to be true because more people have said to me that they would rather pay me to lose weight than discuss their weight publicly.

One thing I know is not motivating to me is to be bullied into doing something.  Case –in-point is my 5^th grade gym teacher.  Even though I can’t remember his name I can picture him in my mind perfectly.

He was a little fireplug of a man, who wore those ever popular among coaches in the ‘70’s sans-a-belt pants.  They were made out of stretchy material that was not yet the perfection of today’s spandex so after a few weeks of putting his hands in and out of the slash-front- pockets the front flaps began to hang down so it looked like he had two pouches.

This Gym teacher, let’s call him Mr. Bully, announced to my fifth grade class that one requirement of our school system was that each of us had to climb the rope hanging from the gym ceiling.  Not only did we have to climb the rope the twenty feet, at the very least, but when we reached the top we had to take one hand off the rope and touch the ceiling and then make our way back down the rope.  Falling off the rope at the top did not count as a successful completion.

Every week one or two students would attempt the rope climb, cheered on by the rest of the class.  There were those stellar students who were clearly descended from chimps who could jump up and grab the rope way above their heads, coil the dangling end around their feet, shimmy up to the top, remove one hand and without fear touch the ceiling and slide back down without the slightest tinge of a rope burn.

I was not one of these agile youths.  I attempted the climb.  Having never been instructed in any proper climbing technique, I would grab the rope and try and pull my body off the ground.  I would lift my legs and after what seemed like an eternity my hands would get sweaty and I would slide the three feet down the rope, having never actually made any upward progress.

This torture went on for weeks with no actual progress.  Mr. Bully would pull me off the sidelines of dodge ball having already been hit by at least three balls in the first ten seconds.

“Dana,” he would yell.  “Climb the rope!”  It was clear I was never going to be able to climb the rope.  But he continued to insist that I do it.

“You will not be allowed to pass out of fifth grade until you pass the rope test,” he would scream at me and the other rope climbing failures.  At least I was not alone in my humiliation.

Not only was I poor in the upper body and coordination department I was deathly afraid of heights.  That fear was well developed from having to climb up the steep roof of our house to fix the TV antenna on cold Sunday afternoons when the football game reception was ruining my parents’ day.

So I really tried hard not to learn to climb because if by some miracle I was able to pull my body up the rope I certainly was not going to be able to take one hand off just to touch the gym ceiling.  I would have been more willing to kiss the gym ceiling than remove 50% of what was holding me on that rope.

Week after week, Mr. Bully never let up on me.  But as the group of non-climbers would huddle together I noticed one similarity… We all were mostly straight A students.  Now I’m not saying that all the straight A students could not climb the rope, certainly there were many of those gifted in both mind and body, but the threat of not passing out of fifth grade came into question, in my mind at least.

So one beautiful spring day, around April, when Mr. Bully had everyone come in from kickball early so they could watch the rope climbing losers fail one more time, I spoke up.

“Mr. Bully, is it really a rule that we can’t go on to 6^th grade if we don’t pass the rope test?”  I asked.

“Dana Carter, just get to the rope and climb.”

“But is it a rule?”

“Yes, stop asking questions.”

“You mean that the town of Wilton is willing to pay for straight A students to repeat fifth grade just because they can’t climb the rope?”  I knew I was on to something because they passed Curtis Zelbisher out of fourth grade and he could not read.

“It’s a rule,” Mr. Bully screamed at me.

I got a little nervous then, having never really questioned authority like that before.  I grabbed the rope and lifted my legs up, still only three feet off the ground.

The next week when called to the rope I tried another tactic.

“Mr. Bully, I am afraid of heights.  I think my parents might sue the school system if I were to climb the rope and get to the top and fall to my death when I removed a hand.”  I could see steam coming from his hairy ears.  I tried again… you know the outcome.

I had never heard the phrase, “speak truth to power,” but I certainly was feeling it.  As I would question this idiotic rule he would threaten me more and more.  His mistake.

One day I was playing at friend Wendy Maclay’s house.  She happened to live across the street from the Verrilli’s.  Jamie Verrilli was our friend, but more importantly his mother, Rosemarie was the first Selectwoman of our town, which is kind of like being the mayor.  Wendy and I went over looking for Jamie and when we saw his Mom I took it as an opportunity to question the big “rope-climbing rule.”

Mrs. Verrilli, being a brilliant and calm woman with a big hairdo, listened intently to my story, with Wendy and her own agile son Jamie backing me up on the “facts.”

After I finished my too long description of Mr. Bully and my embarrassing treatment in gym I just waited.  Mrs. Verrilli did not tell me I was right nor did she tell me I had to climb the rope.  She just said, “I’m not sure, but I will look in to it.”

The last few weeks of school went on with me in the same non-rope-climbing predicament, but I persisted in my vocal protest.

School ended.  I got my report card.  Straight A’s and no mention of repeating fifth grade.  When the fall rolled around I found I was assigned to be in Dale Stoelting’s 6^th grade class.  She was the best teacher ever.  Not only did not climbing the rope hold me back, but I was rewarded with the best teacher.

The first day we had to go to gym class I cringed, walking down the hall to the high ceilinged gymnasium.  As went entered the room I was surprised to see that Mr. Bully was not there.  Rumor had it that he had been relieved of his position.

I have no information if Mrs. Verrilli had anything to do with it, but I do know she was a very smart woman, proof of that is one of her other son’s Donald is currently the solicitor General of the United States.