I still didn't have a job, but I was enrolled in school. I was taking all general requirements. Jim, my twelve year old career counselor, assured me that was the thing to do in case I wanted to transfer to afour year school. I had three classes English 101, Psychology 101, and Physical Education I. I was a week late for all three.

When Jim showed me the list of requirements, it was the Physical Education Department that stood out. I don't know why, even though I was a dancer, it's not like I'm a jock or anything. It just seemed right. So there I was in the locker room with eight other "guys" changing into my bicycle shorts and tank while my classmates all had on wrinkled baggy boxers, dirty tee shirts, and worn-out Converse sneakers. My fellow gym buds knew I was there, and they knew what I was wearing, but wouldn't even glance in my direction.

I was the last one into the gym. I had my late admission slip that my teacher, Coach Megna, had to sign, which he had already agreed to via the phone. This guy was a real coach: polyester shorts, tube socks, and white, white sneakers. Possibly if he had seen my outfit before, he wouldn't have been so eager for an additional student. He glared at me as I crossed the floor. He took my slip and read, "Miguel Orlando? I thought your name was Mike." He said it like he was referring to Mike Tyson.

"I go by Mike." I pointed to the slip. "I think you need to sign that."

"You got a pen?"

My hands landed on my hip realizing I couldn't possibly have a pen. I looked up and saw one hanging over Coach Megna's left ear and I motioned towards it.

"Did I ask you if I had a pen?"

"No. But you do, I'm just letting you know." My tough days in Bed-Stuy were coming back to me and I wasn't going to let this guy treat me like a piece of crap on the wall.

He leaned into me. "You a wise-ass?"

"No, just observant."

"Okay, buddy I'll sign it after class." He put it in his hand and shoved it in his tee shirt pocket above his left protruding pec. He yelled to the rest of the men to head over to the ropes. I followed theCoach uncomfortably over to the four ropes that hung from the thirty foot ceiling, dropping onto the blue and white cushioned mats.

I watched the first set of four guys pull themselves up the unfrayed ropes. They were rather quick and I wondered if I could climb that fast. In the next group of four was one scrawny kid falling way behind the other three. He looked about eighteen, had stringy blond hair, and many pimples. The Coach was frustrated as he watched this kid struggle. The other three were down already with their arms crossed, watching the lone climber. I could tell Coach Megna wanted to yell at the kid, but then he looked at me, "Hey, you, Miguel..."

"Mike."

"Yeah, whatever, jump on and get going."

I grasped the rope, squeezed, and pulled. I could hear guttural sounds emanating from within me, but they were uncontrolled. I could do this in high school, but now, years later, I couldn't do it. I triedagain. I took a deep breath and arranged my hands in a better position, reaching up. I pulled hard and jumped entangling my legs around the rope. I released one hand trying to place it way above the other, butwhile my hand made it forward, my body lagged behind.

"All right Miguel, that's a good try."

I jumped down. "I guess it's been a long time since I climbed a robe, probably since high school."

"Well, that's a nice story buddy but you want to pass this class, you'll climb that rope." I watched the scrawny kid struggling to get down. He had made it about half way up. The Coach mumbled to me, "Hey, listen if you want, I don't have to sign this. You could still register for something more appropriate."

"Appropriate?"

"Tennis or jogging."

Obviously he doubted my abilities as a result of the rope. My testosterone kicked in, "I don't think there is any appropriation problem here, I think this is exactly where I'm supposed to be."

This startled him and he walked away. We headed down to the track and ran 50 yard races. I lost every single one, but hey, at least I was in the race again.