We’d Be Pretty Lacrosse With That Teacher

I went to a “posh” state school, one that desperately wanted to be a private school but couldn’t quite attract enough wealthy families willing to pay for tuition. However, we weren’t allowed to play common sports in PE like football, so instead, we did tennis in the spring/summer and lacrosse in the autumn/winter. This happened early in year seven (eleven years old), and I’m still salty about it nearly fifteen years later.

After a couple of lessons teaching us how to pick up the ball with a lacrosse stick and throw it without whacking ourselves in the head, the PE teacher divided us into two teams, let us loose on the playing field, and told us to play a game of lacrosse. It’s important to note that we knew the positions of lacrosse players on the field but pretty much nothing else. We also weren’t given or told to buy any gear apart from shoes, sticks, and mouthguards.

I, being a fairly exercise-averse preteen, decided I’d play goalie in an attempt to get away from most of the running around. I know the teacher saw me standing in goal because we locked eyes early in the game, and she didn’t say anything, so I thought I’d gotten away with it.

After about fifteen minutes of watching my classmates run around, someone actually managed to get near the goal and attempted to score. I tried to intercept but instead took the heavy baseball-sized ball full force in my chest. It was the first time I understood that “knocking the wind out of someone” wasn’t just a turn of phrase but in fact an accurate description. I crumpled rather unceremoniously onto the astroturf, gasping for breath that wouldn’t come. My vision went dim, and for a second, I genuinely thought I was dying.

Suddenly, there was a crowd of my classmates around me, and the teacher was pushing through to stand over me. Silly me, I thought she was there to help. Instead, she turned to the crowd and said:

Teacher: “And that, class, is why lacrosse goalkeepers wear heavy body protection. It was very silly of you to try and play goalie without that, wasn’t it, [My Name]?”

I just sort of gaped at her, too breathless to be upset that I was being shamed publicly for something I didn’t know I shouldn’t do. Apparently dissatisfied with my lack of a grovelling apology for not having memorised the appropriate attire for a game I’d only learned existed a month ago, the teacher made me stand up and told me:

Teacher: “If you’re really that hurt, you can go and sit on the side for a bit.”

Thankfully, by the time all the fuss had died down class, was almost over, so we all trooped back into the lockers to get changed.

I was a severely anxious child and convinced myself I’d actually done something wrong, so I didn’t report it. I still regret that, especially as I spent the next two weeks with a fist-sized bruise aching against my ribs every time I took a breath. Funnily enough, I developed an aversion to lacrosse after that and never played goalie again.