THE ROPE

Gosh, I hated the rope.

Chin ups were bad enough. Especially when you couldn't turn your wrists over. Then chin ups became pull ups.

But the rope.

In ancient p.e. classes, some even called phys ed, possibly an abbreviation for phizzed (out) ed, the rope was in vogue. At least once a semester, when teachers forced their throng to climb as high as they could. Some could go all the way up to the rafters, some half way, some half of half way. Then there were us. We couldn't do squat with the rope.

I wasn't a great tree climber, but I could climb as long as shimmy wasn't required. Maybe that's part of my problem with the rope. My legs were worthless when they had to wrap or grasp. Without legs, I was having to pull my weight up and that wasn't happening.

I never gave up. Every semester or so, I'd try my hardest, like suddenly it would sink in. But every semester, I'd jump up, grab the rope, and not move an inch.

It's probably just as well. Had I been able to go to the top, I'd probably been like the monkey and lorded over the rafters. I would have Tarzaned all they way down. I would have gotten in so much trouble. That's probably all I'd ever want to do.

"What did you do Saturday night?"

"Oh, the usual. I climbed the rope. There are some great views up there, you know."

Not to worry. There's not much a view from seven feet off the ground.