I think initially we all thought they were just part of the ceiling, if we gave them any thought at all. But then came the day when we entered the gym. All dressed in our onesies. Blue stripes on top. Blue shorts on the bottom. Our common humility. We stepped out of the changing room. There they were hanging. Mr. Christopherson stood proudly beside them. Even though we lived weekly through our own Lord of the Flies experiment each week under the guise of Physical Education, we were still shocked.

Of course being only in elementary school, we hadn’t yet heard of Dorothy Parker, but it was written all over our faces — “What fresh new hell is this?”

He scrambled up half way on one of the ropes. See? So Easy! None of us were buying it. We formed three short lines. All fighting to be at the end. It was a lot to expect of us. Just an hour before we were practicing our instruments in this very gym. And I had the upper body strength of a pre-teen clarinet player to prove it.

To say we failed at rope climbing would be an understatement. Failure would mean that some proper attempts were actually made. Perhaps the only ones victorious were those, and there were a few, who actually made it to the next class without rope burns under their arms and between their thighs. They were the only ones who showered that day.

I’ve heard recently that most schools have outlawed this certain practice. As with so many other things. But I’m not sorry we went through it. I’m not sorry we were given impossible tasks, and struggled together. I’m not sorry we played our band instruments with no chance of ever becoming musicians. We were learning. And we were happy. We found joy — humble, breathtaking joy.

I look at the morning sky. I don’t know if ropes will drop, or skies will be clear. Either way, I know I can make it. I will find a way to be happy. Fresh. New. Joy.