Summer’s heat was still trapped inside the junior high gym when we began volleyball practice, just before the beginning of the school year. That, combined with three months of no training and unsupervised candy runs, was enough to turn my stomach. I could feel the rumbling at my feet, moving past my belly, up through my chest. I scanned for my escape route as the red line of my body’s thermometer was reaching my throat. I raced up the stairs. Across the catwalk. Through the wooden doors. Slid across the freshly polished terrazzo floors into the “girl’s room,” and let go of the rainbow of summer treats.

“No!” I screamed into the floor as I heard the wooden door creak open slowly. Because even in this fragile state, I knew who it was. I could see his gray shorts and gray shoes through the gap. Mr. Zappe, our coach. “Are you OK?” he asked. “I’m fine,” I said with an undertone of please, for the love of all that’s holy, close the door. “You know there’s a bug going around,” he continued. “I’m fine,” I said, still horrified that he could see me in this wretched condition.

I’m not proud to admit it, but we all thought he was so weird. When I think about it now, it was only our junior high minds that mistrusted his over-exuberant enthusiasm. But lying on the bathroom floor, I was in no mood for one of his get-up-and-go pep talks. “You know Connie had a touch of it…” Oh, my gosh, he was going to humanize himself by bringing his wife into the conversation. To think of our teachers and coaches as human beings, well, it was just gross. He kept talking. His large glasses were perched between the door opening. I knew the only way to make him stop was to return to the gym floor. I washed my face amidst the sea of his “atta, girl”s and returned two pounds lighter to the gym.

Care doesn’t always come wrapped in the package we think it should. We can be supported in a million different ways. Even loved. I think I’m getting better at the recognition. I hope so. I hope we all can.

I heard myself give someone an “atta girl,” the other day. I laughed aloud — I am so weird! Zappe-weird!

Our world, our days, are going to be filled with many a bathroom floor. The grace, I suppose, comes in how we get up, and how we treat those who try to lift us. Thank you, Mr. Zappe. I’m still in the game!