Becoming a man

Ethan Perushek

So there I was…playing floor hockey, crushing the puck and jumping around like a champ during my sixth grade gym class. I booked it to the net just like every other overly competitive pre-pubescent man-child around me. Sweat dripped from my face.

Julia was on my team, which made playing puck exceptionally better. She ran up to the opposing net–beauty radiated from her every pore–and slammed the puck into the opposing team’s goal. I gave her a high five, and a smile spread across her face. I was delighted; my hormones began to spread through my body like childhood obesity across America.

She totally liked me. I knew it. I had seen her in my math class, always solving those equations with such grace and efficiency, just the way she smiled made me feel so incredibly awesome and happy; she was the pinnacle of human perfection physically and mentally. The fact that she smiled at me put me in pretty high spirits, but I had to put my game face back on. The play was about to resume, and from there, things went horribly wrong.

The puck slid behind the net, and we both went running for it. We needed someone to protect goal, but I couldn’t articulate well enough to tell her ‘stay there.’ Blindly, I threw my arm back, and grazed her breast with the palm of my hand. I became a man that day…just by accident.

I remember the embarrassment washed over me like the Tibetan Monk getting hit with the tidal wave in “2012,” I apologized to her about a billion times. She insisted that everything was fine, that I shouldn’t worry, but I could tell everything wasn’t all right.

I never saw her beautifully luminescent eyes look at me during math class again. Never again did that radiating smile break across her face when we passed in corridors. From that moment on we never spoke again and that—coincidentally—was my last year at Providence Academy.

The next year I came to BSM, and experienced even more twinges of puberty following me throughout my whole junior high years. Since that day in gym class I have moved on and matured–a little, and have experienced the beauty and brains of the high school ladies. Well, it’s your loss Julia.