The entire gym floor was covered with mats, and the basketball court looked strangely transformed, as if it had received a blanket of snow overnight. From the very start I became enthusiastic about wrestling. My father had been a champion wrestler in high school and would have received a scholarship to go to college if he hadn’t broken a collarbone in a motorcycle accident. He taught me all the holds and moves. I enjoyed the rough contact of the sport which gave me a chance to delight in my own speed and agility. To my amazement, I found that I was one of the stronger boys in class. I loved the thrill of pinning a weaker opponent to the mat, feeling the gradually feebler struggle beneath me, the labored breathing against my neck and ear—and hearing the coach’s hand-slap against the mat indicating a victorious pin. PE became my favorite class period. Maybe it was because of its special ambience of masculine camaraderie…the shouted encouragement of the boys when I wrestled, the coach’s sharp whistle echoing through the gym’s rafters.
