Keep your eye on the birdie

Travel back in time with me again to middle school. This is the story of how I suffered my most severe bit of head trauma. It might explain a lot about me.

My good friend “Puma” and I had PE class together during 8^th grade. First thing in the morning, we lined up in the front of the gym to engage in the ritual weeding out of the nerds by the jocks 

Oh, don’t worry; it wasn’t that bad at our school. But needless to say, there were those who excelled and those who were picked last. Being on the pudgier (ok, ok – fat) side, I tended to be picked toward the end when students were allowed to pick their own teams. The exception to this rule was any game that required a goalie. By junior year of high school, I had established myself as a damn tough goalie when it game to handball, speedball, and soccer (aka football if you are European, Hispanic, or one of those douchey American soccer fans. You know the type). I can vividly remember imprints of the patterns on the ball perfectly duplicated on my arms after some PE classes.

But I’m jumping ahead in life. This story has nothing to do with my time as an above average PE class goalie. This story deals with the manly sport of badminton.

Yes, badminton. The one with the mini tennis rackets and the ping-pong ball with feathers on it – humorously referred to as a “shuttlecock.” Certainly humorous to an 8^th grade boy, anyway.

It was badminton week in PE, and as was so often the case, Puma and I were partners – challenging the world! In this case, “world” means “7^th and 8^th graders at our school, in our specific PE class.”

During one particular match, I was playing up front and Puma was playing back. A good back-and-forth was taking place between our team and our opponents. I moved a bit and started raising my racket to return a volley when suddenly I felt a sharp pain in the back of my head.

The next thing I remember, I was on the ground looking up at the gym lights. And Puma was still playing badminton! It wasn’t until he tripped over me, allowing our opponents to score, that Puma took notice of my condition.

As we called off the game and he escorted me over to the PE teacher, I pieced together the puzzle of what happened. By moving back on the shuttlecock (tee-he, tee-he, says my 8^th grade self) I entered into Puma’s zone. He too had moved to play the shuttlecock (snicker, snicker) and swung at it, somehow simultaneously connecting with the shuttlecock and my head (BAHAHAHAHA!!! That settles it! I’m just calling it a birdie from now on!). I blacked out at that point, albeit for a grand total of three seconds. Just enough time for me to hit the ground. 

Puma had no idea what happened because he was looking up at the birdie (see!) the whole time. He never realized he hit me in the head until after he tripped while still playing! What kind of a partner is that!?!? He went on without me and never even noticed the agony I was in! Sprawled across the floor right next to him!

Puma did admit he thought the birdie felt a bit different when he hit it that time. That was the impact with my head he felt, not the birdie.

I stood/sat (I can’t exactly remember which. I wonder why?) over by the side of the gym for ten minutes before things started swimming in my head. All the students were starting to take amorphous blob shapes, so I asked to go to the nurse’s office. They promptly called my parents and sent me home for the day. My symptoms regressed after that, I never visited the doctor, and was back at school the next day. Health care is for the weak!

To this day, I like to guilt trip Puma by reminding him of the time he gave me a concussion and abandoned me in the middle of the gym. He, in turn, likes to threaten that he’ll pull out a badminton racket if we ever start arguing something. We have a very caring friendship, as you can tell.

And to this day, I have a strong fear of badminton.