Leftover

I was always the fat kid that was chosen last for teams in grade school.

There is something especially humiliating about being chosen last.

Every single time.

Standing there by myself with all those kids looking at me. Knowing that I'm not really even being chosen. That I'm actually just the fat, uncoordinated kid that one team inevitably gets stuck with because the teacher says we all get to play.

That no one actually wants me.

"I guess we get Jennifer," is what one of the team captains always says, resigned, but thoroughly annoyed, to the fate of having the worst kickball player on his team.

That's what I am: A leftover. A remainder.

And once on the team, I inevitably get tagged out because I am too slow to properly run the bases even if I give that kickball a good whack from home base.

"Jennifer's out AGAIN," my teammates will moan...followed by angry looks my way as I, indeed tagged out and red-faced and ashamed, make my way back to the bench.

This is painful in the 6th grade.

Painful today remembering it.

Today for our Team Challenge we're playing kickball.  Something I haven't done since the 6th grade.

Luckily we aren't choosing teams. We're already assigned to teams. But part of me is still anxious that once we start playing, my team will realize that I am still the fat uncoordinated kid that I've always been. That they won't want me. That I will once again make my way, red-faced and ashamed back to the bench because I am too slow to properly run the bases.

That my teammates will realize they've been stuck with a leftover. A remainder.