"Why my mother can't speak English" Writing Assignment

1. Write a short narrative that describes your inability to learn a particular skill.

 My white off brand sneakers made my feet look enormous in comparison to my small body. I hated my big baggy gym shorts, large Notre Dame fighting Irish t-shirt and the dirty yellow pinnie I had to wear over it. The sound of sneakers squeaking across the gymnasium floor was nauseating and I swear that orange and black ball was from the devil. The locker room was one of the worst places I have ever been to, in all of my 9 years in public schooling. Having to change out in the open, the smell of sweat, feet, sewage, and awful body spray contributed to my disgust. My hair always a mess, and my legs tired from chasing a ball. Reminiscing on all the the things I hated about the year before, I walked out of the girl's locker room and took my place before the coach. I was already planning not to land a spot on the eight grade girls basket ball team.
Over the summer I tried to convince myself that I liked basketball. I even spent hours outside practicing and went to a couple summer practices with my best friend. Through it all I just could not develop the passion the sport required in order to succeed. So annoyed I went, unwillingly to the tryouts. It was my dad who loved basketball and was forcing me to go. He made me try out for the team the year before, and I barely made the cut due to the fact that not enough people tried out for the team. The 8th grade tryouts were going two last 3 days. The first and second days were composed of basket ball drills, running suicides, and lay ups. All of which I successfully put in mediocre effort. The drills I had completely forgotten, and hardly made a true effort to get the ball from the opposing team. Yet, I put enough effort in that it didn't look like I was just standing on the court. At one point a girl went to pass the ball at me and I ducked instead of catching it. All the players laughed and moaned about my failure to catch the ball, but secretly I was proud of myself for my ducking skills. I let all of the other girls out run me in suicides, and never really tried to make a lay-up. I was bad at them anyways, so what was the point? Finally judgement day came around. All of the girls trying out were told to sit on the gymnasium floor, and the coaches would call the names of all the girls who made the team. Name after name after name was read off of a list of winners, until it came down to the last 2 spots. My heart pounded anxiously awaiting the coach to say my name, but she never did. That day the sting in my pride was merely a pinch due to my fear of my dad's disappointment, but all stinging and pinching was numbed out because of the fact that I was the real winner.