This afternoon I felt ancy. I didn’t have any immediate work to complete and for some reason I didn’t want to sit at my desk. A glance at the schedule told me the eighth graders were in P.E. so I mosied up to the gym to watch them. The women and men were playing alternating five minute soccer games. When I arrived the women were playing. One boy, Tatsuya, asked if I wanted to join. I couldn’t tell if he was being serious, so I declined. When the men played I noticed the teacher joined in to even up the teams. The women came back out and this time I counted and noticed the teams were uneven. Quickly asking the P.E. teacher for permission to join in, I asked around to see which boys were wearing sneakers in my shoe size. Tatsuya wore the right size but begged off at first, saying his feet were stinky. After a moment, and a look at my shoes, he let me borrow them.
I played two rounds with the ladies. Frankly, I’m not very good. My ball handling skills could use a lot of work, I haven’t the foggiest when I am off sides, and both times I attempted a goal I kicked straight to the goalie.
But here is the thing: at the end of the period, walking back to my desk, I realized that for those twenty minutes my imperfections weren’t just okay, they were exactly what was needed.
I’ve often thought of working on my soccer skills. I even bought a soccer ball two years ago but never actually practiced with it. I could kick myself for all of the mistakes I made today. The girls I played with, however, aren’t any better than me. Some of them are probably worse. They didn’t need a Mia Hamm out there dominating the field. They just needed another person on par with their skill level.
Another thing: my shoe size. I accept it as a quirk about the culture in which I’m immersed that my feet are the Japanese equivalent of huge. In America I wear an 8.5. meaning the only time I can’t find shoes are during the 80% off sales when the stock is made up of “huge” and “tiny.” I don’t buy a lot of shoes in Japan. Sneakers are easy because I shop the men’s section. At the bowling alley I know who else wears my size. And a recent conversation with my athletic, manly principal taught me that he and I could trade if need be. Today though, today wearing men’s sizes was perfect. All of the women needed their shoes during the game while the men didn’t. If I shared a size with the women, I would have been playing in my loafers. It wasn’t a miracle I could find shoes that fit from the men on the sidelines. In fact I ASSUMED I would find shoes that fit.
Because sometimes being me isn’t just good enough, it’s perfect.