Barely Hanging On: Fourth grader farts in front of class while doing Bent Arm Hang

When I was in fourth grade, my school participated in the Presidential Physical Fitness Test. This test pit small children against each other in a variety of “fitness” tasks, such as seeing how quickly they could move a wooden block from one side of the room to the other, or if the child could touch their toes, and if they could, how much farther they could reach. Those who performed well received a certificate that ultimately didn’t mean anything, whereas those who performed poorly simply received crushing blows to their self esteem. 

The exam happened during our PE class over the course of a week, each day a different activity. The task of the day was the bent-arm hang. Apparently the United States thought kids in the fourth grade were too young to be doing pull-ups, so instead asked us to hang on a bar while, you guessed it, our arms were bent. Now I was by no means an athletic child. I was pretty overweight--the only extra-curricular my parents let me do was Kumon, so needless to say this was not my week. I was especially dreading this day since kids had to go up one at a time to be judged in front of the entire class. 

To make matters worse, we were going in alphabetical order. Zhang. I was dead last. I anxiously watched all my other classmates go ahead of me, simultaneously keeping track of what the absolute minimum time I needed to hang so as not to end up in last place. About halfway through, the time to beat was 7 seconds. I was feeling a little bit more confident, I just had to hang for a little over 7 seconds and I would be ok! That was totally doable. Suddenly, as if to answer my prayers, someone else in the class only hung on for 4 seconds. Great. I could see the light at the end of the tunnel and the future was looking bright. 

Finally, it was my turn. I was feeling pretty good, thinking that I could probably just slowly lower myself down from the bar in roughly 5 seconds. I prepared myself under the bar, took a deep breath, and jumped into my hanging position. I got this. One second. Two seconds. 

I farted.

The entire class burst into laughter behind me, and with that gas, my will to live also left me as I could not help but drop from the bar. I laid down on the mat for a couple of seconds, facing only the ceiling lights since I could not bear to face my classmates behind me. In my shame, I eventually rolled off the mat and made my way back to my friends who were still laughing at me. I was devastated. Why were they still laughing? Weren’t they supposed to be my friends? Why wouldn’t they stop?

In my anger and despair, I said the meanest words that I could think of. “You’re not invited to my birthday party.”