At my grade school we had the same P.E. teacher in 4th-8th grade. He also happened to be the math teacher for those grades as well. I was unpopular, zero friends. Classes were small with only 20 kids so it was known. I always felt like I got picked on. This P.E. teacher made it so much worse. He picked the captains every week and the captain's would then pick teams. Guess who got picked last EVERY TIME. Once a week I would get infuriated or incredibly sad. One time I punched a door. Everyone looked at me like I was crazy. REALLY? My psychotic father would pick me up from school and take me out to eat fast food. Sometimes I would cry when I got in the truck because PE was always the last class of the day. I couldn't let him know I was crying because otherwise he would get mad. As we were driving he would see a black person walking on the side walk and he would say "Whered that nigger come from". This really upset me and one time I raised my voice and said "STOP SAYING THAT!" He slammed on the brakes in the Sonic parking lot and grabbed my face to where it left red marks for an hour and glared at me with intense eyes. After I got my nutritious fast food I would be dropped off at my mother's home. The Less than 800 square foot house. Home of the drunk hoarder. She's an emotional mess. I don't have any siblings either to talk to. At the time it was just my cat. And he died. Oh yeah and my PE teacher that made my already shitty life even more he'll at school was my neighbor. He still is. I saw him just last week driving to school. Half time I'll smile and wave, the other half I ignore that I saw him and just imagine beating him with a bat.