It was my first day of volleyball practice as a freshman in high school. My coach, a short, cheerful baled man told us to form a circle on the gym floor. We grew silent our, sneakers squeaking as we plopped down in a circle surrounding him. Coach proceeded to explain who he was and spoke about his background with the game. When he was finished, he asked us to each give him our name and why we chose to play the sport. A few girls later, and I cleared my throat and shyly stated my name and that my mother was a volleyball player so I wanted to try it. My coach nodded his head in response. As he turned to the next teammate, he hesitated and slowly looked back in my direction. Squinting curiously he asked, “What nationality are you?” I blinked in confusion for a moment and then began to giggle. I thought he was joking. My team mates were looking back at me with looks of “he’s serous”, and confusion filled our circle. “I, uh, I’m American. I’m french and Irish too-“, he cut me off and shook his head. “Wait, you’re not part Asian?” I looked up at him and began to laugh again. He looked back at me with a straight face, waiting for me to satisfy him with a “yes”. But no, I was a very blonde, blue eyed, of non-Asian heritage, American teenager. I responded with, “I am not Asian, no.” My new psycho of a volleyball coach shook his head in disbelief and told me I looked like I was from Japan and that he didn’t believe me. By this point, everyone knew he was being serious and we grew increasingly afraid that our coach was either crazy, or exceptionally judgmental. As the season unfolded, and he greeting me every practice with an enthusiastic, “konnichiwa!” we found it to be both.

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Written by shannonmeserve

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