Deguires make terrible athletes. Neither my father, mother, brother nor I could play a sport or catch a ball. To this day, if you throw a ball in my direction, I reflexively squeeze my eyes shut, and duck down, like I’m fleeing a bomb. I jog with plodding feet, arms held tight, my face grimacing with each step. I can’t skip rope, do a cartwheel, or even shoot pool. Nothing. Gym class was a nightmare for me. I would trudge dutifully around the track, dramatically clutching my