Gymnastics

You are taking your child to gymnastics class. She's two. You don't know what to expect. You watch gymnastics once every four years, and other than being vaguely in love and attracted to the whole of the 96 Olympic squad you've sort of lost track of the sport since you gave it up at age four. That is, if you ever actually went to gymnastics class. You always tell people that you did, but you're not sure if it was true or if you just watched your sister at gymnastics class. Were you good on the balance beam? Was there something vaguely feminine about being in gymnastics? You don't worry about that now. Now is the time to see what your daughter can do in a gymnastics class. No part of you expects it to be amazing. However, maybe it could be?

We start the class by running around in a circle. She runs around in a circle like she was born for it, stepping neatly on the dots they've placed on the large blue mat. Some other kid of eastern European descent veers off and starts high tailing it for the warm up room. A little boy sprints straight across the blue mat, totally ignoring the very obvious circles that I'm also half assedly jogging around on. She starts to veer toward the middle, but I can tell it's just because she's tired. She prances more than runs. Her heels kick up and then are splayed out, so that her legs aren't really moving forward but kind of sideways. We'll work on it when we get home. She's enthusiastic.

We head over to the mats to get ready for the rope swing. The Eastern European girl has gotten it together and clambers her way up onto the rope and swings enthusiastically through the air. Sadie's turn is next, and I realize I'll have to teach her about not following the good kid. She climbs up but wants to hang on to the teacher rather than the rope. The teacher has to guide her through the whole swinging process. Familial shame. The little boy is jumping around on a ball and can't be coaxed into swinging at all. A pair of twin girls arrive, Charlotte and Jane, names I'd have chosen, and Jane, nearly a head shorter than Sadie though a couple of months older climbs up to the rope like a champ. She needs help with the swinging but less help. However, the mother can't really enjoy it as she has to wrangle her other daughter who has wandered off to inspect some other bouncy toys. At least we don't have that.

The little EE girl swings like a champ again. Sadie has spent the downtime climbing up a small incline mat and then carefully climbing off it. I think she's supposed to roll, but she's decided that it's much safer to climb down the thing. She may not be Dominique Dawes. On the second rope swing, Sadie, clings to the rope a bit harder, though she eventually winds up crying and saying that her hands are hurting. We'll build up the callouses at home.

We move from the rope swing to the balance beams in the next room. The EE starts to do it, and then kind of loses her focuses and begins crying. The little boy makes it across the first balance beam but gets distracted at the slide like the toddler he is. Sadie patiently waits her turn and then climbs across the balance beam like a champ. She narrates the thing, "stepping uh toes" "Step over toes." The child is a verbal genius. She balks at the slide, and I have to pick her up and put her on the second balance beam. The second beam is marked by a variety of nations flags to signify our wonderful diversity. Sadie mentions each flag as she steps over them. The twins are up and around the beam in no time, expertly moving through the entire course. For cute kids they sure are obnoxious.

By the second round the EE has decided that she wants to jump on the trampoline. Sadie starts crying midway through the beam because she's having a tough time on the beam. Familial shame.

We move to the sliding portion of the day. At this point the EE, who was closer to three, totally loses her shi- and has to be taken out of the class by her mom. The remaining parents feel a smug satisfaction that now matter how poor their kids are at somersaults, at least they didn't break down. Sadie has to be coaxed into sliding down a ramp with the help of the teacher and then executing a somersault, followed by walking her feet up a wall. She is not 100 percent pure athlete, but I still kind of like her. She's supposed to climb into a bunch of large rings next, but she decides to climb below them instead and then asks me to lift her into them.

Little Jane slides down with less help than Sadie and throws herself on the mat face first while attempting a somersault. She follows that up by walking to the wall and starting to walk her feet up on her own. Nobody likes Jane despite the fact that she's two and adorable. Jane then climbs through the three large towers and is joined by Charlotte. Their mom says something about joining Sadie, but I can tell she just wants me to move her along.

The little boy has tapped out by the second round. He's decided that a little ladder is more interesting than somersaults. I can't blame him.

We move to the uneven bars, the EE a distant memory, Sadie balks at climbing onto one bar to reach another, then cries and says her arms hurt when I hang her from the second one. Then she refuses to even try the rings. Familial shame. Jane takes a break from swinging on the bars to earn a Master's Degree in something useful like accounting. I finally convince Sadie to at least do the climbing wall, but she does it slowly and Jane's mom has to tell Charlotte to wait while Sadie takes her turn. I get it, she's slow. At least she can say "civic duty and Charlottesville and Monticello and ephelant." We're working on that last one.

The last activity is running across a trampoline. Sadie distinguishes herself by waiting her turn like a champ. She runs to the top and sits on the mat waiting for her name to be called. These other hellions just want to run ahead, but she dutifully waits. Sometimes she waits even when it is her turn, but I remind everyone that she's only one, except Jane, who has taken a break from her Master's to prove the existence of a fourth dimension in space. Sadie runs across the trampoline like a puppy chasing butterflies, or like a one-year old running across a trampoline. If it doesn't make you smile then you don't have a soul. Jane is not sure what she thinks about the nature of eternal souls, or at least that's what I can extrapolate as she runs across the trampoline like a puppy chasing another puppy.

The class finished with a medal ceremony. Sadie's in a make up class, so I know she's going to kill it. She's going to hold up the torch and show these other kids how you get a medal. They give the first medal to the little boy, who, after a moment of coaxing, holds it up along with the makeshift paper torch like a little champ. The twins go next, Jane asks for an actual torch just to show that she can. Her mother smiles and we talk about how shy kids can be at home, but I can tell that she secretly hates me for having such a verbally advanced child. Sadie goes up to the podium next and appears confused. Familial shame. She starts swinging the paper torch in front of her, and, if I know her, she's saying "amazing" as she generally does when she has something to twirl.

After class the rest of the parents stand around to talk about whatever it is parents talk about after class. I put Sadie's shoes on and get up to go out. I notice after two steps that I've put her sweatshirt on inside out, but I figure the moms will just chalk it up to dad's first gymnastics class. I hide her anyway as we leave reminding her that we're not to show weakness in front of these people. I briefly debate doing a somersault across the hood of my car but refrain, because I am old and my everything hurts. Sadie smiles and asks for a snack.