 I was willing to try any stunt, race any race, in spite of my
uncoordinated limbs and the fact that I looked like a pixie stick
doing calisthenics.Once, I leaped headfirst off the fourth rung
of a stepladder into a pile of leaves. The only thing that saved me
from breaking my silly neck is that my head was full of something
soft and squishy. Obviously, it was not brains.
I walked away from that on my skinny little legs, shaking my
empty little head and wondering what possessed me to do such a
thing.
I have grown a few neurons since then and have not recently been
seen leaping off high places and risking integral parts of my body,
but I'm not ruling out the possibility of doing something stupid
occasionally.
My daughter, bless her heart, seems to have been cursed with the
same affliction as her mother. Built like a strand of fiber optics
and a head full of fluff, she is adventurous, but not quite as
fearless, which puts her a few marbles ahead of me.
She is 10 years old and has somehow managed to reach the double
digits without learning how to do a cartwheel. At least, when she
decided to learn, she chose my living room with its nice soft carpet
on which to practice. I most likely would have chosen the middle of
an asphalt street during rush hour.
Watching her place her hands on the ground and throw her bent
legs from one side to the other reminded me of a bullfrog trying to
release his front legs from a wad of bubble gum.
I even tried spotting her once, telling her to "straighten out
your legs!" Unfortunately, she chose the very last second to
suddenly remember my advice. Her legs screamed out of nowhere and my
jawbone may never close properly again. It's a wonder I still have
any teeth left.
OK, so the girl may never get the whole cartwheel thing. Maybe we
could try a flip. Fortunately, my last neuron kicked in and I
thought about what one more poorly aimed heel might do to my
remaining teeth and decided to work up to a flip.
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We'd start by doing a headstand and work our way up to a handstand
and then, after she's mastered the concept of "straight legs," we'll
try the flip. "Try a headstand," I said.
She demonstrated, once again, that she is indeed my daughter by
backing up to get a running start. In my mind, I saw her little head
popping right off her shoulders. I knew I'd never get her married
off without a head, so, once again, I placed myself in the path of
her oncoming, gangly body and took a small head to my midsection
before we landed, bruised and battered, on our behinds.
"A handstand never needs a running start," I instructed when my
breath came back. "You put your head and hands on the floor. That's
it. Then put your knees on your elbows and balance for a few
seconds."
"Are you sure this is the way to do it?" she asked from her
upside-down perch.
"Sure, I'm sure. Now try to lift up your legs slowly until they
are straight."
Staying clear of a possible rogue heel, I watched her struggle to
balance, and then, WHAM! ... she hit the floor, flat on her skinny
backside.
I winced. That's going to leave a mark.
"Mom, I think I'm going to take a break. My body hurts."
"Yeah, me too. Maybe you should give piano lessons another try."
[By LAURA SNYDER]
You can reach the writer at
lsnyder@lauraonlife.com
Or visit www.lauraonlife.com
for more columns and info about her books.
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