Gymnastic Dreams

At four I learned that I didn’t have the ability to fly…or a career waiting for me in gymnastics. Two little boys, who were just a few years older than me, were the ringleaders of this lesson. 

I was awful spoiled. Out of us three, I was the only girl…and the baby. So, sometimes, the boys had to give me a hard time.

Today was no different. 

We were horseplaying. Hannie was the church secretary, so the church was serving as our playground. Up and down the stairs we ran. Down the hallways, up the hallways. We chased each other in and out of the Sunday School Rooms. 

As we were standing at the top of the stairs, the oldest began jumping down the stairs two at a time. The middle followed suit. 

“C’mon, Aleta. You can do it too!” 

Yeah. With my stumpy, itty-bitty legs. 

But, when you’re four, and you have two older boys, like brothers, cheering you on…you think you’re invincible. 

I hopped. I missed my landing spot. Down I tumbled. My landing was far from that of a gymnast. I cried.

When Hannie came to assess the damage, she found my chipped tooth. 

Being the baby, of course I pointed to the boys and said “They told me to do it,” through sobs.
Lord, at the woopin’ that they received. 

After a swift visit to the pediatric dentist, with whom I had already become well acquainted, and after the boys’ tears had dried, we were fast friends again.

I’ll tell you, honest, here…They might have been the cause of a chipped tooth or two; but without them, my childhood would have been incredibly boring.