The other day, I tried to impress my niece by showing her I could still do a cartwheel. Big mistake.
We’re at this park, right? Kids running around, parents pretending they’re not tired, and I think, “Yeah, let’s remind everyone I was a legend in gym class… twenty years ago.”
So I stretch a little — you know, just so people think I know what I’m doing — and go for it. I throw my arms down, kick my legs up, and… somehow defy both gravity and dignity at the same time.
Mid-air, I realize: I have no idea where my body is. One leg goes left, the other’s like, “I’m out,” and I land in a way that I think is only legal in certain yoga classes.
My niece runs over, wide-eyed, and says, “Uncle, that was awesome! Was it supposed to be a cartwheel or a cry for help?”
I told her, “Both, sweetie. Both.”
