7 months ago
Yes, you can!
Today I sat as a proud mom watching my three-year daughter's gymnastics performance. As she walked gingerly on the beam, almost overly careful with each step, one arm ready to grab the gymnastics teacher just in case she should lose her balance, tears filled my eyes. I was hoping no one would notice my eyes swelling. Surely my daughter wasn't the most graceful kid up there. She definitely took more time than the other kids. You could see the slight hesitation on her face. The mom sitting next to me leans over and whispers: "She has really come a long way."
10 months ago, I started Brooklynn in gymnastics. She instantly loved it! The tumbling, twirling around the bar, playing hide-and-seek behind the gym equipment... She loved the class, her teachers and all the fun things they incorporated into teaching gymnastics to preschoolers. But then, a few weeks into the semester, Brooklynn was introduced to the high beam. Now, a high beam for three-year olds really isn't all that high, but they needed to walk across it nonetheless. All the other kids walked across without care, some even singing some tune or barely paying attention. Well, then there was Brooklynn.
She froze. Froze in what seemed like mid-air. The other kids tried to push her along. She literally could not move. Her face turned from a smile to a look of horror. Her teacher sees and tries to help her. Even with the help, Brooklynn cannot move. I hear through the glass wall her teacher saying: "Yes, you can!" Brooklynn is adamantly shaking her head. "Yes, you can!"
This continues until Brooklynn breaks down, balling, fearful. I want to run in and save her. I think I stopped breathing. But something told me to stay put. She needed to work through this. "Yes, you can!" came again, now more serious. Brooklynn begins to inch across. She goes about a foot, which literally takes longer than five minutes. Her teacher takes that as a good effort and brings Brooklynn down. I'm relieved. I start to breath again.
Brooklynn bounces off to the floor mat and carries on with class. The door opens and here comes her teacher toward me. She sits down next to me, takes a big breath and looks like she's about to diagnose my daughter with cancer. She begins: "Brooklynn has a fear of heights." This, I suppose, to a gymnastics teacher is terminal. She then goes into directions for me; that I need to work with her at home; that I need to repeat: "Yes, you can!" over and over until Brooklynn can face her fears. "We're facing an uphill battle here," she ends.
And so the work begins. We're simply going to overcome this. Because: "Yes, you can!" You can do anything you put your mind to. We use the back of the couch as a high beam and I hold her hand as she walks back and forth until she can do it without flinching. She learns to turn herself around. She even learns to do it with a smile. With each class, she gets a little more comfortable on the high beam, although not completely and that is ok. Because she is doing it!
Most of the people there today to watch their kids perform didn't realize just how far my daughter has come. They probably wondered why my eyes filled with tears and why I wildly cheered for my daughter. As Brooklynn jumped off the high beam in success, she turned around, did her ta-da and gave me the biggest smile she could muster. "Yes, you can!"
10 months ago, I started Brooklynn in gymnastics. She instantly loved it! The tumbling, twirling around the bar, playing hide-and-seek behind the gym equipment... She loved the class, her teachers and all the fun things they incorporated into teaching gymnastics to preschoolers. But then, a few weeks into the semester, Brooklynn was introduced to the high beam. Now, a high beam for three-year olds really isn't all that high, but they needed to walk across it nonetheless. All the other kids walked across without care, some even singing some tune or barely paying attention. Well, then there was Brooklynn.
She froze. Froze in what seemed like mid-air. The other kids tried to push her along. She literally could not move. Her face turned from a smile to a look of horror. Her teacher sees and tries to help her. Even with the help, Brooklynn cannot move. I hear through the glass wall her teacher saying: "Yes, you can!" Brooklynn is adamantly shaking her head. "Yes, you can!"
This continues until Brooklynn breaks down, balling, fearful. I want to run in and save her. I think I stopped breathing. But something told me to stay put. She needed to work through this. "Yes, you can!" came again, now more serious. Brooklynn begins to inch across. She goes about a foot, which literally takes longer than five minutes. Her teacher takes that as a good effort and brings Brooklynn down. I'm relieved. I start to breath again.
Brooklynn bounces off to the floor mat and carries on with class. The door opens and here comes her teacher toward me. She sits down next to me, takes a big breath and looks like she's about to diagnose my daughter with cancer. She begins: "Brooklynn has a fear of heights." This, I suppose, to a gymnastics teacher is terminal. She then goes into directions for me; that I need to work with her at home; that I need to repeat: "Yes, you can!" over and over until Brooklynn can face her fears. "We're facing an uphill battle here," she ends.
And so the work begins. We're simply going to overcome this. Because: "Yes, you can!" You can do anything you put your mind to. We use the back of the couch as a high beam and I hold her hand as she walks back and forth until she can do it without flinching. She learns to turn herself around. She even learns to do it with a smile. With each class, she gets a little more comfortable on the high beam, although not completely and that is ok. Because she is doing it!
Most of the people there today to watch their kids perform didn't realize just how far my daughter has come. They probably wondered why my eyes filled with tears and why I wildly cheered for my daughter. As Brooklynn jumped off the high beam in success, she turned around, did her ta-da and gave me the biggest smile she could muster. "Yes, you can!"
2 comments
101 daybook
