I envy people who can play seven unrelated instruments while singing the words to any song, know their way around O’Hare the first time landing there and make their connection just in time, cook and entertain simultaneously (it’s not as easy as it seems), negotiate a deal on a house for tens of thousands off the asking price and get the house even though they weren’t the highest bidder, or land the job even though they weren’t the most qualified but could fake the jobspeak the best.
I tried to teach a Yoga for Children class once. I was good at it when the participants were three and their bendy parents were there with them, translating for them. I didn’t need to use language as much for three-year olds. It looked like I was communicating “on their level” because I didn’t use complicated words. I demonstrated everything and it wasn’t really yoga. It was just stretching and finally winding up in a pose that could pass for yoga. I’d give it a cute animal name and then have the kids make the sound of that animal, or walk like that animal. I was to yoga what kindergartners are to spelling…inventive.
When I taught an older age group at my kids’ elementary school, it was a disaster. I can’t bend like a pretzel and explain step-by-step how to get into a pretzel, while easing their minds to let go and remembering when to breathe in or out.
I could close my eyes and talk them through a pose but I couldn’t watch them because they’d be too distracting, mirroring what I was saying, and throwing me off. I’d be in tree pose with my right knee out but they’d have their left knee out, I’d open my eyes, realize I was the only one off and quickly switch. Then they’d all quickly switch. So I’d switch back, and they’d switch back. It looked more like Russian folk dance than yoga.
I can either show them or tell them, but I can’t do both. So my classes went like this: First you (breathe) do this…see? Then you (breathe) go like this. Do this next (breathe). Then this (breathe).
I’d spot a child who has already taken yoga and say, Do what Natalie is doing….and breathe. The only problem with that was that Natalie wasn’t her name. They all knew each other’s names but I could not remember from class to class. I’d take attendance at the beginning of each class but their names evaporated just after they said, “Here.” I needed name tags. I don’t know how some people can just remember.
I remember one child’s name, only it did me no good because it was a nickname that I gave her and I couldn’t use it: Tabatha the Little Witch. “My mother is a better yoga instructor than you are.” “My mother can reach the floor with her palms.” “My mother never loses her balance in tree pose.” “My mother can stand on her head.” I wanted to ask Tabatha the Little Witch if she could stick her head up her ass.
I didn’t feel so inept when I received a check for $700 at the end of the class. I can’t teach yoga but someone else can’t do math.
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