My Daddy is a Pretzel

We have a new curriculum in Sunday School this year and – to be honest – it’s been a challenge teaching the Pre-K / 1st Grade.  Some weeks it’s been more of a challenge than others.

Take one week in November: I had to teach yoga.

First, let me explain that I don’t know anything about yoga.  I don’t do yoga.  I’ve never done yoga.  I don’t think I can even be casually mistaken for someone who does yoga.  But I came in Sunday morning to a book waiting for me in the classroom: My Daddy is a Pretzel.

Class was starting in 15 minutes and I spent all of that time stretching as I didn’t want Daddy to be crippled afterwards.  The kids were less than enthused by the idea of yoga at first until I had a flash of brilliance.

“Simon says, lift your left leg up and balance it against your right knee.”

“Simon says, couple your fingers together and then stretch them in a big circle.”

Simon says, you’re doing yoga!

All kidding aside, it turned out that I kind of liked yoga.  I enjoyed learning about something that I had nary a clue about before.  I felt proud of myself that I had been able to teach something to the kids and get some positive response.  I felt doubly proud that I had been able to do more of the moves than my aide.  He’s a young guy – about 18 or 19 – and he just couldn’t do some of them.  As for me, I managed to do all of them except one: The Plow.  The plow is when you lay on your back, put your legs up and back over your head.

Daddy may be a pretzel, but he knows his limitations.


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