I just drove Becky to Gymnastics. Regular readers of this blog will not see anything unusual in this, and yet there was something unusual.
Yesterday I popped back after running an errand to watch her train for an hour because I hardly ever see her do anything other than stretches and conditioning exercises. While I was there the head coach, an athletic East European called Miss Iulia, came out to see me. This in itself is intensely odd as most of the coaches run screaming when parents approach them.
Becky was doing really well, Miss Iulia said. In fact, there was a rather wide range of abilities in the Level 6s (this I knew) and Becky was very much at the top. Would it be possible for her to start coming on a Wednesday in addition and train with the Optional girls? (For those who don’t know, Levels 4,5 and 6 are known as the Compulsory levels because the routines are all set for them, while Levels 7, 8, 9 and 10 are Optional levels because they get to choreograph their own routines.)
I checked that Miss Iulia had asked Becky how she felt about this, (excited,) and then okayed it. The only thing that Becky was concerned about was her flute lesson, which I duly rescheduled.
This morning when we walked out to the car, the only sign that anything was different was that Becky got into the front passenger seat without asking if she could. (I struggle with enforcing that particular malum prohibitum, which isn’t even a law in most of Europe.) I guess she figured if she was old enough to train with the Optionals she was old enough to sit in the front seat.
She said nothing on the drive, but then, she rarely does. She hugged her knees and stared out the window. I had no idea what she was thinking. How does it feel to be singled out for something like that at age 9? My brave little soldier. The girl who astonished her kindergarten teacher by, on being told she had to see the principal on a discipline offence (almost unheard of in kindergarten,) simply squared her shoulders and headed off down the corridor to his office.
Her only sign of nervousness was right outside the gym. “I don’t know where I’m supposed to go,” she said. Mom’s job. I buttonholed a sweet looking girl who I knew to be an Optional Level.
“This is Becky,” I said. “She’s a Level 6, but Miss Iulia asked her to come in and train with you guys today. Please could you take her under your wing and show her what to do.” And they disappeared across the floor of the gym, Becky looking tiny beside the statuesque teenager.
I’ve just finished reading Savage Beauty, Nancy Milford’s biography of Edna St Vincent Millay. Millay was the poster girl for modern love between the wars. She had hundreds of lovers of both genders and an open marriage. She had two abortions before that marriage, and proclaimed she would never have children, as she couldn’t possibly spare the time away from her creative processes.
She was the first woman to win the Pulitzer Prize. She wrote some of the best sonnets of the twentieth century.
But she didn’t create anything half as amazing as the two human beings I helped create.