Circa age three, my Great Grandmother Lucille taught me this rhyme and how to pump my legs to use our backyard swingset. This Thanksgiving offered a full-circle moment to that earliest memory.
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I circled the packed YMCA parking lot. My anxious pre-yoga pep talk did not go well: “I’m not going to get a spot and I’ll be late for class. There might not be room for me. Even if there is, I don’t want to be that person.”
I took a deep breath and kept circling.
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The radio host couldn’t believe it. “Wait. So you JUST signed your whole family up for the 5k and didn’t tell them?”
His co-host responded, “Yeah, this way, the morning is planned. We will all get up and it will be a done deal. There isn’t an out. We earn the turkey.”
While this woman seemed certain a forced holiday run was a good idea, I was with the other host as he asked, “What if they don’t want to go? Are you sure this is a good surprise?”
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From behind the wrapping paper doorway, I saw the glow of the Christmas tree lights and I knew magic awaited. My parents, in their genius, “wrapped us kids in” so we would not peak for Santa or packages until it was time. We’d sit by the paper like meowing, hungry cats, pretty much pawing for the unveil. When it was time, we’d burst through the paper like linebackers at the big game. BAAM!
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