As I sit here, poised on another phase of life change, I like to think back on something that happened last week when I was down in Westminster visiting my sister's family.
In the late afternoon, I was in the park across the street playing with my twin nieces, who will turn seven this summer. They were running across the grass and I was watching them run. As they ran, they spontaneously bent down and turned several forward somersaults with all of their forward momentum. It was joyful and spontaneous.
It occurred to me that I could not remember the last time I had turned a somersault. How many years, decades, had it been? Could I even do one anymore.
I decided I had to try. So I walked out onto the lush grass and bent down to put my head on the ground, bracing with my hands. It was immediately clear to me that I would probably break my neck if I tried to do a somersault while standing in place, let alone while running.
It made me wonder at what age---what year, what day---did I lose the ability to do a somersault? Sometime in my life there must have been a "last day" for that, but it passed unnoticed. I wouldn't have cared at the time, no doubt. Only later does it occur to me how nice it is to be able to do somersaults. Of course I could probably train myself to be able to do them again. I'm still spry enough for that. But it is no longer something that I can just do.
After a few moments of sitting on the grass, and having my nieces laugh at me, I was successful at turning a backwards somersault. It turns out you don't have to worry about injury as much with those.
My sister really got a kick out of watching me. "Now how about a cartwheel?" she asked me.
"Only girls do cartwheels!" I replied.
