She Cartwheeled Into My Life

And made me a superstar

Her name was Lila. She had the body of a ballerina, dirty blonde hair, and long brown eyelashes. She was the most beautiful and bossiest girl in my Grade 5 class.

I was in awe of her.

For some reason, she picked me to be her best friend that year. I think she admired my masterlike “chicken-fighting” skills on the monkey bars, or maybe she liked my spark or the way I made her laugh. I followed her everywhere.

Occasionally, Lila invited me to watch her perform at her gymnastics, ballet, jazz, or tap dance practices or recitals. I was captivated by her poise and elegance in how she moved across the floor. It was mesmerizing to watch, and I clapped the loudest at her performances.

But I was envious — because I couldn’t move the way she could.

My parents never enrolled me in extra-curricular activities. They quarreled about money. They were more concerned with buying clothing and putting food on the table for my three brothers and me than paying for frivolous dance lessons.

So I never asked.

The Roadrunner vs. the Ballet Dancer

I could cross monkey bars, run up and down the metal slide barefoot, and climb up the firefighter’s pole with ease, but I didn’t have grace — like Lila. I could make silly faces, write a good story, knock off witty jokes, change in and out of my gym shorts quickly, and ran faster than the Roadrunner — but I didn’t know how to do gymnastic cartwheels or fancy things like ballet plies, leaps and twirls like a ballet dancer.

But I was strong, agile, and possessed a feisty spirit. And Lila knew how to do all of those fancy things.

We’d go to Lila’s house every day after school to practice gymnastics on the front lawn because I was desperate to master a cartwheel. It felt like torture at first with her bossy commands while trying to figure out how to angle my body and be brave enough to propel my body into the air without falling on my face, bonking my nose, and getting a nosebleed.

It seemed impossible, but Lila made it look easy — every single time.

“Rivers know this: there is no hurry. We shall get there some day.” — A.A. Milne, author, Winnie-the-Pooh

Lila the Drill Sargeant

I kept trying until I finally got it. Lila’s bossy attitude, repetitive orders, and direction helped, but she also had patience because she forced me to practice over and over again until I got it right.

“Do it again, Mary. Not like that. Like this,” Lila demanded and then tumbled into a perfect cartwheel. I tried to copy her but couldn’t get my legs up high the way she could.

“No-no-no. You need to kick your legs up higher. Do it again!”

“Oh, I see. Like this? Hi-yah!” I nodded, raised my eyebrows, and did a powerful karate-style kick into the air.

Lila shook her head but cracked a smile. I think she got a rush playing “strict teacher and naughty student.” It was the perfect role play for us, and we giggled in between my tumbles, falls, and sips of tangy Kool-aid.

I was determined to master a cartwheel until I got it right — every single time.

We practiced so often that eventually, I could cartwheel leading with either my left or right hand and do one-handed cartwheels. She later taught me how to leap across the yard, and some simple ballet moves such as plies and twirls.

She taught me how to do the splits, but that skill wasn’t much of a stretch for me because I was naturally flexible — said my 10-year old self with a wink and double eye-brow raise.

“Perseverance Is Best Friends with Patience” — unknown.

I never got the chance to perform in an official dance recital, but I had a carpeted living room that was the talk of the block in the 80s.

I pushed aside the coffee table and rocking chair to clear a space in our oblong-shaped living room that offered great space and freedom to move — a dancer's dream. I turned on the radio, tuned into my favorite station, and waited until a familiar song with a good rhythm came on — then cranked up the volume. I shouted out to my parents and brothers to come into the living room to watch me.

Nobody taught me rhythm — but somehow, my body knew instinctively how to sway my hips, flow my arms, and gyrate to the beat of the music.

I skidded back and forth across the living room doing cartwheels, leaps, and twirls and mesmerized them with my self-choreographed “me-style dance moves” along with a few hair-flips, eyebrow raises, and bicep flexes in between. I finished the performance with my show-stopper splits, a head bow, and a big toothy grin. My couch audience applauded and told me I was creative, agile, and — entertaining.

I wasn’t graceful — but wow — I felt like a superstar.

Sometimes you don’t need fancy dance lessons or grace — you just need a strong body, a feisty spirit, and a bossy friend.

“You’re braver than you believe, stronger than you seem and smarter than you think.” — Christopher Robin (Winnie the Pooh)

Grateful for your reading time, Mary Chang Story Writer.

About the Author

Mary Chang is an award-winning short story fiction writer, memoir writer, and blogger. She’s also a parent, fitness enthusiast and loves making people laugh. Her writing is inspired by exercise, parenting, writing, humor, life lessons, and people.

Fueled by cartwheels, laughter, and encouraging others to shine. Read her blog at www.marychangstorywriter.com.

You can read her most popular Medium stories here.