When I was seven or eight
I took baton twirling lessons
in preparation for the 4th of July parade.
I remember polishing my Keds
and first-aid taping the ends of my baton
to sparkle whitey-white.
Roughly 50 (gasp!) years later,
I had the idea of picking up the baton again.
Not a metaphor.
Literally.
I must have mentioned this
because Tessa got me a baton for my birthday.
I was outwardly appreciative
and inwardly thrilled.
I can’t remember my gmail password,
but I can remember my entire
4th of July baton routine from 1965.
Oh, but there’s more.
I decided I needed lessons and
found Torrie Rose,
a lovely young woman and
former national competitive twirler.
At my first lesson
I got an hour of twirling instruction
and an hour of genuine affirmation.
“You’re doing great, Julie!”
“You’re so good at this!”
After that first lesson
I nearly wept in my car
over how deeply grateful
I am to be
acknowledged and affirmed
from such a pure of heart person
sharing her gift with whomever
wants to learn.
Maybe you can’t go home again
(A metaphor),
but you can twirl as long as you like.
(Not a metaphor. Well, maybe.)
