Ten consecutive days of stretching paid off. When the dance instructor told everyone, students and accompanying adults alike, to get on the floor, I made it. Without hurting myself. Without hurting anyone else. Without embarrassing myself. I made. I even managed to let Lucy sit on my leg without a problem.
“Let’s go around the circle and say our names,” the instructor directed. In turn, students and adult stated their name. Our turn came.
“I’m Lucy,” she said with confidence.”
“I’m Mark,” I said.
Lucy whipped around, put her hand on my mouth, and declared, “No. You’re Gimli.”
“And I’m Lucy,” she affirmed as she turned back to the class.
“It’s a Lord of the Rings thing,” I observed. Everyone laughed. The naming ritual continued.
It took a while to get here. But I am Gimli.
Along the Graybeard Trail 