"Yoga, come sit down and try it," she said as she slid delicately out of her headstand. She pointed to the colorful book opened on the floor. It was filled with Indian-looking people doing silly poses together in some kind of strange fantasy land- at least that is how my pre-pubescent mind processed it. I honestly thought my mother was a tad off her rocker: Why was she looking at these people doing these weird stretches?
She seemed to really enjoy it so Trina and I rolled around a bit, laughing incessantly, before we left my mother as she looked out into the green abyss and gathered her prior peacefulness to continue on with her practice.
As we cooked fake food in my pretend-kitchen, we laughed about how funny and ridiculous it was that my mother was choosing to spend her afternoon upside-down.
So, I say I thought she was so weird-a freak, totally bizarre- for standing on her head and doing yoga, but in the back of my little mind, I knew there was a reasonable explanation for her love of it. After all, my mother was and still is my hero and nothing she does could really be that crazy in my opinion.
It took me eight years to give yoga another chance, but this time, I wanted in.