I have never done a cartwheel. It was not for lack of trying in my childhood, but I couldn't get the knack of swinging my legs across the sky. They flopped in front of me, too timid to let go of the ground. 

 

Ah well. I could pull off a mean back bend. I guess my body prefers heading toward land not going away from it. But they aren't easy, and do require a limber spine. It goes without saying that my routine did not include a walk over. I take off my hat to Simone Biles, though it already fell off in the back bend. 

 

There is a story in Genesis that involves gymnastics. Noah fell into a drunken stupor, and lay naked in his tent. His son Ham ridiculed him, but Shem and Japheth bent over backwards carrying a garment to cover him. They did not look on their father's nakedness. 

 

It is a tender image. Noah's sons wanted to avoid blaming their father. This sent them into physical contortions to avert their eyes from his mistakes. The memory comes hurling back to me sometimes, just as I am revving up to fling criticism across the air toward people I love. They have, after all, messed up, and by rights I can gossip about the gruesome details. 

 

Unless, of course, I choose not to.