My sister generously offered up her two sons – George and Thomas, five and seven years old, as guinea pigs for their aunt – a newly qualified children’s yoga and mindfulness teacher. A pre-arranged playdate one rainy Saturday afternoon would be the event, my sister’s front room, the venue.
I was excited at the prospect of finally putting my newfound qualifications to use, and after 10 days of practising with larger children (my fellow trainees), I was looking forward to doing yoga with the real little people.
I arrived at my sister’s house armed with yoga mats, my newly acquired Enchanted Wonder yoga cards, all my training material and a notebook full of ideas – just in time to see my nephews’ lunchtime hyperactivity increase. A great warm-up for a yoga class I thought, as I mentally eliminated some of the more physical games I had planned.
The class began well, with everyone listening to each other and sitting calmly on their mats. As our teachers had said, it was like magic how the children were almost immediately enthralled by an idea or game. Around halfway through however, George, my youngest nephew, started introducing some behaviour that was arguably far more entertaining than any of the yoga and mindfulness games I was offering up – one that involved the removal of clothes.
I quickly went through all our tricks and tips in training. Ask him or her to help you lead the class, switch up the game and in doing so, the energy, errr… the Shanti Om chanting, the ‘peace chair’? Mmm.. I didn’t think Shanti Om would work on this group, especially George, who was now removing his trousers, plus I hadn’t introduced it at the beginning. Big mistake. Note to self, always start with Shanti Om in case you have to use it later. I tried the first two tactics but by this stage George was pulling off his pants and wanting to show everyone, especially the little girl in the group, that unlike her (he was sure), he had a willy.
In haste (my second mistake), I decided the best course of action was to re-robe him and mindfully guide him to the peace chair, explaining why I thought this might be a good idea for a short while. I was amazed. The peace chair worked like magic. George zoned out and then quietly rejoined the group a few minutes later.
A few games on and once again I was clearly failing in George’s eyes, as his clothes were swiftly pulled off and the willy game ensued. He was now attracting followers and I could see other children were tempted to join in. Oh crikey. If any of the parents, my sister included, had walked in at that moment…
I somehow managed to salvage the class, get everyone’s clothes back on and bring the energy down. We ended up in a guided savasana that they all seemed to love – even George.
Over post-yoga tea and cake, a poll was taken on my teaching ability and the class in general. In a ‘what-goes-on-tour-stays-on-tour’ kind of way, not one of them mentioned the nakedness which I was surprised about and instead they said how much they had loved every bit of it. When asked to pick a favourite part, most of them chose the savasana at the end. How discreet and diplomatic children can be.
George was definitely my best teacher in that class. I learnt a lesson for any future class I lead and for that I am grateful (hopefully only the children’s classes). And it just shows, even though we may have hyperactive children who love to bounce around the room, being playful and loud, even the loud ones are quite possibly just craving the opportunity to be peaceful.
