Charlie has been in gymnastics for a year now. Really, not in it. More like circumnavigating the class with a charming and daring grin on his face as he glances back at you while you chase after him.
There are five classes of kids in the gym at once and all of them, ALL of them know Charlie's name. He's like Jeffery on the airplane with Bill Cosby.
No Charlie! Charlie, stop. Charlie, sit down! Come back, Charlie! It's not your turn, Charlie!
Well, tonight, he did it. He went in, joined the group and did it. He did his warm-ups, he went with his group. He sat on his spot. He waited his turn.
When he got up to do his stuff, he did the things he was supposed to do, in the order he was supposed to do them. If he didn't feel like he did a good job, he'd stand up again, think about it a second, and take a second go at it. He referred to the activities by name. He did not just the things he liked, but the things he has never, ever done before.
For the first time, he seemed vaguely aware that there were other children present.