A.M.

I have often looked around at my classmates at the gym where I take a Silver Sneakers class, a gift of Medicare and old age. Do I fit in with these people? Surely they are all older than I am.

We all walk into the gym past the fit and cheerful people at the front desk and the hard bodies along our path lifting and dropping the gigantic weights until we reach our classroom. We usually wait outside for the younger class ahead of us to finish their much more difficult and higher impact class.

Many of us are very anxious to get in and get a place, so we barge in and get in the way of the previous class. If we’d only wait a minute or two more, we’d have free rein to gather our chairs — yes, chairs — and our equipment which consists of weights, stretchy bands and rubber balls that should be round, but they are not.

We are a multi-ethnic, multi-fitness level, interesting group.

The large, African American woman in the back of the room is wearing a gold lame’ outfit and sequin-studded slippers. I complimented her on the outfit — it was beautiful — but wondered why she wore it to gym class. She told me she had a gig not long after class. Where could it have been?

The very fit woman from Israel talked to me about the sadness going on in her country currently and actually forever, but it’s changed, she says. “When I was growing up, I had many Arab friends, but now it’s a new kind of hatred and it’s being taught in the home and at school.”

There are some people who look as though they’d crumble if you touched them on the shoulder too hard.

Many of them are off the beat of the music, or waving their arms to the left when they should be going right. I am certainly not one of those. Okay, maybe once or twice.

Today, a new guy came in. He has a walker and looks very unsteady. He can’t figure out how to work the stretchy bands, but a few of my classmates help him out before he gets himself completely tangled up. I can see in the mirror that he has a big smile on his face the entire time, and he tries everything and doesn’t care if he looks silly.

I worry more about that than he does.

P.M.

In the afternoon I head up to North Hills to the North Valley Caring Center to tutor the kids in the 1st and 2nd grade group.

Do I fit in with them? Certainly they are all younger than I am. It’s only the second time I’ve been with this particular group. The first time I went, some wouldn’t talk to me — not even to tell me their names. I knew one little girl’s name was Guadalupe, and when I saw a drawing on the bulletin board with that name, I asked her if she had drawn it. She told me “No, that is not my name, and that’s not my drawing.” She pointed to another drawing with a different name and said, “That’s mine.”

Today, when I saw her, I said, “Your name IS Guadalupe, isn’t it?” She nodded her head affirmatively Was she testing me?

While sitting at one of the kids’ desks, I started making notes. The official teacher is Hilda, and she sits at the teacher’s desk up front, of course. But they were curious about what I was doing in the back of the class and started gathering around me. “What are you writing?” they asked.

“I want to learn all your names, so I’m making a chart.”

The kids around me started helping me. If no one knew someone’s name, or if I could get no response, I’d say, for example, “Okay, I’m going to call you the Green Shirt Guy.” Pretty soon, the Green Shirt Guy came to my desk. “I’m Esteben,” he said.

“I hear you have a girlfriend, and her name is Brenda.” He looked disgusted and shook his head vehemently.

The Red Shirt Guy with the beautiful eyes — oh, he’s going to break some hearts — was called Cesar. He told me he went to CSAA, Carlos Santana’s Academy for the Arts.

“What’s your talent or art?”

“Soccer,” he said.

Soon they were lining up to head over to their gym to learn hip-hop from the 818-ers, a group of young volunteer men — very cool young men — that teach them hip-hop routines along with manners, respect, and mindfulness.

I try some of the hip-hop. Fortunately, they are not paying attention to me and thankfully there are no mirrors in this gym.

I’m happy to realize that I’m pretty comfortable in both of these very different gyms.

The End