Like any good parents, Mrs P and I have always tried hard to support our kids in whatever they get stuck into.
Over the years we have stood there proudly in the audience while one of our four stood up on stage at school, gap-toothed grins spreading across their faces as they get a merit award for "best drawing" or "being considerate".
We've been there when they have tried their hand at netball/rugby/dancing/swimming etc.
We didn't bat an eyelid when the Boomerang Child decided midway through her first soccer match it wasn't really for her so she'd just pick daisies and dance in the sun until the others had finished running round.
And when No. 2 Son turned into a head-banging heavy metal rock guitarist for his last few years at school we bought, and wore, the skull and bones T-shirts they had made as a Rockquest fundraiser.
To be honest it was all a bit of a no brainer really. I mean they are your kids. You'll back them regardless of what it is, where and when. And you don't really care if you look a bit over the top with your love and support.
But that begs the question: presumably they grow up. So at what point do you stop doing that and hope a simple "good luck" will suffice as they enthusiastically outline their upcoming plans?
I'm told by Mrs P – otherwise known as She Who Must Be Obeyed – that you never stop.
So, long story short, that's how I found myself at a yoga class the other night struggling to find the flexibility I'm sure I had when I was 22.
Let me explain.
The other week she held a new class where she lives and Mrs P suggested we go along. Actually what she said was if I wanted a pizza on Friday night I should go. I'm sure you get my drift.
So. There I am in my loose fitting T-shirt and shorts - which I had to go and buy for the occasion because all the ones I had had from last summer had somehow shrunk in the closet – and we're doing something with an unpronounceable name and my tendons are complaining to my muscles and they are telling my brain things are not good.
As far as I'm concerned the only good thing about this exercise is it's the last one of the class. Very soon we'll be into the relaxing wind-down.
This is welcome relief. For anyone who has ever been to a yoga class you will know what I mean. I'm not ashamed to admit it. I've been concerned about breaking wind for the last half hour. It seems that likelihood will not come to pass.
Now I'm sort of in this totally relaxed state. I do as I'm told and breathe and "let go", trying hard to stifle a giggle at the wacky "yoga speak".
I'm not sure how it happened but the next thing I know there is pain in my leg. Tendon? Muscle maybe? Nope. It's Mrs P. She's kicking me.
It seems I was so relaxed, the flow of energy now restored to its correct path throughout my body, I'd fallen asleep. Deep enough to let out a rather loud snort at first until it became a gentle but regular lip-smacking raspberry.
I don't know why I was surprised. The last time that happened to me was on a work trip to Fiji where I'd been sent to write on a very upmarket spa treatment.
Such was the relaxing nature of the process I soon drifted off.
I was reliably informed later by other media types at the spa that "someone" was snoring so loud it drowned out the more traditional sounds the spa's marketing material was highlighting, like the waves gently lapping on the shore and the light breeze rustling the leaves of the palm trees.
Gulp. Wonder who that was?
Anyway. I did my bit for the child's new class and got my Friday night pizza.
I've been invited along to another class if I want but somehow I think I might give it a miss.
I might just find a park somewhere quiet and pick some daisies and dance round in the sun instead.
• Kevin Page is a teller of tall tales with a firm belief too much serious news gives you frown lines. Feel free to share stories to firstname.lastname@example.org (Kevin Page in subject field) .