I nodded to Polly, waited until she was in position, clapped my hands.

“Okay, everybody. Walking on your tippiest tippy toes, line up in a single file,” I yelled. I rearranged clumps of kids and grandparents into a single line behind Polly. I made my dad the caboose, hoping he might get into less trouble at the end of the line.

The turkey hop is a Thanksgiving twist on the bunny hop, and the bunny hop is essentially a conga line. My iPhone was already sitting in the charging dock with speakers I’d finally bought with my own money at the start of the school year, a huge upgrade to our classroom CD player, cassette deck and ancient turntable. I found the upbeat, instrumental version of “The Bunny Hop” on a children’s classic dance favorites album I’d downloaded.

I stayed where I was and began demonstrating the movements: a forward jump, a backward jump, a forward jump, then three big jumps forward.

I pushed Play. Polly snaked the line around the classroom as the students and their grandparents all danced and sang along.

Hop your drumstick forward

Hop your wishbone back

Hop your drumstick forward

Hop, hop, hop

Join our new creation

Already a sensation

Do the turkey hop

Turkey, hop, hop, hop

“Stuffing” Polly yelled, the way we’d rehearsed it. “Green beans.”

Hop your stuffing forward

Hop your green beans back

Hop your stuffing forward

Hop, hop, hop

Join our new creation

Already a sensation

Do the turkey hop

Turkey, hop, hop, hop

The kids started yelling out their favorite Thanksgiving foods. We kept it going, verse after verse, until a couple of the kids accidentally jumped backward instead of forward, and the turkey hoppers started tumbling over like dominoes. A good preschool teacher knows when to wrap things up fast.

“Circle time,” I yelled as I stopped the music. Polly and I gathered everybody together on the big fluorescent orange circle, the heart of our classroom. Most of the grandparents were in pretty good shape and made it to the floor just fine. We got the ones who didn’t want to trek all the way down there seated on kiddie chairs, which were so small that they probably weren’t much of an upgrade from the floor.

My father, never one to shrink from a challenge, eased his way down until he was seated cross-legged on the circle. Half a dozen kids arranged themselves on his lap. Pandora’s grandmother looked like she wanted to join them.

When my dad ran a hand through the shock of white hair that always fell into his eyes, he reminded me of a giant cat grooming himself. Julian ran his hands through his own hair in a perfect imitation.

“You’re the bestest toy in this whole wide school,” three-year old Josiah said as he gave a big bounce in my father’s lap.

“Easy tiger,” my father said. “Watch out for the family jewels.”