“For Kids Only”
by Lee Lerchen
I always admired martial artists, but I never had the motivation to begin training until my wife started insisting .that I exercise more. The thought of using the arts to appease her didn’t immediately cross my mind. I tried racquetball, then soccer, tennis and jogging, but they were rather tedious.
One day I found myself sitting in an airport waiting for the snow to stop so my plane could take off. I picked up a martial arts magazine. “Hey, this stuff looks neat,” I thought. “I could exercise and have some fun learning!”
All I had to do was present the idea in a way that wouldn’t alarm my wife. The word “karate” could denote a sense of danger to her, so I decided not to show her the magazine. Later I broached the subject in a manner that placed the martial arts in the same class as basket weaving. My wife said, “Be careful. You’re not as young as you used to be.” I wasn’t a teenager, but I also wasn’t dead yet.
The next day, I began searching for a school. After several weeks I chose tang soo do. I was issued a uniform and given a starting date. As I stood in front of the mirror at home wearing my white outfit and belt, I thought, “Wow, this is a manly man’s kind of sport.” (That’s not to say it isn’t suited for women as well.)
Finally, the long-awaited evening arrived. I entered the training hall with my hopes high and my mind ready to become a true “martial artist.” Men and women were present, all wearing what looked like white pajamas with colored belts. They seemed friendly enough, but I was far too shy to approach any of them. They milled about, sitting on the floor doing what the yoga lady does on TV every morning.
Then in walked a man wearing a black belt, and the entire group lined up. I had no idea where to go or what to do. The room became silent. Everyone stood in the same odd pose, except for me.
Then things started getting better. The black belt, who I just knew could drop me with a single touch of his finger, smiled and told the group to relax. He walked over and put his arm around my shoulders, then introduced me to the group. The class smiled and greeted me. I was ushered to the last position in a line at the back of the class.
A young man wearing a brown belt walked over and whispered that I could become part of the group simply by doing as they did. From then on, I felt much better.
I stretched awkwardly and did as I was told. After sweating more than I had since my boat fell off its trailer on the interstate, the group broke up to do “karate stuff.” The whispering brown belt never left my side. We walked together among the small groups, and he explained what each was doing.
“This is starting to be fun,” I thought. ”These people are nice, and I could actually become part of a martial arts school. I might be able to learn ‘karate stuff.”’
After my guide finished the abbreviated lesson, we left the crowd for a quiet spot in the comer. The remaining class time was spent on basics. Although he never once showed it, I knew he probably would rather have been doing his own thing instead of spending his valuable time with a novice.
But because of his attitude and that of the black-belt instructor, I came back for my second class, then my third. Years passed, and I learned a lot, but I’ll always remember the first class. I was treated with respect– not looked down upon, made fun of, or ignored. Because of that first experience, I learned to love the art. Now, each time I see a new student, I think back to my own first class and remind myself that he or she wiil remember that first class forever. It always makes me act extra nice.
August 1997
