I signed my son up for karate this week. He’s finally into sports, and one that won’t (theoretically) give him a concussion or turn him into a toxic-masculinity-fueled youthful super-predator. Theoretically.
He deserves it. I’m proud to say attempt #2 at child rearing produced a selfless young man with incredible heart and a level of polite manners that would turn a society debutante’s head. Karate was the one thing yours truly could get behind that he really seemed to enjoy.
So I guess I’m a karate dad now.
Attempt #1 at getting the son enrolled turned into a dud when we showed up for the “free lesson” and no one was in the building. The lights were on and monitors blaring in the McDojo, but no one was there to (not) take our money.
Taking a brochure in the window and attempting to contact the place didn’t help much. All the contact numbers were wrong and the website listed came back with an “Error 403 Forbidden” code. I did get a young man on the phone for about ten minutes and nixed the whole shebang when he crowed of the mandatory two classes per week.
“Mandatory” my ass. I drive both of my little tyrants around to everything, including school. I’ll get to these fucking lessons as I good and well can, thank you very much.
Attempt #2 came at a place about ten miles down the road from us. I should’ve known this would be the inevitable school of choice when my son pointed out the studio was next to the first mini-golf course I’d ever taken him to.
We entered to the sound of little kids running around a dojo floor with pool noodles, whacking each other as much as possible. The school’s owner’s mom (hereafter “Karate Mom”) greeted us and gave my son and I the nickel tour of the place. Parents mostly sat in rows of chairs in the lobby playing the game of the moment on their phones.
One coffee-mug wielding father introduced himself and his son to us while we surveyed the conclusion of the “Little Dragons” class. They were very nice, far more than I probably was at the time. Mainly because I was trying to take everything in and keep an eye on my son.
As an aside, if you’re reading this and you’re the dad who tried to speak to my son and I: thanks for your warm hospitality, I apologize if I seemed surly, and I’ll try to get your name next time.
The instructors took the floor for the morning’s beginner class. It was showtime for my son. Karate Mom told my son with a smile to take his shoes and socks off before getting on the mat and join the other students.
My son shrank back in fear.
My heart thudded to the bottom of my stomach. We’d talked about this for a couple of weeks. He’d been so excited he’d looked up Karate at the school library and knew all sorts of random facts about it. Now he was afraid.
“What’s the problem, bud?” I leaned in to ask my son. A few moments passed before he responded. “I don’t want to be impolite, but I’m scared of taking my socks and shoes off.”
Faced in the moment with a crisis of my son’s design, I did the one thing I thought would help the situation.
I took my socks and shoes off first.
“See? No big deal. Now let’s do yours, and you can go have fun while everyone laughs at Dad only having five toenails.”
Slowly at first, then quickening, my son shed his footwear, bowed in, and joined his new classmates.
He dug the entire thing, warmups and all, and wanted more. So we signed up, and I’m happy to report he’s taking to martial arts like a duck to water.
Will he be the next All-Valley Karate Champion this year? No, because that’s from a fucking movie and Mr. Miyagi is a character in a film. Plus that Cobra Kai shit isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.
Am I raising a future MMA champion? No, not really. He likes the classes and the fun he has with his friends. If he wants to go further in his studies then his dad will definitely be there for him.
The biggest lesson I learned from the entire experience is this: If something’s holding your kids back from trying something they love, you as a dad have one job:
Take your socks and shoes off, hold your kid’s, and cheer them on from outside the mats.
Happy Friday, everybody! Hopefully you enjoyed my brief, sappy interlude. Come back next week when we explore what I’m actually doing this morning in a post tentatively titled, “My Kids Just Went to the Dentist And I Could Really Use A Drink.”
We’ll see you next week!
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