It's hard to write when I'm tired. Plus, I have stuff I wanted to write about last week at the Big K Ranch and couldn't because I was in an Internet void. Maybe that isn't all that bad sometimes, but crap!, I wanted to tell you about the shooting and stuff. Then, I was trying to beat the weather and get the deck stripped and stained. I kept sending text messages to Mike saying, "I worked so hard, I had sawdust in my bra," or "I worked so hard, I had black boogers." Is that more than you needed to know? Sorry. So here I am on another adventure with some out of town friends and there are other things to talk about like the guy in the Seattle parking lot who politely took our money, made change, and handed us a ticket, except he wasn't a parking lot attendant. And now the parking lot company says I owe them money for parking still. What?
But more about that later. What I'm really want to tell you about is the power and the lack of power in a trophy. See Nick went to his karate tournament today. He's a member at Z-Ultimate and once a year they have a tournament. It is actually amazing to watch. The instructors make me draw in my breath with their explosive movements and they also make me glad I'm not on the wrong end of that stick. The tiny kids sparring are so cute, I forget that even little kids really do need to learn to protect themselves from bullies. Then there are the ones who move as if they're dancing, the ones whose faces reflect a fierceness that comes through despite their age, and the ones who stop to think in the middle of a form. I love watching it all.
But there's the problem of the the trophies. Nick has never earned a trophy in the previous two years he participated. Oh, they give out beautiful medals for each of the contestants, but Nick says those aren't what matters. He's been training purposefully for this tournament since June. He really wanted a trophy. So he was really trying today. First, there was sparring. The luck of the draw seems a little cruel since this is the second year he was first up and the second year he was pitted against the boy who's 6'1'' already at age fourteen. I'm just guessing the boy was fourteen, hoping. I hope next year he'll be too old for this group and Nick won't have to face him again. But life isn't always fair, so 1,2,3, and Nick was out.
Next came the forms, or Kata. There were at least 20 kids competing. This was Nick's strongest event this year, but there was some stiff competition from the kids. Remember the ones I mentioned that were fierce or natural dancers? It felt like it was close, but Nick still came up short. Oh, honey.
Then Nick finished up the tournament with the weapons competition. Again, there were about 20 kids in his age group. And he crashed and burned. Twice, he fumbled. I don't know why. It was like watching your favorite figure skater fall on the ice, only this was my own boy. Later, I tried to resist the urge to tell him he was rushing and the nun chuks have a natural rhythm. I tried to resist the urge to tell him he was cheated. Did I really resist the urge? I hope so, but I can't remember. He really tried hard I was proud of him no matter his standing against the other kids and I was glad he gave it his all. So, Nick was disappointed again because he didn't earn a trophy. I could tell he was glad he went, glad he saw his friends, glad he gave it is all, but there was that elusive trophy.
But here's the thing. Nick has a friend who also competed. She came in first among three other girls and received a trophy. When we congratulated her, she happily chatted as she held her trophy, but then she got quiet and looked up at her dad, no longer looking so confident. "But I was only first out of four girls, Dad." Ah, there wasn't as much competition for that trophy, so somehow it didn't mean as much to her.
Isn't that the irony? One kid worked really hard and didn't earn a trophy. Another, by the luck of the draw, earned one a little too easily for her own comfort, so she didn't feel all the joy in earning it. Without reservation, I told Nick's friend that she'd trained hard and really earned that trophy. And all I can say is that on that day when Nick really does earn a trophy for his hard work at karate, it's really going to mean something to him.
Thank you for listening, jb
But more about that later. What I'm really want to tell you about is the power and the lack of power in a trophy. See Nick went to his karate tournament today. He's a member at Z-Ultimate and once a year they have a tournament. It is actually amazing to watch. The instructors make me draw in my breath with their explosive movements and they also make me glad I'm not on the wrong end of that stick. The tiny kids sparring are so cute, I forget that even little kids really do need to learn to protect themselves from bullies. Then there are the ones who move as if they're dancing, the ones whose faces reflect a fierceness that comes through despite their age, and the ones who stop to think in the middle of a form. I love watching it all.
But there's the problem of the the trophies. Nick has never earned a trophy in the previous two years he participated. Oh, they give out beautiful medals for each of the contestants, but Nick says those aren't what matters. He's been training purposefully for this tournament since June. He really wanted a trophy. So he was really trying today. First, there was sparring. The luck of the draw seems a little cruel since this is the second year he was first up and the second year he was pitted against the boy who's 6'1'' already at age fourteen. I'm just guessing the boy was fourteen, hoping. I hope next year he'll be too old for this group and Nick won't have to face him again. But life isn't always fair, so 1,2,3, and Nick was out.
Next came the forms, or Kata. There were at least 20 kids competing. This was Nick's strongest event this year, but there was some stiff competition from the kids. Remember the ones I mentioned that were fierce or natural dancers? It felt like it was close, but Nick still came up short. Oh, honey.
Then Nick finished up the tournament with the weapons competition. Again, there were about 20 kids in his age group. And he crashed and burned. Twice, he fumbled. I don't know why. It was like watching your favorite figure skater fall on the ice, only this was my own boy. Later, I tried to resist the urge to tell him he was rushing and the nun chuks have a natural rhythm. I tried to resist the urge to tell him he was cheated. Did I really resist the urge? I hope so, but I can't remember. He really tried hard I was proud of him no matter his standing against the other kids and I was glad he gave it his all. So, Nick was disappointed again because he didn't earn a trophy. I could tell he was glad he went, glad he saw his friends, glad he gave it is all, but there was that elusive trophy.
But here's the thing. Nick has a friend who also competed. She came in first among three other girls and received a trophy. When we congratulated her, she happily chatted as she held her trophy, but then she got quiet and looked up at her dad, no longer looking so confident. "But I was only first out of four girls, Dad." Ah, there wasn't as much competition for that trophy, so somehow it didn't mean as much to her.
Isn't that the irony? One kid worked really hard and didn't earn a trophy. Another, by the luck of the draw, earned one a little too easily for her own comfort, so she didn't feel all the joy in earning it. Without reservation, I told Nick's friend that she'd trained hard and really earned that trophy. And all I can say is that on that day when Nick really does earn a trophy for his hard work at karate, it's really going to mean something to him.
Thank you for listening, jb
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