Self-Defense
When girls were gross and action figures were cool my elementary school counterparts and I roamed the outskirts of the playground, wrestling each other in our light-up shoes and bowl cuts. We deeply enjoyed play-fighting; throwing flying kicks and fake punches. Inspiration for our aggressive activities came from shows like Power Rangers and action movies like Rush Hour. From them we learned that aggression and violence were acceptable ways to deal with a problem.
Like every other boisterous boy, I soon became entranced by the idea of becoming a martial arts master like Jackie Chan or Jason Frank. I can still lucidly recollect the conversation with my father in the aromatic shade of eucalyptus trees; I told him of my desire to become a black belt. The implications of that conversation were far-reaching and significant. In my father’s eyes, I made an oath that day to accomplish my goal; I would learn to persevere and would eventually taste the fruits of my determination.
I was enrolled in Kid Power, a precursor to more serious martial arts in which kids like myself learned the basics of self-defense. It was my first step in the mastery of martial arts. My father would stand and watch with the other parents as us kids did jumping jacks and punched bags. I vividly recollect the fibery golden rope that hung from the lofty ceiling. A bell hung from the top which only the strongest and most valiant of us dared to ring. I was one of the few who risked my body in the treacherous climb to the top of the rope, and so my dedication and affection for martial arts climbed as well.
I soon outgrew the confines of kid power and graduated to a more polished practice; Tae-Kwon-Do. I was ecstatic over this transition; it was the next stage in my valorous journey to martial art supremacy. I arrived to my first class with my head high and my white-belt securely fastened, yet the class was filled with kids much older and larger than I. Some of these kids had even been exposed to middle school! I was an outsider and I walked away from my first class nervous and scared, my ego had been deflated.
Unfortunately, my initial fears about Tae-Kwon-Do proved valid. My petite body, squeaky voice and naïve comments set me apart from the rest of the class. My immaturity was obvious and the gap between my fellow pupils and me grew wider. As it became more apparent that I did not belong, some of my classmates took advantage of my vulnerability.
One black-haired boy in the group named Enzo, small for his age, particularly enjoyed picking on my bashful self. I was subject to many of his cruel jokes.
Initially Enzo began by making fun of my physique. He would make jokes about how small I was, about how my hair was too long and my voice was annoying. “Why do look so funny?”, he would spit as I walked by. Enzo's taunting only caused me to become more uncommunicative. It was my first encounter with boyish cruelty and I did not know how to react. Sadly, I had just begun to experience Enzo's savagery, soon his teasing escalated to physical hostility.
I am plagued by the memory of one such event. I was standing alone in the dojo before class started when Enzo approached me. His company was never pleasant for me so naturally my body tensed – yet I was not prepared for what was to come. In front of the whole class, Enzo extended his fingers and tucked his thumb into his palm. Without any warning, his hand struck my solar-plexus – chilling my youthful heart. His attack sent the air from my lungs and coerced me down to the blue and red mat. As I lay on the ground and gasped for breath, the class watched me closely; some laughed and some stood silent. I never retaliated; I never said a word about it. I was humiliated.
I continued to return to Tae-Kwon-Do for years after this event occurred. As the bullying persisted, I begged my parents to let me quit, yet they insisted that I accomplish my goal: I had made an oath. Soon my naturally warm and loving heart became angry and cold. I began to take my painful emotions out on others, and I in turn became a bully. Because I myself was forced to experience fear, I made others fear me.
It began at home with my younger brothers. Whereas previously I had been a supportive and loving older brother, I began to tease and taunt them. I would wrestle with them and impose my dominance. I intimidated them and became an oppressor. Though my parents would always involve themselves quickly, seeing our squabbling as standard sibling strife, my behavior created a barrier that has yet to be lifted.
My bullying exposed itself in my academic life too. At school I began to make fun of the less social kids – I would even bully my close friends. My mischief took place in the cover of my school's towering pine trees or on the fringes of the playground. I would name-call and shove kids. I vividly recall one incident in which I dumped a trash can on a younger boys head; pink yogurt splattered over his white shirt as his pale cheeks too were splattered with pink.
I am still haunted by the torment and intimidation I faced as a child in Tae-Kwon-Do, yet what is far more painful is the torment and intimidation I imposed upon others. I became a link in the chain of abuse, a passive player caught in a vicious cycle.
In the end, Martial Arts taught me to climb the golden rope that so few dare to climb. It taught me to ring the menacing bell, even if I must put myself in danger to do so. Most importantly, it taught me to protect my heart from those who are bound by chains. As a child I did not understand that though there is valiance in aggression, it is so often overshadowed by pain. As a man I learned to stand up for myself and others.