We got a flyer from the school a couple of weeks ago advertising a Tae Kwon Do class at our local rec center. Ten dollars a session and no long-term commitment.
My wife and I have been talking about enrolling our son, Brooks, in some sort of martial arts class, and this seemed like the perfect opportunity.
The first class was last night.
Jillian brought Brooks, and I met them there. We got him registered and waited for class to begin. The students were a mix of kids and a few adults. Brooks was right in the middle of the age range, and one of his friends had signed up as well.
The class started with the students lining up in formation on one side of the gym while the instructor laid out a few ground rules, including one that got a laugh from the parents: no going home and practicing on younger siblings.
Then the class began.
They learned how to come to attention, stand in the ready position, get into a fighting stance, and then it was punches and kicks as they worked their way back and forth across the gym shouting “Hi-Ya!”
As I sat there watching, I couldn’t help but think back to when I was around ten or eleven years old and taking Tae Kwon Do classes myself.
My neighbor across the street taught my cousin and me in her garage. When it came time to test for our next belt, we had to go into the studio. I don’t remember exactly how long I took classes—maybe a few months—but I made it through a couple of belt levels before moving on to other things.
Watching Brooks brought all of that back.
He was having so much fun.
He was shouting at the top of his lungs, throwing punches, trying to keep his balance on his kicks, and doing everything he could to keep up with his buddy. The faces he was making and the way he stuck his tongue out like Michael Jordan whenever he was concentrating had me laughing the entire class.
At some point I realized something.
Watching him in Tae Kwon Do—or coaching his tee-ball team—makes you realize that you aren’t the kid anymore.
You were the kid once.
You experienced the first-day nerves.
You learned the lessons.
You made the mistakes.
And now you’re sitting in the chair on the other side of the room watching your child do those same things for the first time.
When class ended, I asked Brooks if he wanted to do it again.
His first answer was no because he was tired.
I laughed and explained that I meant next week, not right now.
Then he was all in.
On the walk back to the car, the coach in me came out. I started talking to him about slowing down, focusing on his form, and not rushing through the motions if he really wanted to learn.
Brooks is getting older.
He’s not a baby anymore.
He’s going to want to try new things, whether that’s Tae Kwon Do, sports, or something I haven’t even thought of yet. My job isn’t to choose those things for him. My job is to support him, encourage him, help him learn, and make sure he’s having fun along the way.
When we got back, we joked about how he was going to have to show his mom all of his new moves.
And he did.
He also front kicked his little brother in the back while they were wrestling, which led to another lesson entirely.
He’s six years old.
Every day offers a new opportunity to learn something.
Sometimes it’s a first Tae Kwon Do class.
Sometimes it’s learning that your little brother isn’t a sparring partner quite yet.
The Young Napoleon Project 