My Little Man

He stands there, like a squirming sentry in his white Gi. Stripes traverse the ends of his red and black belt, evidence of past triumphs. Despite his attempts to stand still and listen, his body is in continual motion – just small movements of the toes, fingers, and eyes. I know it’s difficult for him to stand so still. I’m impressed with his self control.

He performs his unarmed defense in near perfect form, stretching and bending in ways I could not imitate. All arms and legs. But his shoulders are broader now than they were last year, on their slow journey to maturity. He strikes with authority and precision, and it surprises me. To see such intensity in my sweet, passive child. Then a deep and forceful “Kia!” brings an end to the session. Even his voice sounds aggressive. Was that my boy? Yes. I’m taken aback. It’s as if I don’t know him at all – this intense, mature boy before me. He turns and sees me. A quick wink and a thumbs up from him reminds me that it’s just a bit part. Another side of the same silly, amazing boy and I breathe again.