In Search of the Eye II

Thinking that possibly we both had been schooled at the cost of $365.00 made my stomach feel icky. Especially since mommy has been neglectful in not buying things she would really like to buy for herself!

But I'm not a giver-upper. I'm a fighter. Not in a blood and gore type of way. In fact I'm a better lover than I am a fighter. But that's a whole nother post. So anyways, feeling a bit pushed to the wall, I decided to come out swinging.

In this case though, I chose to come out swinging in a less KICK HIM!!! PUNCH HIM!!! kinda way. My plan was to work with the kidlet during the week to prepare him for the next sparring match. I would take the time to zero in on his moves, get him comfortable with the combinations and teach him how to have a different eye.

I think that part of the problem with my kid is that because he's so tall for his age, his sense of balance doesn't match his body. Okay. That's a nicer way of saying he has no sense of balance. So on night one, we worked on balance and flexibility. But that bored him. He wanted to get to punching and jabbing, so I held up a target pad so he could practice his jabs. For some reason he wasn't grasping the concept of a jab, that is, standing in ready stance, then jabbing fast and quick. He throws his shoulder and arm back to gear up for power and then jabs, in which case…it's not a jab at all. The entire movement takes him 3 seconds. A quick sparer could land three punches on him in the same amount of time. With the jab it's all about speed.

I needed to demonstrate.

Not that I had any training in this or knew what the hell I was doing. The only thing I was worried about however was that, I'm pretty strong. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt my kid. But he assured me since I was jabbing into a target pad he'd be all right.

I jabbed and he went flying back and his back hit the wall.

Ooops!

Luckily he came up laughing.

So then it's his turn again. I count to ten, and on each count he's jabbing at the target pad, much better this time around. I was proud! Well…with the exception that he was smiling at me the entire time.

"Don't smile at your opponent. How are they supposed to fear you if you're smiling? Smiles show in your eyes. Develop the eye that will scare them. What you want is the eye of the tiger."

"Really? What kind of eye do I have right now?"

"Well. I wasn't going to tell you this. But right now you have the eye of the orgran grinder monkey. Ya know the cute little ones that sit on organ grinders and holds out a little hat for tips?"

He falls to the ground laughing…

which…

led to an asthma attack.

15 minutes later after administering the correct physician prescribed albuterol and saline inhaled mixture, he's ready to go.

"K, check it out. If I have to have an eye, can't it be the eye of King Kong? Orrrrrrr…the eye of Godzilla?"

"Whatever, pick an eye!"

The rest of the night goes well. His jabs, punches and kicks are faster and he's focusing on the target rather than my face, since my face makes him laugh for some reason. My arms are killing me and there's a tingling sensation in my wrist from absorbing the force of his moves. It seems the eye of Godzilla is working. I'm already feeling sorry for OTW kid. Cause that kid? He's going dowwwwwnnnn!

Class night. The Daniel Sans are scurrying to get into their sparring gear. My kid is ready.

"Remember. Focus. Combinations. Guard. Attack first. And most importantly, remember the eye."

"Yeah. Godzilla I got it."

This time around Miss Cindy throws us for a loop. She moves my kid and OWK from the 7 year old group and puts them with the 8, 9 and 10 year olds. Did I mention kids in that group are yellow and orange belts and that mine is just a white belt? Miss Cindy sets my kid up with a girl who's an OB and another boy who is a YB. I remember the YB from two classes ago. He's the one who kept kicking me in the elbow during target practice instead of making foot connection with the target pad. After the fifth kick to my elbow I was ready to kick him back, but he was saved by forms practice.

Lucky.

So anyway, seeing who my kid is sparring against, I'm worried he's not going to be able to hold his own. I try to channel Godzilla to him and hope against hope that he's picking up my vibes.

The sparring matches start. In the midst of what seemed like the stench of a thousand sour little feet, I stay focused on the far end of the room, where my kid stands his ground this time, still not throwing punches or kicks, but blocking everything that came his way. Once in a while he'd smile at the OB who was giving him every kick and punch she knew how do. Later on he told me that he was smiling at her because she was kinda cute.

For all the time we spent preparing for the match, it was all over in the instant.

At the end of class he ran over to me, threw himself down onto the floor and started peeling off his shin guards.

"So," his breath was heavy and I was worried because I flaked and didn't bring his inhaler "was it Godzilla?"

I smiled and rubbed my hand into his sweaty hair.

"Well. I did good. But truthfully I felt more like Baby Gozilla than the big daddy. It's allright. I'll get there."

He was good with that. And so was I.