I’ve seen the boys’ puppyish push-and-tumble routine in the hallways and on field trips. Respectful silence is not a default setting. I was already impressed.
“Gentlemen, it’s time for Jack to break a board,” she said, her serious Southern drawl pulling their spines full north.
Jack turned to me and wiggled his eyebrows, his entire body arrowed with excitement. I winked in response and tried to hide my incredulity.
Break a board?
Over the past several months during this weekly introduction to karate, Jack occasionally demonstrated a few kicks and arm thrusts at home. I overheard the bass thump his hearty “hi-yas” made when he practiced in the shower. But I never imagined his readiness to splinter plywood.
As Jack stood and bowed to his instructor, I bowed to my own failure of imagination. How often I limit myself to the fenced pasture of my perceived abilities. This lesson returns to me over and again, bearing different disguises for the same core truth.
Watching Jack’s confident concentration, I realized he does not have a nattering inner voice questioning his skill or potential. He simply dwells in the fullness of possibility.
“Show me your focus,” the instructor said, as Jack turned his back to the board and raised his fists to his chest. “Let your focus guide you.”
Jack eyed his target and swiftly kicked his Keen sneaker through the midpoint of the board, snapping it in half. He did not even look surprised, only celebratory as his instructor raised both halves to show the cheering boys.
“Gentlemen, that is how it’s done,” she said, bowing as she presented Jack with his accomplishment.
He ran to me, both student and teacher in the fluidity of the moment, and placed the talisman of plywood into my hands.
0 comments:
Post a Comment