Inside the Eye of the Clumsy Dragon

I’ve always wanted to be a sports guy. But my toothpick shaped arms, my inability to physically multi-task, and my badly-timed laughter skewed me away from sports. At age 5, I was kicked off the T-ball team because I struck out too much. At age 7, I walked off the court during tennis because my hand-eye coordination was off. At age 9, the boys said I was too skinny for football. Basketball? Well, I just can’t master dribbling and running at the same time.

But maybe, at age 13, I could master karate?

It all began one evening at home. I was channel surfing on the couch and stopped at two foreign men battling one another. They kicked, punched, did back flips and broke boards. My cousin Lauren, who was already in martial arts classes, came over to me and tried to battle me like in the movie. I flapped my hands to shoo her away. I couldn’t take my eyes off the TV screen.

I called my best friend Brittany to tell her the good news. “I’m taking martial arts!” I said. The phone went silent. All I could hear were weird grunts. “Hello?”

“You know you Black right?” she finally replied, and then she busted out with a Black cookout laugh. “Well, you know, Black people… ” she laughed even harder.

Click. I hung up.

My face straightened.

My nana and grandad had tip-toed their way into the living room like spies, peeking their head around the corner from the kitchen. I saw my nana’s mini-afro and my grandad’s fedora before they fully revealed themselves. They always somehow appeared right as my phone conversations ended.

“Baby. Now… you say you taking what?”

“I’m taking martial arts, nana. Karate.”

Nana shifted to grandad. “Joseph, honey! Your grandson is trying to… take… martial… arts.” She was laughing uncontrollably and could barely get the sentence out. My grandad fell out laughing and spilled that night’s dinner.

I looked at the beef stew slipping and sliding onto the floor. I was going to master martial arts anyway.

“Come on and help clean this up,” my nana said.

*    *    *

I arrived to three small characters lit in green and gold:  Kuk. Sool. Won. Korean. Martial. Arts. I could’ve sworn this was karate.

I walked in the door with my gym bag and my gym shoes, ready to train. But Lauren stopped me. You could not just walk onto the mat. She said it would be best to watch and learn first. She shooed me over to the empty seats. My eyes were glued to her bright yellow belt.

I took a step towards the empty seats in the rustling audience of grown ups, but just before I hopped into a seat, I was halted by a man in a black Dobok. It was decorated with the Korean flag and Korean script. He was bald with a beard, like my grandpa. Gold shimmers hung off his uniform. Without speaking a word he walked towards me and pointed towards the floor. “NO SHOES ALLOWED” it screamed in duct tape. My eyes looked at him and everyone else. I rewinded my steps and kicked my shoes off.

Something was different about this martial arts studio. The students, all small brown bodies with white belts, stood tight for attention. Heads forward, eyes focused, arms tightly attached to the hip, feet together. Afros tight, waves on swim. You could hear the beads clanking with every movement. This was no ordinary studio. Everybody looked like me.

Like experienced soldiers in an army, Lauren and the other kids delivered high kicks, swift punches, and loud “kihap!”

“Go baby!” the moms in the crowd shouted.

Lauren was matched up against a boy her height. Like a snake, she slithered underneath his arm. I blinked. Smack! The audience gasped. The boy was face first on the ground, and Lauren’s knee was pinned on his armpit.

A tall bearded Black man and a caramel-colored teenage girl were in shiny silver uniforms. They both cradled thick wooden planks. Lauren was up first. She sprung up and marched forward. I blinked. Crack! The wooden plank stood no chance. Lauren bowed stoically.

Before the students were dismissed, the master instructor stood and the room fell silent. “Thank you all for supporting our students and attending our belt test and demonstration.” He smiled for the first time that evening. Then he walked a little closer to us, towards the edge of the mat, and it looked almost as if he was staring directly at me. “If any of you are interested and ready, we would love you to join the Kuk Sool Family.”

I slowly raised my hand.

*    *    *

I was nervous when I showed up next week to participate. There were people who looked like me who were doing things that I knew I could never do. Lauren and the same kids I saw at the belt test were completing aerial cartwheels. The master instructor greeted me at the door. I looked at the sea of white belts. I was the only one taller than five feet and with peach fuzz.

“I’m here for class sir,” I whispered.

He asked my name. “Mehki,” I replied. He introduced himself as Pyung Kwan Jahng Nim Marlin Godfree.

“Take your shoes off. Hop on the mat,” he ordered.

“Cha Ryeo,” the entire room echoed.  Everyone stood to attention and faced forward. Head forward, eyes focused, arms tightly attached to the hip, feet together.

Our task was to follow the lightning fast speed of our Pyung Kwan Jahng Nim. We put our left foot out when he did, but somehow I ended up hugging my hamstring. All I could hear was my grandparents’ laughter.

I limped behind the energetic kids who whipped around the mat. I got closer and closer to the front of the mat where I was to complete a cat roll. I put my hands out in front of me, closed my eyes, and began to lean forward but stopped.

“Take the risk! No risk, no reward,” Pyung Kwan Jahng Nim yelled. I toppled over.

BAM. SPLISH. I opened my eyes and Lauren had two heads. “Try not to land on your head, next time. Get up,” exclaimed the instructor. I wiped off the sweat from the puddle I landed in.

Next, we were partnered up with someone our same age and rank. It was time for sparring.

“Tyshawn. Mehki. Respect to your partners,” our master ordered. We faced one another.  Tyshawn was at least a foot shorter than me, light bright with a Huey Newton fro and a scary scowl. Before I could think twice, I was on the floor with my hand underneath his knee.

“For real?” I accidentally said aloud.

Three gallons of sweat later, class was over. We kneeled in front of the Korean flag, The Kuk Soo Won flag, and the United States of America flag. We gave honor to each flag and then to our instructors. We ended the class with a deep breath.

As I struggled to stand and to carry my soaking wet suit, Pyung Kwan Jahng Nim approached me smiling. “How’s your first day?”

“Hmmm,” I limped over to grab my shoes. “Kuk Soo Won, another sport that I thought I could conquer and like normal, I didn’t. At least, I’m consistent.”

He smiled. “Time shall pass and you will conquer challenges and inherit new things to learn.”

*    *    *

Brittany called later that night. I let it ring for a little while. I did not want to admit she was right.

“Hey,” I answered.

“How’d it go?” she asked genuinely.

“Chile, I cannot.”

We both busted out laughing.

“You know you ain’t no Bruce Lee or nothing! Did you have fun?”

“You don’t really think about having fun when your pressure points are being jumped on.”

“I know you did. If you had fun and you learned something new then it was worth it. I’m not going to let you quit just because you, ‘cannot.’ You feel me?”

“I guess,” I said, and told her I had to go. I still had knots in my stomach. I walked in the kitchen.

My nana looked over at me. “How was your first martial arts class booka bear?”

“You know what, nana. I don’t know about all this.”

“What you mean?”

“Now you know I’m not athletic in the least.”

“We all know that. But you get better every day that you try.”

I nodded in agreement.

“Plus, I paid for it,” she added.

“Okay nana,” I replied and chuckled as I looked outside the window.

*    *    *

Five weeks later. We were lined up again, by rank. By now it was different. When the lightning speed round began, I kicked towards the fluorescent lights. My hamstring remained intact. I punched far and fast. With each kick and each punch, I yelled until I felt my vocal cords vibrate.

And still, no sweat yet.

Our master would come and adjust my feet, my hands, and tell me to aim higher. I was up for the challenge.

“Keep it up,” Pyung Kwan Jahng Nim said.

I grinned and then went right back to a serious face. Aerial flip. Suddenly, my knee felt the concrete through the six-inch mat.

My instructor noticed my face and my now lazy attempts to flip. He approached me and asked to go into the backroom to talk.

“Talk to me, Mehki.”

“I’m just trying to catch up to everyone. I don’t want to be the only older kid in a lower rank. I want to be the best.”

“This is only your 5th class, Mehki.” He sighed with a slight smirk. “And everyone moves at their own pace. We want to make sure that you understand the moves and techniques. Not that you just know them. You’re different.”

“What do you mean by that?” My face scrunched up.

“Well, you’re one of the most athletic students here. And you just got here. You have a long way to go. Yes, martial arts can be frustrating. It’s a solo journey. But, I’ll do my best to make sure you don’t feel alone.”

*    *    *

As the days moved forward, I did my best to take on a new attitude. In the basement of my house, I kicked high, punched fast, and gave loud kihaps. I showed up to the next few classes with a new focus.

Then the day arrived. My first belt test. The sun was out and the parking lot was full. Brittany and my grandparents sat next to each other. Brittany was beaming, and my grandparents kept an encouraging face. Lauren wished me good luck as she walked out with her new blue belt.

I stood up at attention. It was time to begin the test.

We marched into the martial arts studio, lined up, and were ready to go. I punched, turned, kicked, forward, back, turn, punch, kick, jumping crescent kick, X block, Kuk Soo. I was finally keeping up.

Techniques were next. I partnered up with a kid that was actually my size. I’d never seen him before. He stared me right in the eyes. I stood in my attack stance. Right arm grab, I pulled my opponent to the floor, I yelled aloud… I put my knee on his arm and finished him. My smile was wide and my eyes were lit. For once, I proved myself wrong.

We sat in a line. The instructor brought out thick, wooden boards. My eyebrows scrunched. I was unsure my toothpick arms and lanky limbs would come in handy here.

“Mehki!”

I jumped up in attention. I practiced kicking the board. I could feel how thick the board was with the ball of my foot.

“Kick right in the middle.” The instructor whispered to me. I practiced again. I took a deep breath.

I closed my eyes, turned my body, and lifted my right leg. Crack.

My eyes burst open and I looked at my instructor. He said, “Kiop.”

I responded. “Kiop.”

My nana’s eyes screamed.

We made a straight line with our broken boards. We did it.

One at a time we ran to the front to receive our yellow belts. I shook hands with Pun Kwon Ja Nim and I bit my lip into a smile.

“Thank you, sir,” I told him with a smile.

“This is only the beginning,” he said. “I only make grand champions. You will be one of them. The hard work begins from here.”

I smiled. I was doing high-fives inside as I turned and walked away.

I grabbed my coat and shoes, and joined the flock of people filing out of the door. I was just about to jump into the car with my grandparents, when I spotted a kid with his hands as binoculars stuck on the glass. I told my grandparents to hold on. I ran up to him, whipping through the people filing out.

“Hey,” I put my hand on his shoulder. “Try it out, take the risk.”