The Day Scott Broke the Brick
by Stan Purdum
My son Scott is now a grown man, but as a child he was the most stubborn boy I had ever met. No, he was the most stubborn person I’d ever met.
He’s the middle child and was so unlike his older brother and younger sister as to convince me that there truly is something to the so-called “middle-child syndrome.” At age eight, he was fascinated with Rambo, G.I Joe, Arnold Schwartzenegger, Kung-Fu, and anything that will scare or annoy his younger sister.
We tried to channel Scott's energy in constructive ways -- piano lessons, violin lessons and Cub Scouts all failed to hold his interest. We had only rented the violin, but he lasted in Cub Scouts until just after we paid for a full uniform. Fortunately, we already owned the piano.
In each of these activities, we insisted that Scott continue beyond his first urge to give it up, and so he would, never letting us forget that continuing was our idea, not his. Through it all, though, he stubbornly maintained that what he really wanted to do was learn karate.
Letting him take karate was an idea we resisted when Scott first proposed it. I had a hard time seeing how any activity that teaches one person to effectively kick another person in the throat could be beneficial. However, a friend pointed out that the martial arts include a discipline, and to really do well, a person must apply himself with some determination.
Now Scott has plenty of determination. At that time, he was more interested in wearing what he considered the “right” clothes than the average eight-year-old. He deemed it essential to dress in the full uniform of whatever activity he was involved in, and he stuck to this policy with determination.
So, I went to a karate studio to investigate. There I met the instructor. He confirmed the stuff about discipline and determination. When I discovered that the kids in his program call him “Sir,” I decided that this karate thing wasn’t such a bad idea after all. I signed Scott up.
The form of karate taught by Sir is called Tae Kwon Do, which I think means “Write out a check.”
Scott began his lessons or “training” on a twice a week basis, and we were soon impressed with the way he was following directions at home without complaint. He came home from each training session to share wisdom from Sir’s pep talks, things like “control,” “strength through confidence,” “never picking a fight,” and so forth.
When I signed Scott up, Sir told us that it was not necessary to purchase a karate uniform right away. This is an outfit that looks like baggy white pajamas. A sweat suit, which Scott already owned, would do nicely, Sir said. But Scott would hear nothing of it. He wore the sweat suit for the first two sessions simply because I’m bigger than he is, but we bought the uniform after that because I got tired of saying “no” (you had to be there to understand). I wrote out another check.
The official outfit came with a white belt, which signifies that the wearer is a beginner. After a prescribed period of training, the beginner is allowed to take a test for the belt that designates the next level of proficiency. This belt is yellow. The process continues through a succession of belts of various colors. Sir wears a black belt. This signifies that only a suicidal fool doesn’t call him Sir.
After several weeks, Scott announced that he was ready to take his yellow belt test. The first requirement was that I write out another check.
We were invited to be present for the test. When Scott’s turn came, he demonstrated a surprising level of skill in responding to a range of Korean words, each of which apparently instructed him to forcefully thrust out a hand or foot, with or without a body spin first. Next, he kicked a sandbag in the throat.
The highlight came when Sir placed a brick across two parallel supports and instructed yellow-belt candidates to break the brick by thrusting their palm through it. Of all the budding young Bruce Lees, only Scott succeeded. He passed the whole test and earned the yellow belt.
We took Scott out to dinner to celebrate. He wore his karate suit and took his broken brick along, which he showed to the waitress and cashier. They were duly impressed. He also took the brick to church the next morning; we made him leave the karate suit at home.
And then Scott quit karate. He’s not much at explanations, but maybe he proved something to himself. Surely there’s room in this world for those who taste and sample various activities. Sometimes these dabblers make some remarkable contributions to our world. I’m told Thomas Edison was a dabbler. And now, as an adult, Scott’s wide experience in many endeavors has enabled him to succeed in his chosen course.
Back when Scott quit karate, however, I wondered if he might not regret that decision. I thought he might need the skill, especially after I saw his sister tying on the karate outfit.
This article was originally published in Toledo Metropolitan.
He’s the middle child and was so unlike his older brother and younger sister as to convince me that there truly is something to the so-called “middle-child syndrome.” At age eight, he was fascinated with Rambo, G.I Joe, Arnold Schwartzenegger, Kung-Fu, and anything that will scare or annoy his younger sister.
We tried to channel Scott's energy in constructive ways -- piano lessons, violin lessons and Cub Scouts all failed to hold his interest. We had only rented the violin, but he lasted in Cub Scouts until just after we paid for a full uniform. Fortunately, we already owned the piano.
In each of these activities, we insisted that Scott continue beyond his first urge to give it up, and so he would, never letting us forget that continuing was our idea, not his. Through it all, though, he stubbornly maintained that what he really wanted to do was learn karate.
Letting him take karate was an idea we resisted when Scott first proposed it. I had a hard time seeing how any activity that teaches one person to effectively kick another person in the throat could be beneficial. However, a friend pointed out that the martial arts include a discipline, and to really do well, a person must apply himself with some determination.
Now Scott has plenty of determination. At that time, he was more interested in wearing what he considered the “right” clothes than the average eight-year-old. He deemed it essential to dress in the full uniform of whatever activity he was involved in, and he stuck to this policy with determination.
So, I went to a karate studio to investigate. There I met the instructor. He confirmed the stuff about discipline and determination. When I discovered that the kids in his program call him “Sir,” I decided that this karate thing wasn’t such a bad idea after all. I signed Scott up.
The form of karate taught by Sir is called Tae Kwon Do, which I think means “Write out a check.”
Scott began his lessons or “training” on a twice a week basis, and we were soon impressed with the way he was following directions at home without complaint. He came home from each training session to share wisdom from Sir’s pep talks, things like “control,” “strength through confidence,” “never picking a fight,” and so forth.
When I signed Scott up, Sir told us that it was not necessary to purchase a karate uniform right away. This is an outfit that looks like baggy white pajamas. A sweat suit, which Scott already owned, would do nicely, Sir said. But Scott would hear nothing of it. He wore the sweat suit for the first two sessions simply because I’m bigger than he is, but we bought the uniform after that because I got tired of saying “no” (you had to be there to understand). I wrote out another check.
The official outfit came with a white belt, which signifies that the wearer is a beginner. After a prescribed period of training, the beginner is allowed to take a test for the belt that designates the next level of proficiency. This belt is yellow. The process continues through a succession of belts of various colors. Sir wears a black belt. This signifies that only a suicidal fool doesn’t call him Sir.
After several weeks, Scott announced that he was ready to take his yellow belt test. The first requirement was that I write out another check.
We were invited to be present for the test. When Scott’s turn came, he demonstrated a surprising level of skill in responding to a range of Korean words, each of which apparently instructed him to forcefully thrust out a hand or foot, with or without a body spin first. Next, he kicked a sandbag in the throat.
The highlight came when Sir placed a brick across two parallel supports and instructed yellow-belt candidates to break the brick by thrusting their palm through it. Of all the budding young Bruce Lees, only Scott succeeded. He passed the whole test and earned the yellow belt.
We took Scott out to dinner to celebrate. He wore his karate suit and took his broken brick along, which he showed to the waitress and cashier. They were duly impressed. He also took the brick to church the next morning; we made him leave the karate suit at home.
And then Scott quit karate. He’s not much at explanations, but maybe he proved something to himself. Surely there’s room in this world for those who taste and sample various activities. Sometimes these dabblers make some remarkable contributions to our world. I’m told Thomas Edison was a dabbler. And now, as an adult, Scott’s wide experience in many endeavors has enabled him to succeed in his chosen course.
Back when Scott quit karate, however, I wondered if he might not regret that decision. I thought he might need the skill, especially after I saw his sister tying on the karate outfit.
This article was originally published in Toledo Metropolitan.
