I watch my son and he amazes me. I watch him play with his toys and see him make his superheroes fight and fly. I see him make his cars, bobble head Superman and my Chapstick have conversations about being best friends and having to fight the "bad guys." I watch him mimic my Taekwondo moves and his mother's dance moves and when we ask him if he wants to learn either, he simply says, "No. I want to fly." Then he proceeds to run, jump and land on one knee the way Robert Downey Iron Man does in the movies.
Recently, we were at The Disney Store in Manhattan where we picked up some Christmas presents, taking advantage of the sales and to have a family day out. I watched my son run around and look with desire at every Cars 2 toy and every Captain America doll and all the stuffed plush dolls of his favourite Disney characters - Mickey, Special Agent Oso, Buzz, Woody, Handy Manny, you name it.
Naturally, with lots going on and money being tight (when isn't it?), he ran around and looked at the toys with joy and wanted everything without concerning himself with how much things cost and what it means to wait, be patient and earn something. I wished then, as I always do, that I could get him whatever he wants whenever he wants it but I know that's not a possibility and that would, if I could do that, only spoil him. However, watching him was such a joy but it also broke my heart.
At his age - three and a half- of course he doesn't understand things about money and such. Of course that made me feel sad that I couldn't just get him everything. What really made me melt and broke my heart, though, was knowing that one day, when he's older, he will lose innocence and that the proverbial and not so proverbial, real life will catch up with him; that he will (have to) worry about money, patience, taking care of things and not just playing and laughing and having fun.
It's a shame that the purity and joy of the innocence we possessed as kids has to diminish, vanish even, as we get older. It disappears, too, not just with age but with experience and time. I look back at my Taekwondo life. As much as I love it still, and relish in the fact the I am not a novice anymore and can say that I am somewhat of an expert, there are times I miss when I didn't know so much and wasn't the teacher or highest ranking student in the class. I also miss the sights, sounds and smells of my early days living in America and the excitement and uncertainty that came with not knowing the place. Now, on some level, it all feels so 'old hat.' Just today, I was having a chat with one of my closest friends and we were talking about how long we've been doing what we do - teach - and how we're wiser and getting into the ranks of the older, longer serving staff members at our school.
I don't know about anyone else but, at 42, I feel that the last 26 years - the time I've lived in the United States - has flown by way too fast. At times it feels like I just landed at JFK and now I'm here, typing at my dining table in my Millburn rental. There are things I remember having done but I recall them happening at different times from when they actually happened. That's how fast and jumbled the years have snuck up on me. Sometimes I feel the time has been wasted. If not wasted, definitely lost. And with the lost time has come lost innocence and growing cynicism.
Thinking about my son and his joy at the Disney Store, I just hope and pray that we - my wife and I - can prepare him for the reality of what is to come and that, when he's 42, he can recall every moment of his life with a smile and that he never feels that his life has been wasted.
About Me
- Juan Rader Bas
- Mabuhay! I'm an Asian American writer (Back Kicks And Broken Promises, Abbott Press, 2012), martial artist and teacher who was born in The Philippines, raised in Hong Kong and ended up in New Jersey.
Showing posts with label son. Show all posts
Showing posts with label son. Show all posts
22 November, 2011
21 March, 2011
State Champion
Wow. Well, the New Jersey State Tae Kwon Do Championships are over and I've come out on top. I took first place in my division - the Men's Black Belt 41-50 year old Forms Division. I did the Pyong Won form and scored 7.8, 7.1 and 7.7. That's not a bad score. All week before the event, I watched YouTube videos of performers at the recent World Championships, as part of my preparation, and they were scoring in the 7.0s and low 8.0s so I guess I didn't do too badly. Although, please don't take me to mean I'm world class or anything. Forms have always been my favourite part of Tae Kwon Do and I've won some forms titles before but I consider myself - now and when I was younger - to be far from world class.
The really neat thing about all of this is that I wasn't really nervous up until I arrived at the venue and changed into my uniform. But then, once I started to walk out onto the competition area where the six rings were and watched the other divisions as I stretched out, the nerves seemed to dissipate. While I could see that I have become that older, more out of shape than in shape, Tae Kwon Do competitor I could also see that, even with the younger elite black belt fighters around me, I felt that I had something they didn't. And I don't think it matttered that they were competing in sparring and I was doing forms. As they stretched and did warm up kicks on the handheld targets, kihapping in that showy way us Tae Kwon Doists do - that kind of kihap that tries to convince the spectators and judges that we're the superior fighter in the ring - I could see and sense their confidence but also, perhaps, their own nervousness; a nervousness that believes they'll win but also knows they might not. It's a kind of conscious caring. They were displaying the same kind of feelings I used to get in my younger competitive days. In a way, too, it was fun for me. This was my first tournament since 1994. No one knew me. But it's not like I hadn't been there before. I felt like that old gunslinger who's returned to his hometown, greyer and more wrinkled, to find that, while the people may have grown up and changed, the place hasn't. It's still home.
For me, I wanted to do well. It wouldn't have mattered where I placed. And, my doing well would've been for me and not for the judges nor the points. I'd gotten wind of the States only ten or so days ago and entered on a whim just to get back into the swing of things. The training I did in a week wasn't much but it was the best I could've done in the time I'd had. I'd done the best of my best and that's what martial arts is all about - doing your best, knowing your limits, enjoying things in spite and because of them. For the first time, I felt like a master; subconsciously caring about the competition but knowing that no matter how things would've turned I'd still be a fourth dan, a master and a martial artist.
I won my division not because of an outstanding performance but because I was the only one who entered. Perhaps my title of 'State Champion' is a paper one. Perhaps it's not. After all, I knew there was a chance my division would have few competitors. Not many people my rank and my age compete, after all. That was another reason that enticed me to enter. The odds of me placing were in my favour. However, whether it was just me or me and a hundred others, I'd shown up on the day ready to do my best. And, again, comparing my scores to those of some of the performances in those YouTube videos, I may have done all right if there had been other entrants. It's not my fault that nobody else entered. I did, performed and took first. My point isn't to defend my win. Either way, and I got confirmation of this from the State TKD Association president, I am 2011 State Champion. My point is to go out and do what your heart tells you. Mine said to compete and get back into something I love.
And, for whatever it's worth, it paid off. It's paid off not only with the win but a chance to go to the national tournament and compete for a national title, which I will take much more seriously. In fact, the State president e-mailed and said he'll be e-mailing all the champions for team practice. I assume that means New Jersey team practice. How cool is that? Way back, I believe if you won, it was between you and your master to prepare for nationals and team trials. Now, I guess - I think - there's communal training under a state head instructor. For me, at my age, who would've thought? I'm just thrilled to have this chance.
As for the competition itself, my ring was right in front of where my wife and son were sitting. As I got into my ready position, I looked up and saw them and I said, in my head, "This is for you, son." Maybe that's corny. Maybe, though, it's just a sign of moving on. I have this chance to become a national champion but that's a long shot if there ever was one. What's for certain, though, is I have this chance to show my son to follow his dreams, to be patient and, for whatever he does, to be passionate. It's not enough to love what you do but to do what you love. For me, Tae Kwon Do is both.
Before I go, though, I must publicly thank my wife. She's been a constant support in everything I do. I have to thank our friend Ani, too. She was there, taking pictures for us, but she's also a black belt and, on some level I'm the reason she took up martial arts in the first place. Her getting into martial arts, before coming back to fully teaching my own classes and, now, competing again, have kept me in touch with them. I also have to thank my friend Drew, an instructor at my original master's dojang. He's younger than I am and in, some ways, he's become my younger brother in Tae Kwon Do. He came too and stood right outside the ring as I performed.
The really neat thing about all of this is that I wasn't really nervous up until I arrived at the venue and changed into my uniform. But then, once I started to walk out onto the competition area where the six rings were and watched the other divisions as I stretched out, the nerves seemed to dissipate. While I could see that I have become that older, more out of shape than in shape, Tae Kwon Do competitor I could also see that, even with the younger elite black belt fighters around me, I felt that I had something they didn't. And I don't think it matttered that they were competing in sparring and I was doing forms. As they stretched and did warm up kicks on the handheld targets, kihapping in that showy way us Tae Kwon Doists do - that kind of kihap that tries to convince the spectators and judges that we're the superior fighter in the ring - I could see and sense their confidence but also, perhaps, their own nervousness; a nervousness that believes they'll win but also knows they might not. It's a kind of conscious caring. They were displaying the same kind of feelings I used to get in my younger competitive days. In a way, too, it was fun for me. This was my first tournament since 1994. No one knew me. But it's not like I hadn't been there before. I felt like that old gunslinger who's returned to his hometown, greyer and more wrinkled, to find that, while the people may have grown up and changed, the place hasn't. It's still home.
For me, I wanted to do well. It wouldn't have mattered where I placed. And, my doing well would've been for me and not for the judges nor the points. I'd gotten wind of the States only ten or so days ago and entered on a whim just to get back into the swing of things. The training I did in a week wasn't much but it was the best I could've done in the time I'd had. I'd done the best of my best and that's what martial arts is all about - doing your best, knowing your limits, enjoying things in spite and because of them. For the first time, I felt like a master; subconsciously caring about the competition but knowing that no matter how things would've turned I'd still be a fourth dan, a master and a martial artist.
I won my division not because of an outstanding performance but because I was the only one who entered. Perhaps my title of 'State Champion' is a paper one. Perhaps it's not. After all, I knew there was a chance my division would have few competitors. Not many people my rank and my age compete, after all. That was another reason that enticed me to enter. The odds of me placing were in my favour. However, whether it was just me or me and a hundred others, I'd shown up on the day ready to do my best. And, again, comparing my scores to those of some of the performances in those YouTube videos, I may have done all right if there had been other entrants. It's not my fault that nobody else entered. I did, performed and took first. My point isn't to defend my win. Either way, and I got confirmation of this from the State TKD Association president, I am 2011 State Champion. My point is to go out and do what your heart tells you. Mine said to compete and get back into something I love.
And, for whatever it's worth, it paid off. It's paid off not only with the win but a chance to go to the national tournament and compete for a national title, which I will take much more seriously. In fact, the State president e-mailed and said he'll be e-mailing all the champions for team practice. I assume that means New Jersey team practice. How cool is that? Way back, I believe if you won, it was between you and your master to prepare for nationals and team trials. Now, I guess - I think - there's communal training under a state head instructor. For me, at my age, who would've thought? I'm just thrilled to have this chance.
As for the competition itself, my ring was right in front of where my wife and son were sitting. As I got into my ready position, I looked up and saw them and I said, in my head, "This is for you, son." Maybe that's corny. Maybe, though, it's just a sign of moving on. I have this chance to become a national champion but that's a long shot if there ever was one. What's for certain, though, is I have this chance to show my son to follow his dreams, to be patient and, for whatever he does, to be passionate. It's not enough to love what you do but to do what you love. For me, Tae Kwon Do is both.
Before I go, though, I must publicly thank my wife. She's been a constant support in everything I do. I have to thank our friend Ani, too. She was there, taking pictures for us, but she's also a black belt and, on some level I'm the reason she took up martial arts in the first place. Her getting into martial arts, before coming back to fully teaching my own classes and, now, competing again, have kept me in touch with them. I also have to thank my friend Drew, an instructor at my original master's dojang. He's younger than I am and in, some ways, he's become my younger brother in Tae Kwon Do. He came too and stood right outside the ring as I performed.
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