Kung Fu Chickens

These poor, deprived kids have been on a karate kick for a week. (No pun intended.) They raid my closet for anything resembling a belt, then have lengthy conversations about which belt might be better than the other belt, based on color. They kick things. They grunt. They push each other down. They say, "Hi-ya!" The sad part is that they have no idea what they're doing. They haven't even seen Karate Kid.

So I made some phone calls and took my kids and Jakey to a free lesson, thinking maybe karate would give them focus, strength and self-confidence. (Like they're lacking that. Nobody has told them they're not in charge of the universe, and they're not about to relinquish the idea on their own.) The three of them were so thrilled, they could hardly stand it. Ari wore a silk shirt from China, thinking it fit the Eastern theme. She got out of the car with a little trepidation, saying, "Oh, I hope I don't meet anyone who has a black belt!" Freestone reassured her by reminding her that Uncle Trajan has SEVEN black belts. He's taken to making up lies about Uncle Trajan to impress people. It's too cute an infraction to correct. Besides, it's not complete fiction. Traj does have ONE black belt.

When I went to pick them up at the end of the class, the teacher said, "I'm sorry, they're too young. It's based on concentration and maturity level." Soooooo....the fact that they were flying around the gym like human ping pong balls was a negative? Sensei couldn't do anything about the fact that they can't tell left from right? I was afraid it would put a dent in their Masters-of-the-Universe mentality when I told them the teacher said they're too little. Ari was quiet, the said, "Well, at least we learned some things we can use when we play karate." When we got home, they set up their blanket on the lawn that doubles as a karate mat, and they were set.

Mr. Miyagi would be proud. Wax on...wax off.