There you see Sarah receiving her first belt at her taekwondo class.
The final part of her belt test involved kicking through a board. I expected it to be some kind of styrofoam or balsa or something–she’s only four years old after all. But no, it was a pine plank, and a decently thick one. Witness:
I’m insanely proud of her.
I wish that was all I had to say about it.
There are two things though that complicate my pure enjoyment.
First was about the actual process. There were a few other kids testing with Sarah, and they all broke the board immediately on their first try. Sarah didn’t, and indeed had to try about a half-dozen times, with some instruction, before she got it. In front of all the other kids in the class, and all their parents.
I should explain that while Sarah is four, she’s in a class for kids who are 6-9–this was a decision of the instructor’s based on the fact that she’s a pretty tall kid. However there are just straight developmental things that a kid who’s four can’t do that a kid of six can, etc. So I’m not at all surprised that she had to work for it.
However, during the few moments while she was retrying, I was in utter terror. I didn’t want her to feel badly, or hurt. All my personal failures and every time I felt vulnerable in front of a group flashed in my mind, and I just wanted to protect her from how that feels.
Ironically, she was totally unbothered by the whole thing. She didn’t get upset, or embarrassed, or angry. She just kept trying, took instruction well, and was very satisfied with herself when she succeeded. More than anything else this makes me proud. In fact, I’ve never been prouder of her. And I told her so tonight.
(I am however going to make sure that she is better prepared the next time around–I do feel that the instructors shouldn’t have put her up for promotion without having seen her succeed at this task at least a couple of times. I think the final board-breaking thing is the same at the next belt level as well, so it may be a while before I have to think about it, though.)
The second issue is entirely my own, and it’s about me and my job. I’ve complained before about boundary issues with my work schedule, and frankly things on that front have been much better for the last few months. However, tonight–the one night that I absolutely wanted to not have to deal with work, so I could go watch Sarah get her belt–I was scheduled into not one, not two, but three different meetings. All during time between 5 and 8 PM, time that I had expressly blocked out in my calendar. Ironically my schedule was open for most of the day today, and is open for most of the day tomorrow.
Anyway, I managed to get out of two of the three meetings, but the third one I was really supposed to be in. However, I refuse to be the dad who misses all the important things in his kid’s life because he is working.
So, I tried to split the difference. I took my cell phone, and the headset for it (which I have never previously used, despite it being on the shelf for three or four years now) and was in the meeting during the drive to the class, and during the class itself. Fortunately it was a meeting where I didn’t have to talk a lot. When the class ended I bailed on the meeting (there was still an hour scheduled, and who knows, it might have gone longer) in order to take the family out for a celebratory dinner.
So, I managed to be there. I was standing beside the mat when Sarah got her belt. I whooped and clapped.
But I was also That Guy. You know the guy–the one who has his damn cell phone earpiece on during his kid’s class. The guy who can’t get away from his job for even an hour, and who must think he’s so damn indispensable. I hate that guy–hell, he’s half the reason I try to avoid airports. If it had been another parent doing that at the class, I would have been mocking him.
On reflection, I should have just refused the meeting. I’ve got to start enforcing those boundaries more stringently.
