Self-Defense

When our boys were young, it was pretty apparent that neither one was interested in sports. Shocking, I know, because everyone knows that every boy is just crazy about sports, right? They are if wrapping paper, clothing catalogs, and commercials are to be believed.

Our boys weren’t and still aren’t. However, Ed and I decided that we wanted the boys to do something physical, if for not other reason than to prevent them from becoming permanently rooted to the chair in front of the computer.

We decided on the martial arts and set about finding the right place. Some martial arts studios are, quite frankly, creepy places. The instructors practically drip aggression and put me in mind of Robert Wagner in those Energizer battery commercials (”Go ahead. Knock it off. I dare you.”). Other studios are so wrapped up in “the mystery of the orient” that it makes you wonder if they require their students to carry a cast-iron pot across the room using their inner wrists a la the David Carradine “Kung Fu” TV series.

My least-favorite martial arts studios are the ones where I’d walk in, and the male staff would check me out, making no effort to be subtle about it. Some dismissed me out of hand, which was fine by me. Others, though, would begin preening. Yeah, nothing is going to get me out of my clothes faster than watching a guy flex his muscles while trying to look sexy. Ugh.

At the recommendation of one of Ed’s sisters, we checked out a martial arts studio about 20 minutes away. As soon as I walked in, I was struck by how relaxed and happy all the kids, parents, and instructors were. The classes were hard work, but looked fun, too. The facility was clean and full of sunlight. The instructors were, for the most part, young men who were friendly, polite, and engaged. Best of all, my creepy-o-meter didn’t even register. Sold!

The fees for this school were pretty steep. We justified the expense because the boys would be learning self-defense skills and discipline, plus they’d have the opportunity to socialize with a new group of children.

Buddhaboy could take kenpo karate or leave it. He’d participate; however, his mind was usually in a different place during class. Skimbleshanks, on the other hand, took to kenpo like a fish to water. He was focused, intense, and did well.

One day as I was driving the boys to karate, I learned that there had been an incident on the playground that day involving Skimbleshanks. I didn’t get a lot of information, but what I did get was that a girl had choked my son on the playground. She wrapped her arm around his throat and squeezed and did so in full view of the adults who were monitoring recess that day.

The more he talked, the more apparent that Skimbleshanks was devastated by what had happened. No, not the choking. He was angry and embarrassed that he hadn’t used his self-defense techniques on the girl. Instead, he’d been stunned into immobility.

The very first thought that went flitting through my mind as he told me the story wasn’t about my son. No, that first thought was, “My god, what must that girl’s home life be like that she’d do something like that and do it in front of adults?” I still have that thought today, nearly 10 years later. Did the girl witness violent acts in her own home or maybe was permitted to watch inappropriate things on TV? Did she have rage issues? Was this being done to her, perhaps? It makes me ill just thinking of the life she must have been leading.

Skimbleshanks was my top priority. He was growing more and more upset as the minutes went by. When we arrived at the karate studio, he was nearly in tears. Once we were inside, I immediately looked for one of the boys’ — heck, everyone’s — favorite instructors, Mr. Anthony. Once I found him, I quickly and quietly told him what had happened and asked him to talk with Skimbleshanks.

As the two of them talked, I saw that Skimbleshanks was beginning to calm down. He listened attentively, as did I. The main point that Mr. Anthony made was that it was never right to start a fight; however, everyone has the right to defend himself or herself. He described what Skimbleshanks could have done and what he might do if he found himself in a similar situation. And he drove home the main message: It’s OK to defend yourself.

The next few years went by without any similar incidents. Then, when Skimbleshanks was 13 and in middle school, he again found himself being choked by someone. (As an aside, let me point out that we live in white-bread suburbia here, not in what anyone would describe as a “tough” area.)

What I learned was that this kid’s last name was Racer, and this was back in 2008, when the movie “Speed Racer” came out. The boy was upset about something, and Skimbleshanks said, “Whoa! Calm down, Speed Racer.”

“What did you say?” the boy responded.

Now that phrase is generally known to be a warning shot across the bow. When someone says “what did you say?” in a tense situation, it’s a warning that things are about to get ugly. Most people know this, right? Maybe, but Skimbleshanks didn’t.

So he repeated himself.

Mr. Racer then wrapped his arm around Skimbleshanks’s throat. Since he was sitting on a bench in the locker room, Skimbleshanks didn’t have a lot of room or time to maneuver. The incident ended (I’m not sure what happened. As a mom, I don’t get a lot of information from my boys, and when I do, it’s usually after a lot of effort on my part). Both boys were sent to the office.

I had to explain to Skimbleshanks several times how important it is to be able to read body language, tone, and atmosphere to prevent these situations from escalating. I don’t know whether he ever got my point or if he’s even capable of picking up on these nuances of human behavior. Some people are highly attuned to these sorts of things; other people are not. I pick up on the mood in a room and whether a person I’ve just met is trustworthy almost immediately. Maybe this is because I’m an introvert and am an acute observer. Who knows? With Skimbleshanks, all I can do is coach him on this stuff and hope that he trains himself to be more observant.

The third and final encounter Skimbleshanks had with an aggressive person was also while he was in middle school. It seems that there was a group of girls on his bus who were loudmouths (his description) and bullies (my deduction).

One day on the bus, this group of girls was throwing things and, in general, being annoying. One of the items thrown was a bottle of water. When the bottle hit Skimbleshanks, he picked it up and pegged the lead girl in the head with it. (No, I don’t condone that, and yes, I did tell him so.)

In a rage, the girl got up from her seat and began to charge up the aisle toward Skimbleshanks. In turn, he stood up, took up a fighting stance, and let out a “kee-ai!” The whole while, he had his game face on, shooting laser beams of “don’t mess with me” at his attacker.

She stopped in her tracks. Then she turned and went back to her seat.

Skimbleshanks had no further problems with that group of girls.

This event is what made all the mileage, all the expense, and all the effort of the boys’ self-defense training worth while. Skimbleshanks finally had learned to be aware of his surroundings and was ready to defend himself.

Once you release your child into the wooly wilds of the real world, it’s important that you know and that he knows that he can take care of himself. The world is full of bullies and people who don’t know what to do with their rage. Fortunately, they’re not all concentrated in one area. But all it takes is one person who can strip you of your self-confidence and make you feel like a victim.

Skimbleshanks was a victim twice (that I know of). He could have been a victim a third time. Instead, he recognized what was happening and what might happen if he didn’t take charge. And by standing up to a bully and letting her know that he wasn’t going to just take what she intended to dish out, he proved the adage that the best defense is a good offense. Or, as Mr. Han said in “The Karate Kid,” (2010), “Best fights are the ones we avoid.”