is a single mama in the city, super-savvy editor, writer, video host and shameless shoe whore.
He's a little more in love with himself right now
Saturday, February 11, 2012 And how could you blame him?
I hesitate to use this term to refer to a 7-year old, but it really can't be helped: My kid's pretty bad-ass right here.
I mean...look at the weapons. WEAPONS! One that is a trident of the gods. In my first grader's hands. And the heel pushing back at the sky (or anyone taller than 4 feet). Pretty amazing.
The photos were taken weeks ago, the day of an in-studio tournament we negotiated on. His friends had already been to a competition way out in the suburbs and he wasn't interested in going. His confidence in Tae Kwon Do was waning and I just felt no need to pressure him. It was his choice, I told him. But then the school offered the chance for students to compete in a smaller tourney, one that would show younger kids what the big show is really like. His teachers encouraged him to participate, they told me how good it would be for him. And so I offered to take him, telling him if he chose to go, we could leave at any time. But maybe it would feel good just to try, just to be open.
On the mat, his nervousness melted away. His forms were steady. His face solemn. He scrambled about in the sparring. He was completely himself, both in the calm spirit and the crazy kicks. When he was awarded first place for forms in his age group and third place for sparring, his smile was full of pride but his eyes reflected a bit of surprise that he'd done that himself. I handed over my credit card freely to the photographer and Lil E chose those flames as the background for the most serious of his poses.
We texted a picture of the picture to my parents. From their sunny spot on the beach in Florida, they agreed. LOVE IT! Our hero!, they texted back. I held the phone out toward my own airbender and his chest puffed up. He nodded just enough for me to see. This morning, I wrote the words again on his lunch-time note, and the same look and little nod overcame him as he read the four words one more time. Please please please let him hold on to that feeling, I said to that fiery sky surrounding him in the studio snapshot.
Will he compete again? He says he doesn't know. Watching from the sidelines, I see that I don't care if he's good. I just want him to feel that good again.
Today, however, he'll test with his class for the next belt. The purple one here with the slash of black down the center will probably be outdated in hours. But I'm quite sure this photo -- all 9 x 11 fiery inches that cost nearly as much as a pair of covetous shoes and is full of much more kickbootery -- will be displayed for a long, long time. And maybe he'll still feel those medals, even when they're not hanging on his neck, still move like a calm warrior when the tournament and the trident are mostly memory.
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