Sometimes I Forget How Far We've Come

Day-to-day, it is hard for me to see Thing Two's progress, for it is slow and often subtle and I am sadly distracted by the circus that is our life.  But then something hits me in the face, and I marvel.  Tonight, it was watching him earn the red stripe for his belt through the window of the dojo.

In our martial arts system, progress through the skills required for a particular belt level is demarcated in stripes (applied by an instructor using electrical tape) around one end of the belt.  Mastery of specific items is required for each of the six black stripes.  The seventh and final stripe is red, and its presence on a belt signifies that a senior instructor has examined the wearer on all belt-level skills and that the wearer is ready to test--in public--for the next belt up.

I've mentioned before that we got into the whole martial arts thing only because Thing One was having trouble with a bully at school.  Observing that there was a class immediately before his for kids of Thing Two's age, I approached the program head, explained his auditory processing difficulties, and asked if it would be permitted for him to try the class and see if he could handle it (bearing in mind that 45 straight minutes of direction-following is a hell of a big deal for anyone who needs extra language help, let alone a kid.)  To his credit, the program head agreed immediately, and Thing Two proved up to the task.  He is a very gifted athlete, which helped, and he has worked hard.

But still--tonight, I watched with my heart in my throat as this same wonderful program head tested him in the front of the dojo.  All the techniques.  All the self-defenses.  The form.  Not some watered-down version, no accommodation for the special-ed kid, but the real red stripe test.  With purely oral directions.  And he freaking NAILED it.  I was jumping up and down like a crazy lady and totally soggy-eyed in the hallway by the time that last stripe went on.      

His formal belt test is at the end of the month, and you can bet that I will be in that dojo cheering him on.    But as far as I'm concerned, he's already earned his new belt, and I am so proud of him that I could pop.  Thinking tonight of the three year-old who didn't understand a word anyone said to him and how he metamorphosed--one tiny, tiny step at a time--into the child who stood proud in the dojo tonight.