Tariq: or, day one volunteering to teach martial arts to inner-city kids.
For something more philosophical and profound check today's earlier post, but....I have to write this down because it's too important to me not to share.
I started my first day volunteering today. And for the most part it was fine. There was quite a motley little crew of kids, more than enough to keep me, the sensei, and the other senpai (Chris) occuped. And they were all really happy to be there, giggling in and bouncin' off the bus, tryin' on the stuff and falling right into stretches and the basics when we asked them to. There were even about 5 girls there, and it thrilled the hell out of me, 'cause I love to see girls involved in martial arts.
And then there was Tariq.
He's a skinny-ass little kid, kinda tall, with these fierce dark eyes and a sort of permanent-glare. Insta-badass. Walked in with his arms folded and a scowl on his face and his chin jutting out, and went to sit on a bench near the wall. I asked him to get dressed, and he said, "Fuck you, I ain't a part of this shit."
...he's all of ten.
I stared at him a second and then argued with him for fifteen minutes before I coaxed him into changing. Even then, he wouldn't do anything; he went and sat back on his bench, folding his arms. "I ain't doin' this fuckin' shit." And he would not budge.
I finally said, "If you don't want to do this, then why are you here?"
He said, "They made me pick somethin' to do after school 'cause my mom and dad ain't home. But I don't need to learn to fight because I got this." And he held up a switchblade he'd brought with him from fuck knows where and grins at me. Like, fuck you.
I said, "You're not supposed to have a weapon on you."
He said, "Fuck you, bitch," and punched me. If he'd actually landed where he'd aimed it I might not have been able to have children again. ...it was almost laughable - I've been studying martial arts for years and a punch from a ten-year-old cracks me up - if it weren't for the sheer hate in his eyes. He was one pissed-off kid.
The sensei saw the hit and came over. "I'm calling your mother."
Tariq shrugged his shoulders and said, "That's what I thought."
And I don't know why it bothered me so much. I was a troublemaker myself the first years of school, mostly because no one expected me to do anything worthwhile; I remember just waiting to be kicked out of places and things for doing something wrong, and believing I had to take on the world before I got hurt. And for some reason, the look in his eyes that said of course you're kickin me out, because I get kicked out of everywhere reminded me of....me.
So I said, "I'll make you a deal. You have a knife, right? You're pretty tough stuff. Come spare with me for fifteen minutes. You can bring your knife. If you can get just one hit in on me, not only can you go home, I'll pay for your bus fare and your dinner."
He laughed and said, "Aight, bitch."
Needless to say, he didn't get very far, and on his fourth time coming at me I kicked the switchblade out of his hand. I never had to so much as touch him; he was just throwing himself at me over and over again, this little tiny bundle of fury and upset. But finally, after the switchblade went flying, he sat down on the mat and looked up at me. "How the hell you do that?"
I sat down beside him. "A lot of practice, and it starts with what we're trying to teach you, here - if you actually want to learn it. But you have to learn other things, too - discipline, compassion, restraint, calm."
He sat there for a minute. "Alright."
And he got up and went and did his thing with the rest of the kids. As they were all waiting for the bus to leave, and I had gotten my stuff together to walk home, I heard footsteps coming up behind me. "Senpai! Hey senpai!"
Tariq. I said, "yeah?"
He said, "Can I come in extra days for special trainin'? I wanna learn."
It's only scheduled for three times a week, but I have some free time, so I shrugged and said that was fine, I'd be around if he wanted. Then - and this broke my heart - he walked away two steps before looking back. "Hey, are you as good at math as you are at this?"
I said, "It depends on the math."
He said, "I was wonderin', 'cause nobody helps me do my homework and I'm not any good at it."
I told him to bring it with him next time. ...I think I'm getting a soft spot for this stubborn little boy.
I started my first day volunteering today. And for the most part it was fine. There was quite a motley little crew of kids, more than enough to keep me, the sensei, and the other senpai (Chris) occuped. And they were all really happy to be there, giggling in and bouncin' off the bus, tryin' on the stuff and falling right into stretches and the basics when we asked them to. There were even about 5 girls there, and it thrilled the hell out of me, 'cause I love to see girls involved in martial arts.
And then there was Tariq.
He's a skinny-ass little kid, kinda tall, with these fierce dark eyes and a sort of permanent-glare. Insta-badass. Walked in with his arms folded and a scowl on his face and his chin jutting out, and went to sit on a bench near the wall. I asked him to get dressed, and he said, "Fuck you, I ain't a part of this shit."
...he's all of ten.
I stared at him a second and then argued with him for fifteen minutes before I coaxed him into changing. Even then, he wouldn't do anything; he went and sat back on his bench, folding his arms. "I ain't doin' this fuckin' shit." And he would not budge.
I finally said, "If you don't want to do this, then why are you here?"
He said, "They made me pick somethin' to do after school 'cause my mom and dad ain't home. But I don't need to learn to fight because I got this." And he held up a switchblade he'd brought with him from fuck knows where and grins at me. Like, fuck you.
I said, "You're not supposed to have a weapon on you."
He said, "Fuck you, bitch," and punched me. If he'd actually landed where he'd aimed it I might not have been able to have children again. ...it was almost laughable - I've been studying martial arts for years and a punch from a ten-year-old cracks me up - if it weren't for the sheer hate in his eyes. He was one pissed-off kid.
The sensei saw the hit and came over. "I'm calling your mother."
Tariq shrugged his shoulders and said, "That's what I thought."
And I don't know why it bothered me so much. I was a troublemaker myself the first years of school, mostly because no one expected me to do anything worthwhile; I remember just waiting to be kicked out of places and things for doing something wrong, and believing I had to take on the world before I got hurt. And for some reason, the look in his eyes that said of course you're kickin me out, because I get kicked out of everywhere reminded me of....me.
So I said, "I'll make you a deal. You have a knife, right? You're pretty tough stuff. Come spare with me for fifteen minutes. You can bring your knife. If you can get just one hit in on me, not only can you go home, I'll pay for your bus fare and your dinner."
He laughed and said, "Aight, bitch."
Needless to say, he didn't get very far, and on his fourth time coming at me I kicked the switchblade out of his hand. I never had to so much as touch him; he was just throwing himself at me over and over again, this little tiny bundle of fury and upset. But finally, after the switchblade went flying, he sat down on the mat and looked up at me. "How the hell you do that?"
I sat down beside him. "A lot of practice, and it starts with what we're trying to teach you, here - if you actually want to learn it. But you have to learn other things, too - discipline, compassion, restraint, calm."
He sat there for a minute. "Alright."
And he got up and went and did his thing with the rest of the kids. As they were all waiting for the bus to leave, and I had gotten my stuff together to walk home, I heard footsteps coming up behind me. "Senpai! Hey senpai!"
Tariq. I said, "yeah?"
He said, "Can I come in extra days for special trainin'? I wanna learn."
It's only scheduled for three times a week, but I have some free time, so I shrugged and said that was fine, I'd be around if he wanted. Then - and this broke my heart - he walked away two steps before looking back. "Hey, are you as good at math as you are at this?"
I said, "It depends on the math."
He said, "I was wonderin', 'cause nobody helps me do my homework and I'm not any good at it."
I told him to bring it with him next time. ...I think I'm getting a soft spot for this stubborn little boy.