I'm a black belt in Tae Kwon Do, you know. When I was a kid, my dad made me go, for years. I always had diarrhea before class. During my final test, I couldn't break the double wood with a flying kick over some bloke kneeling over some other bloke, but I still passed. He knew I didn't like it, but I was always afraid to tell him I hated it. He refused to let me quit. I broke my arm in there when I was eight and I still had to go back. They put steel plates in my arm and I thought I was going to be like Lex Lugar and be able to knock people out with his finishing move. I loved being in the hospital because my parents would bring me Chinese food. Edward James Olmos came to visit me and the kids in the hospital; we took a picture together, and he gave my dad an autograph. I was still wondering, Who the hell is Edward James Almost?
I never practiced. It was boring. I would splash water on my face, neck, and uniform at home when I was supposed to be practicing to fool him. He would pick me up to take me to class during work, and I would sneak back home and climb up into our balcony and hide there. One time, he saw I wasn't in class and he came home and caught me hiding in the balcony. I also broke my foot in there. I've never had time to use any kicks in a real fight.
I moved up different colors; I would always hide my belt when I walked to class past the Mexican kids down the street because they would make fun of me. But I still had to wear my uniform, and I would stuff my purple belt down my trousers. They all lived in the same courtyard in the poorer part of the street. In their group was a tough girl. I had a crush on her. She would make fun of me, too. She was real cute, and tall. She still is, cute I mean, when I think about seeing her. She had that curly hair full of hairspray and the tight jeans chola girls wear when they go to the mall to take those portraits in the blue clouds. I was afraid of her. One time she said she was going to kick my ass.
The best part about karate class was towards the end of class, when I knew there was only a couple, maybe five minutes left, and it wasn't so bad today. If I wasn't so busy dreading class before even going... One time, our teacher told us he was going to be on Jay Leno that night. His name was Ivan, but he was black. So I stayed up watching Leno and he never interviewed my teacher. I didn't realize he meant he was at Citywalk and the camera crew filmed him doing a spinning back kick by the fountains and they decided to include that footage in the opening credits montage. I had two days anxiety-free before—well, before having to take another shit before class.
Some of the kids told me my rival, Zorro—that was his name—had called me soft. He was right. He was husky, but like, built. His dad was old and short and bald and serious. His dad would often watch him in class. My dad was always busy working, thank god. I didn't like seeing Zorro's dad; he was so serious and boring. Maybe calling me soft was his dad's observation. I mean, what hell is tae kwon do? I couldn't even do the splits or somersaults. I saw these Asian kids in a tournament flying around the Civic Center. Now those were black belts.
I went to a tournament with my dad and I couldn't win the last match for a gold medal in my group; this kid kept running at me with nonstop punches the whole time and I couldn't even push him away. During the break, I kept apologizing to my dad because I knew I couldn't win and I know that makes him feel really bad. But then this other time, I went with a group to a tournament and I could only place third for something, but I had fun that day, and when I came home the crazy bastard threw my bronze medal out the balcony.
In one of the tournament matches, in between rounds, I heard the father of my opponent trying to psych his son up by convincing him that I was a girl. I wanted to turn around to him, because I could understand the language, and say, Hey, I'm not a girl! My dad wasn't there for that one, although I wish he was; that would have been quite the scene. After I broke my foot the second time, and we had moved, and I was older and listening to Nirvana, I didn't have to go anymore, and we stopped talking about it.
having to go to karate, boo!
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