Post by Ken Corbett on Nov 9, 2006 11:02:19 GMT -5
I remember the day my father told me that he was a martial artist.
It happened when I finally gathered enough confidence to tell him I'd been studying karate myself for six weeks already.
He shook his head and solemnly warned me, “You keep that up, you’re bound to get hurt.”
The he leaned back and shared his martial arts experience with me.
“When I joined the army at the beginning of World War II, I was told to sign up for hand-to-hand combat and self-defense training the very next day.
"I showed up for class the next morning with a group of seven or eight other raw recruits. Some might have already been there for a while, but I knew that at least a couple of us hadn’t been there before at all.
"The instructor was a gentleman of average height. He gathered all of us around him in a circle. Since time was short, he decided to give a quick demonstration of various take-down techniques, throws and submission holds.
"I guess he chose me for his demonstration partner because I was the biggest man there that morning. I didn’t mind the first few times I was forced to the floor, but after a while, he began to show us how to inflict pain.
"He had me bent over backwards and began bending my fingers and arms against the bones. He’d tell me to tap if it hurt, but he wouldn’t let me up when I did, and started laughing. He did this a few more times, a little longer each time.
"Well at last, I couldn’t take it any longer, and I broke out of his hold and cracked him with everything I had on the jaw. He never showed up for class again.”
Slowly, Dad made a fist with his right hand. With his left index finger, he touched his knuckle where his long finger met the back of his hand.
“I broke my big knuckle on that man’s jaw, and it’s still swollen today. But it doesn’t hurt. I haven’t been in a fist fight since.”
Zen Ken
It happened when I finally gathered enough confidence to tell him I'd been studying karate myself for six weeks already.
He shook his head and solemnly warned me, “You keep that up, you’re bound to get hurt.”
The he leaned back and shared his martial arts experience with me.
“When I joined the army at the beginning of World War II, I was told to sign up for hand-to-hand combat and self-defense training the very next day.
"I showed up for class the next morning with a group of seven or eight other raw recruits. Some might have already been there for a while, but I knew that at least a couple of us hadn’t been there before at all.
"The instructor was a gentleman of average height. He gathered all of us around him in a circle. Since time was short, he decided to give a quick demonstration of various take-down techniques, throws and submission holds.
"I guess he chose me for his demonstration partner because I was the biggest man there that morning. I didn’t mind the first few times I was forced to the floor, but after a while, he began to show us how to inflict pain.
"He had me bent over backwards and began bending my fingers and arms against the bones. He’d tell me to tap if it hurt, but he wouldn’t let me up when I did, and started laughing. He did this a few more times, a little longer each time.
"Well at last, I couldn’t take it any longer, and I broke out of his hold and cracked him with everything I had on the jaw. He never showed up for class again.”
Slowly, Dad made a fist with his right hand. With his left index finger, he touched his knuckle where his long finger met the back of his hand.
“I broke my big knuckle on that man’s jaw, and it’s still swollen today. But it doesn’t hurt. I haven’t been in a fist fight since.”
Zen Ken
