Confluence. Stephen J. Gordon

see one man about forty, with neatly trimmed dark hair and dressed in a starched white dress shirt with blue pin stripes and gray pants. I knew him to be Charlie’s father, an attorney.

      When the katas were finished, Jon had all the students line up again in their rows. They were even more sopping wet than before, with hair frizzed, sweat saturating their T-shirts, and moisture running down their cheeks. The purple belts who had just finished their forms, including the red head I saw earlier, were trying to regain their breath.

      I addressed the group. “Looks great, ladies and gentlemen. Keep up the good work. But, just so you keep things in perspective, I want to show you something.” I paused. “Actually, I want Jon to show you something.”

      Jon quickly hustled over to me. “Yes, Sifu?”

      “Jon, I want you to do Kata Number One.” This was the first form students learned. It contained all the basics, and was a requirement for yellow belt. “I’ll just say go, okay?”

      He nodded and moved to the center of the room. The students made space for him.

      “Ready…” Jon bowed in response… “and GO.”

      With that, he launched into a series of blocks and kicks; he punched as he walked forward…then there were more blocks, kicks, turns, elbow strikes, and knife-hand strikes. Each movement was sharp, clear, and powerful. As Jon finished, he bowed once again and then stood still.

      “Nicely done,” I said to him. Then to the class, “That is a yellow belt form done by a black belt. Doesn’t look like the way you guys do it.” They laughed and I scanned the students from purple belt to white. “But there’s a reason for that. He’s got more than a few years’ practice on you…and thousands of more repetitions…and a bit of talent.” I saw Charlie watching me intently. “But you can all get there. Every one of you. Just keep up the good work. See you next time. Thank you.” I bowed to them, they bowed to me, and we dismissed.

      As the class headed to their gym bags lining a side wall, parents went over to their children while older students meandered out the door. Charlie walked to his father and I could see the latter asking questions. In response, the boy began demonstrating an outside middle block.

      Jon stepped over to me and we both moved further to the side. “So, Charlie hurt his ribs?” I asked, looking across to the young yellow belt and his parent.

      “Yeah. That’s my guess. But not working out here.”

      We watched as Charlie’s father descended into his own front stance while his son stood ready. They were about to do some one-step sparring. The dad must have had some training; he moved forward, throwing a punch as he walked. Charlie put up his block, but his father overpowered him and penetrated, hitting him in the ribs. The young student grimaced.

      “I’ve only seen the two of them do this sort of thing once or twice,” Jon said, “but my guess is they do it at home, too.”

      “I’m sure they do.”

      “And Charlie’s father doesn’t want him using arm pads.”

      “Oh?” That meant the boy was taking severe hits to his forearms.

      “I saw some bruises today.”

      That’s all I needed to hear. “Charlie,” I called across the room, waving him over.

      The boy looked at his father who nodded, and then ran across to us.

      “Yes, Sifu?”

      “Spot check. Jon is going to move forward to hit you straight on. Let me see your blocks.”

      The two students stood in front of me, one a black belt and one a yellow. Charlie, I knew, had to be nervous, but I didn’t care about that. His dad looked on from forty feet away.

      “I’ll count.” I paused as Jon moved into a front stance with his right hand pulled back on his hip, ready to walk forward and punch. Charlie stood with his hands clenched in fists in front of him and his knees slightly bent. “Okay, Jon, take it easy. Not full speed or power. I just want to see how Charlie moves.”

      Jon nodded.

      “And…one.”

      Jon moved forward. As Jon drove straight ahead, the younger student put up a middle block. I saw him wince as the edge of his forearm contacted Jon’s arm. Despite obvious pain, he made the block.

      “Other side, please.” The pair switched in order to punch and block with their other hands. “Go.”

      Jon moved forward again, but the yellow belt wasn’t quick enough and Jon’s fist caught him on the ribs to the right of his breastbone. Charlie flinched.

      “Are you okay?” I asked.

      “I’m fine,” he responded, but still wincing.

      As Charlie said this, I looked at his forearms. On the outside of each arm, from wrist to mid-arm, was a row of amorphous, dark purple blotches.

      “Do you have arm pads?” I asked, pointing to his bruises.

      He nodded.

      “Use them, please. Let your arms heal until you learn to position the block better. Block with the back of your wrist, not the edge of the bone. You won’t get hurt that way.” I held out my left arm, showing him the back of my wrist. “Now extend your right punch.”

      He extended his right arm. I let my left hand come around his extended punch, so that contact for me was on the back of my wrist, not on the edge of the bone. “Do you see what I mean?” I asked. “This way you won’t bruise your bone, and the block remains extremely effective. Got it?”

      Charlie nodded.

      “Good. I’ll tell your dad that you have to use your pads.” I didn’t raise the issue of his bruised ribs. That was for another time. The two of us crossed to where Charlie’s father stood waiting. I saw that he was my height, clean-shaven, with a round face and hard, clear blue eyes. I wondered if he was a litigator.

      “How’s he doing, Sensei?” the parent asked, using the Japanese version of my title.

      “He’s doing great, but he has to use arm pads until he learns the blocks better.”

      “I want to toughen him up.”

      I shook my head. “It’s not the way…not just yet.”

      “But to my way of thinking--”

      “No. Not a good idea.” I looked into his eyes and I could see he really wasn’t listening.

      “What about his tolerance to pain? I want to increase--”

      I just shook my head.

      “Okay. I guess we have a difference of opinion.”

      I let that pass. “More importantly, you shouldn’t be working with him.”

      He looked at me. “What do you mean?”

      “Let him do his partner work here.”

      This time there was no response from the dad. He just put his arm on his son’s shoulder, and said, “C’mon, Paco, the afternoon is still ahead of us. We have a lot to do and we have to pick up Grandma at 6:00 for dinner at Frere Jacques.” He looked at me again, and with that the two of them walked to the exit.

      I headed back across the room to Jon, and he met me halfway.

      “So?” he asked.

      “He’s still going to work with Charlie.”

      “Did you mention his ribs?”

      “No.”

      “What are you going to do? He can’t keep pounding him.”

      After thinking for a moment, I just looked at him. “I’ll figure something out.”

      We moved into my office.