![]() Chapter 11A Chapter by Brian BThere
was a blinding pain in his right eye, and George released his clinch on his
opponent to push him away. After backing a few steps away, George gingerly
touched his eye with his fingers and checked to see if there was any bleeding.
He didn’t see any, but he couldn’t see much of anything since his eye was
screaming in pain. George glared at his opponent, a well-built kid about his
age with nice hair, who shrugged. It was as if to say “This is a fight, and we agreed to no rules”.
George hated the smirk on his face. The
Krav Maga instructor had been fighting dirty like he didn’t know any other way.
George remembered what the guy had boasted before they began their challenge
match: “Krav is made for serious, no-nonsense self-defense. It’s not made for
fighting with rules.” Hector then agreed that the match would only have one rule,
and that was that there would be no weapons. George wasn’t surprised by the
decision, the two of them had known this would be the only way to convince the
Krav school to agree to the challenge match. “I
actually have a lot of respect for Krav Maga,” Hector had said to him the day
before. “I just hate how these guys claim their art is the best and yet they
never test it in competition. I mean, sure, those Israeli commandos prove
they’re tough but they’ve got guns and knives, don’t they? And they’re soldiers
with way more training. I want these civilian Krav guys to show me that their
stuff works.” Hector
told George that Krav Maga was the fighting style developed by some Jews during
the Holocaust, a primarily striking art that focused on speed and explosiveness
to win. It had even picked up some grappling moves along the way. And, George
was learning, it focused heavily on fighting with no restrictions. Ignoring
the pain in his eye, George lunged forward, looking for the takedown. He
remembered from his last attempt, before he’d been thumbed in the eye, he’d
been solidly kicked in the groin, taking the momentum from his takedown attempt
and forcing him to clinch with the guy instead. As it had turned out, the guy
knew his way around the clinch, and had battered George’s head until George had
finally adjusted his clinch to take the power from the guy’s punches. When he
did, the guy went for his eye. George
knew what would happen as he shot in this time. Just as he thought, the leg
shot up towards his groin as he approached, but George knew it was coming.
George neither was able nor wanted to avoid the kick completely, so he exhaled
sharply and folded over the leg, taking the shot to his stomach and keeping it
there. It hurt, but George paid it no heed. He’d got what he’d aimed for! George
clutched the leg to his chest and rotated his body, dragging the swearing Krav
instructor to the ground. The
Krav instructor, to his credit, went to his back and tried to trap George
between his knees. It was nothing George had not expected, however, and he’d
quickly passed the man’s legs and soon had his knee on the young man’s stomach.
The pressure of his body weight focused into the small area of his knee made
his opponent gasp. George
nearly missed the hand as it shot straight for his groin. Is that the only part
of the body these guys like to hit, he thought to himself. So many martial
artists seemed to think this was a weakness of Jiu-jitsu fighters. George
pinned the hand to the ground with his own and slid his knee to the other side
of the man’s chest. Now in the mount position, George laid forward so that his
chest pressed his opponent’s face into the floor. With his whole body laying
flat on top of him, George would have liked to see him try to reach for his
groin again. The Krav instructor, seeming to know his predicament, didn’t go
for it. George
took his time working the shoulder lock. His opponent didn’t bite him, as
George suspected he would try, probably because he knew George would elbow him
in the face if he tried. As he bucked and thrashed, contorting himself into
strange, bent shapes in an attempt to get George off of him, George simply
locked the pinned wrist into the simple figure-four hold and cranked the elbow
up. The sound of the Krav instructor’s hand slapping the floor echoed through
the large training room. Ten
minutes later George and Hector were walking outside to Hector’s truck. They
were untying their belts and loosening their gi tops embroidered with the
monstrous oni on the sleeves.
Hector casually handed several hundred dollar bills to his friend, and the two
of them climbed into the truck and started the forty-five minute drive back to
their homes in Vacaville. The sun was setting. George
shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He tried shifting weight off of his sore
groin. “Why is it every place we go to that says they’re a street-based martial
art seems to base their entire strategy around punching me in the nads?” he
demanded. Hector
chuckled. “I think they expect you to bend over and fall down, you know, like
in the movies.” “I
did fall down,” Hector reminded him, “I just took him down with me.” They
laughed and recounted their favorite moments of the match that day. George
pulled his gi top from where he had laid it in the back and examined it. Hector
handed him a small circular patch. “They have a cool-looking one,” he said,” George
took the patch and looked for a place for it on his gi top. There were five
other patches there, each one taken from each martial arts establishment they’d
challenged and beaten. George had fought all their fights, and he was very
proud of his collection of victories sewn into the cloth of his gi. He kept his
gi carefully hidden when he was back in his apartment above the academy, and so
he cherished the little moments when he could take it out and admire it. It was
like his own personal coat-of-many-colors. And his favorite decoration on that
gi was still his own, the oni mask
above the words “DEMONIC MARTIAL ARTS”. He wished he had more logos to make. He
decided then he would try to do his own version of the Brotherhood Jiu-jitsu
logo. The snake eating its own tail was beginning to grow on him. “Too
bad we can’t challenge Ricardo,” said Hector. “That would be a cool patch to
put on there.” “What
are you talking about?” asked George. “Why would you want to? I mean, we’re out
here proving Jiu-jitsu is the best, why try to match Jiu-jitsu versus Jiu-jitsu?” “No,”
Hector corrected him, “We’re out here proving we’re the best. This isn’t about Jiu-jitsu.” “It
was for me,” said George. “At least it was when we started.” “Yeah,
but we’re past that now. We’re not in this to prove one style is better than
another. We’re doing this to prove you’re a great fighter. Remember?” Hector
had been looking at George, and when his eyes focused on the road again he
immediately swerved to keep himself from going off the road. “Sorry. I’m just
saying it would be cool to have that notch on our belts. He’s still seen as a
legend. And he kind of sees himself that way.” “Really?”
asked George. “I never got that from him.” “Oh,
come on. That whole family honor and my father’s legacy crap? He plays it up.
There’s not really anything wrong with it, don’t get me wrong. He’s a business
man. I’d do it too. I’m just saying there’s also nothing wrong with wanting
that kind of victory, you know what I mean? I mean, to beat Ricardo or one of
his black belts? That would label you as a ‘Gracia Slayer’, you know what I mean?” George
shrugged. “It kinda seems lame, though. Fighting your own dojo. I don’t think
I’d want to do that, even if I thought I could win.” “We
could start our own dojo. Our own academy,” said Hector. “That would be cool.” George
nodded. He thought having your own dojo would be pretty amazing. “My
birthday’s coming up next month,” said George. “Well,
we’d better make it a good one.” It
was getting dark when George stepped out of Hector’s truck. He waved and walked
to the front doors of the academy and took his keys from his bag. To his
surprise, the door moved at his touch, before he even put in the key. He pulled
the handle, and the door opened freely. Had he left it unlocked when he’d left
earlier that afternoon? George
took his eyes off the door and looked behind him into the parking lot. Hector’s
truck was gone, but he saw another vehicle he recognized. He hadn’t noticed
Ricardo’s SUV under the shade of a tree when he arrived, but he could see it
now. When he looked back inside the academy he could barely make out the
outline of a man leaning out of the office door. It was Ricardo waving his hand
for George to come inside. George
quickly looked at the gi top in his hands. One that he’d never shown Ricardo,
since it was evidence that he’d been breaking his rules. He quickly turned it
inside out, hiding the patches taken from the defeated martial arts schools. He
took a deep breath and opened the door. When
George reached Ricardo’s office, Ricardo was sitting at his desk reading
domething on his computer. He had his glasses on, something George didn’t see
very often. “George,
good to see you. Didn’t mean to startle you. I just have some insurance
information to go through. You wouldn’t believe the sorts of things you have to
worry about when you run a school where people are encouraged to fight each
other.” Ricardo removed his glasses and looked at George. His look turned to
puzzlement. “George, why are you still wearing your gi?” George
had trained earlier that morning, and he’d worn one of his four normal gis. Though
his oni gi was white, like the
others, it was a different cut and texture. George hoped Ricardo wouldn’t
notice the difference, especially since he was about to lie. “I,
uh, I actually went to hang out with a friend right after class and I didn’t
take the time to change,” he said. He hated the way the lie made his guts
twist. He didn’t like this at all. Ricardo
nodded, tapping his teeth with the frame of his glasses. Finally he said, “With
Hector?” George nodded, wondering if Ricardo guessed he’d been with his friend
for the reason he was fearing. “That’s not very sanitary to keep wearing your
gi like that after you train. It needs to be aired out and washed as soon as
possible. And you need to shower right afterwards, too. You don’t want to
develop a skin infection.” George
nodded, tightening his grip on his gi top. “I will. You’re right.” He just
wanted to get back to his room and stow it away. But
Ricardo seemed to be in the mood to talk. “How’s Summer?” he asked. “Good,”
George answered. In fact, things were great with his girlfriend, and George
would have normally said more, but it didn’t occur to him in his desperation to
get to his room. Ricardo
stopped fiddling with his glasses and put them on his desk. His hand reached,
impulsively, George thought, for the framed photo of his father. He began to
rub the warn frame with his thumb, though he didn’t look at it. “Your
father still coming to visit for Christmas?” he asked. “Yeah.
He’s got the tickets and everything.” “Good,
good.” Ricardo looked down at the frame in his hands and seemed to be surprised
it was there. He placed it back on his desk and smiled at George. “I can’t wait
to see him. Well, I’ve still got a lot to do here, and I’m sure you’ve got
things you want to do.” He
sure did. “I’ll
see you later,” Ricardo said with warmth. “See
you.” The words had barely left his mouth before he’d turned and walked away.
George took the stairs two steps at a time and burst through his apartment door
and threw himself on his bed. Then he jumped off his bed and stripped off his oni gi and stowed it away in its bag
under the bed. He resolved to wash it later when Ricardo had gone home. Again
George threw himself on his bed, sighing with relief. He thought he’d been
holding his breath through his whole conversation with Ricardo. He didn’t know
exactly what might happen if Ricardo found out he’d been competing behind his
back, but he was certain he never wanted to find out. George
sat up and started massaging the muscles in his forearm, where his skin had
begun to feel like it was crawling. George
pushed a dust mop down the hallway. He’d worked a little over thirty hours that
week, more than he normally did. The school was empty now that school had let
out for the holidays, and George was looking forward to having a few weeks
break from work. He was also grateful the students were gone already. It was
strange for George to see them walking and talking and eating and going from
class to class, perhaps because he was the same age as many of the seniors and
still had so much in common with them. He even saw a few boys that reminded him
of himself a little, but at the same time he couldn’t help but feel he was
worlds away from these kids whose entire world was made up of going to school,
a few extracurricular activities and their friends. George
was past that now, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that this new life he was
in was harder somehow. It wasn’t so much that people expected so much more of
him now than they did when he was in school. It was that so many people
expected different things from him, and he couldn’t satisfy everyone. In school
it had been easy. Get reasonable grades, don’t break the law, and listen to
your parents (within reason) and everyone was pretty pleased with you. But now
it was so different. Hector wanted one thing for George, and Ricardo wanted
another. He couldn’t please them both, and the consequences for disappointing
either of them felt dire. George
stowed the dust mop in its place in the janitor’s closet and removed the small,
cheaply made badge from where it was clipped to his work shirt. He found the
outdated computer where he clocked in and out and logged his hours for the day. Pablo
had been nice enough to let George borrow his car to drive to the airport. It
was a little more than an hour’s drive to Oakland, which seemed to George like
an eternity. Fifteen minutes into his drive he decided he needed company and
called Summer. Though his arm began to cramp from holding the phone to his ear
for so long, it helped to pass the time to hear her laugh and talk and fuss at
him. “Okay,
I’m pulling up to the parking garage now. I should probably let you go,” he
said. “I
know,” she said. “Have fun with your dad! And don’t worry. I know he’ll be
proud of you. You’ve done some cool things since you came to Vacaville.” George
rolled his eyes. “Somehow I don’t think he’ll be satisfied until I’m in college
or something.” “I
doubt it,” she disagreed. “I don’t think you going to college has anything to
do with him being satisfied with you. I think he’s just like my parents. He
wants you to be so much better off than he was.” George
still suspected a handful of lectures on plans and ambition before his dad
finally flew back home. In fact, George was so convinced his father would be
disappointed with his son that he had a hard time imagining what else the two
of them would talk about. George
took a minute to knead the tingling feeling out of his forearms before he
switched off the car and went into the terminal. “Look
at you!” Ignacio said as he wrapped his arms around George. “You look huge. You
look like you’re really bulking up.” He grabbed George’s chin and turned his
face from side to side, like he was appraising him. “No cauliflower ear. You’re
lucky to have such beautiful, delicate ears for how much grappling you do.” George
laughed. It was good to see his old man after all. He’d kept himself so busy
with training and life that he’d forgotten how much he’d missed his old man. He’d
called him about once a week since he’d been in California, but there seemed to
be so much less to say when he wasn’t with him looking him in the eye and
feeling his hand on his shoulder. He hugged him again before the two of them
walked towards the huge, buzzing baggage claim. George
hardly felt the ride back to Vacaville. It seemed so short with his father
there to talk to him. Ignacio filled his son in on things happening back home.
Things the neighbors had done. People who’d been asking about George. George’s
friends who’d stopped by to pass along messages to him or ask when he was
returning to Williamsburg. So much seemed to have changed since he’d left, and
at the same time everything sounded exactly the same. George
also noticed how old his father looked. He’d never before noticed his father’s
thinning hair or the wrinkles forming on his forehead and neck. He decided that
his father and Ricardo seemed to age in the same way, and their relation became
more apparent as the two of them got older. They looked even more alike now
than in the photo of them as young men George had seen hanging on Ricardo’s
office wall. George
pulled the car into the driveway in front of Ricardo’s home. Before the two of
them were all the way out of the vehicle, the front door opened and Ricardo
came out to greet them, his arms open to embrace the favorite cousin he hadn’t
seen in years. George
hadn’t seen so much enthusiastic greeting and meeting since he himself had
first shown up at Ricardo’s house. The two men were full of memories to share
with each other, and Ricardo’s wife seemed to have been cooking all day by the
sheer volume of food she kept wheeling out of the kitchen on a small cart and
placing in front of everyone. “What
is this?” asked Ignacio, his mouth full of food. “Tuna
steak,” answered Ricardo. “This
is tuna?” Ignacio said as he made a show of delighting in another bite. “Oh,
it’s been so long since I’ve eaten a meal like this. Especially since the boy
left home and I’ve been cooking for myself.” “Well,
you need a woman in the house. If you like I’ve got a friend I can introduce
you to,” chimed in Ricardo’s wife. “Speaking
of which,” Pablo interrupted, “has this little stag told you about his own
little ‘friend’? George, have you told your dad about Summer?” George
laughed and argued that he hadn’t told his father nothing, though everyone in
the room agreed that saying you’re talking to a girl is not the same as saying
you’re going steady with her. The
evening seemed to ride on a wave of merriment and fond memories, and George
didn’t want it to end for a long time. Ignacio
had the guest room in Ricardo’s home to call his own for the week. George took
the time to go with his father to good restaurants, movie theaters, and the
Brotherhood Jiu-jitsu Academy. Ignacio sat in one of the many chairs that sat
at the edge of the blue matting and watched his son train, the expression on
his face both interested and proud. George
also showed his father his apartment above the academy, which George had the
good sense to clean before his father had arrived. He’d even vacuumed the
carpet. “Wow,
son. You’re living the bachelor’s dream,” Ignacio said as his eyes took in the
studio apartment. “You seem to have a few new toys.” George’s
room had transformed from the empty, simple space he’d moved into that summer.
A 42 inch LCD television hung from the wall opposite the bed. Hector had helped
him install it. There was also an Xbox, a Blu-ray player and a new backpack in
the corner where George kept his oni
gi. The room seemed decorated by new, if not expensive, products. “Yeah,
well, a friend of mine gave them to me for a good price. He said a lot of them
fell off the back of a truck.” Ignacio’s
gaze snapped to George, his expression alarmed and furious. “What did you say?”
he demanded. George
laughed, and a moment later his father’s face softened as he shook his head in
disbelief. “Don’t do that to me, son,” he said. “I
couldn’t help it,” George gasped between fits of laughter. “I just wanted to
see the expression on your face!” He then reassured his father that he’d bought
all of it from the store himself. “I
thought you were only working part time at the school,” Ignacio said. “I
am, but I do a few little things on the side with a friend,” answered George,
wiping away a tear. “And don’t worry, it’s legal.” Ignacio took another look around the room at
his son’s belongings, his expression unreadable. A moment later they left. Ignacio
slumped into a chair in Ricardo’s office. It was the first time during
Ignacio’s vacation that the two of them had been alone. Ignacio seemed tired as
he slouched in the chair, his eyes scanning the many photographs on the wall.
Ricardo came in with two bottles of cola in his hands. He handed one to his
cousin. “You
can still find them in the glass bottles?” Ignacio asked, tracing a pattern in
the bottles condensation with his finger. He twisted the cap off and took an
ice cold sip. “Yeah,
well, I always like to keep a few bottles around for nice occasions. Do you
remember, Nacho?” Ignacio
nodded. “Sitting between the sheets on your mother’s clotheslines. Drinking
these and talking about everything. Our plans.” “Who
knew it would be this way, right?” asked Ricardo as he took another sip. “Who
knew?” Ignacio repeated. Then he changed the subject. “How is my son?” Ricardo
shrugged. “I can’t say I’ve been able to help him as much as we’ve been
hoping,” he answered. “I thought by teaching him Jiu-jitsu he’d get the urge to
fight out of his system. Keep it suppressed enough to let him realize he’s got
to have more in his life than just this. That’s why I had him live in the
academy. I hoped he’d get tired of it. But he hasn’t yet. I’m sorry.” “It’s
not your fault, Ricardo,” said Ignacio. His eyes were fixed on one photo in
particular. Two young men, one a boxer, the other a Jiu-jitsu fighter, both of
them facing each other with their fists up. Smiling. “Which one of us do you
think he’ll be like? You or me?” Ricardo
shook his head. “I don’t think he’ll be like either of us. I don’t think he’ll
make our mistakes.” “How
can you be so sure?” Ignacio asked. “Because
he’s got us.” They
were quiet for a few minutes. Both of them were deep in thought. It was Ignacio
who broke the silence first. “Have
you seen his room?” “You
mean the TV and electronics and stuff?” “Yeah.”
Ignacio drained the last of his cola. “How do you think he got that much money?
He’s just a janitor, right?” Ricardo
shrugged. “He does have a friend. One of my students, a little older than him.
They run around together. Maybe it has something to do with him. But I
seriously doubt he’s been doing anything illegal, Nacho. George is a good boy.
He’s sensitive.” “Any
idea where the money’s coming from?” Ignacio asked. Ricardo
shook his head for a second but stopped. “I might have an idea. If it is what I
think it is, I’ll put an end to it. And I think I know how to do it. There’s
been something George has been wanting from me. I think if I give it to him it
might help things.” “Whatever
you think,” said Ignacio. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do. Seeing all
that stuff, you know. I want my son to have nice things, like any father. But I
know he’s not saving his money for anything. Whether he’s coming by all that
cash illegally or not, he’s blowing all of it.” Ignacio tossed his bottle in a
small waste bin in the corner. He looked at his cousin. “You
have sons. You’ve been through all this. Do you think I’m doing this wrong?” Ricardo
shook his head again. “One day your son is going to ask you the same thing
about his kid because you’ve been through it before, and you’re going to
realize you still don’t know. You just do your best and hope good things
happen. And remember, we’re not talking about a bad kid here. George is a
really good kid. We’re just trying to make him better.” Christmas
was the most fun in George’s memory. It was not that Christmas had been
unimportant to him and his father, but it was usually a quiet day for the two
of them, since Ignacio and George lived far away from any living family. George
suspected it would have been very different if his mother had not died. The
Gracia family, with many relatives in Southern California, made the holiday a
big affair with many visitors, decorations, and childhood stories. “And
my brothers told me they’d found where my parents had hidden our presents,”
recounted Ricardo. “They led me to an old shed my father used for tools.” Pablo,
having heard the story before, was beside himself with laughter. So were his
older brothers. George was sure his father had heard this one, too. In fact, he
was sure this story was being told solely for his benefit. “They
said I was the only one light enough to climb the shelves without breaking
them, and so I did. When I got to the top shelf, all I found was an enormous
wasp’s nest. Before I could get away, my brothers slammed the door shut and
tied it with a piece of chain. Then they started beating on the shed with
sticks, upsetting the wasps. My mother heard my howling and let me out. By the
time she was done with my brothers, they looked just as swollen and hurt as I
did!” Mrs.
Gracia brought out a tray of cookies, and her sons and husband fell on them
like a hoard, Christmas being one of the few times they allowed themselves to
indulge in sweets. George took a few for himself, wondering what it might have
been like to have a mother at Christmas time. Would she have baked cookies like
this? He liked to think so. And he liked spending Christmas this way. From the
look on his father’s face, he was enjoying it all as much as he was. Maybe even
more. The
Gracia family tradition was like that of the Peligro family, to open gifts on
Christmas eve. Ricardo produced a camera from somewhere and started snapping
away. Also like George’s father, the Gracias were generous in their gift
giving. Ignacio
opened a card from Ricardo’s wife. “This is a picture of a woman,” he said,
confused. “Her
number is on the back. And she’s a wonderful cook,” she suggested. The
room broke into laughter while Ricardo’s wife questioned what was so funny and
Ignacio hung his head in mock shame. “Okay,
okay. George is next,” announced Ricardo. The laughter died down as Pablo and
Ricardo carefully brought out a large, rectangular present that was wrapped in
red and gold paper. As soon as it was in front of George, Pablo also gave him a
smaller wrapped present. “This one first,” he instructed him. George
tore away the paper and found a neat stack of packaged pencils and pens on top
of a heavy pad of paper. “I
see you drawing a lot. I thought you could do better than lined paper or the
sheets you steal from the office copier,” said Pablo. George
grinned from ear to ear. “Thanks. This is really cool.” In truth he’d really
had wanted to keep drawing, maybe try to get better at it, though for what he
couldn’t say. Since he’d designed the oni
gi, he wondered what other things he could come up with. T-shirts, maybe? “This
one is from me and Ariana,” said Ricardo, holding hands with his wife. “We
think you’ll like it.” George
grabbed the paper and pulled, and found that the paper wasn’t wrapped around a
box, but a wire cage. It reminded him of a bird cage, and it was full of
plant-like perches and plastic foliage. Clinging to one of the perches was a
small animal, smaller than a squirrel, with large, dark eyes and black stripes
that started on its face and went down its body, which ended in a bushy tail.
It was quiet and still, but it didn’t appear to be afraid of him. Another creature
of the same type poked its head out of a small, ball-shaped bauble that seemed
to serve as a sort of hanging nest. George had no idea what they were, though
he couldn’t deny they were unbelievably cute animals. “What
is it?” he asked. “It’s
a sugar glider,” said Mrs. Gracia. “Kind of like a flying squirrel. We figured
you might get lonely up there in your apartment so we decided you needed a pet or
two.” As
the evening wore on, George became fascinated by the small creatures and
increasingly more fond of them. They seemed to come to life the later the hour,
and he guessed their big eyes meant they were nocturnal. Just like me, he
thought. He soon saw why they were called sugar gliders. One of the creatures,
the one snuggling in the ball-like nest, jumped and glided from one end of the
cage to the other. Though it was a short distance, it was enough for George to
see the thin webbing of skin connecting the short legs that seemed to turn the
pet into a living kite. Once he’d learned to tell the animals apart by the markings
on their heads, he decided to name them Shinobi and Shuriken, words from ninja
lore he’d learned from comics and late-night cartoons. They just seemed right. It
was a few days later before Ignacio gave his son his own gift. “I didn’t want
to give it to you in front of the others,” he told George. “I didn’t want there
to be any pressure.” The
two of them were parked next to the airport terminals. George had been so
caught up in the euphoria of the holidays he hadn’t even realized his father
hadn’t actually given him a gift. He’d received so many, including the sugar
gliders, the art supplies, some clothing and even a new MMA video game from
Hector. But the thought of a present his father might think would put pressure
on him worried George. “What is it?” he asked, bracing for some awkward thing. “I
have money put away. I’ve been saving. For you to pick a college.” When George
sighed the equivalent of rolling his eyes, Ignacio held up his hands. “Hear me
out. I’d been saving this money for a while. For years. It’s enough to get you
through a little schooling. I won’t tell you what to do. I won’t tell you which
college to pick or what to study. I won’t even tell you when to start. But it’s
important to me that you do something. If you try out a semester of school and
you don’t want to do any more, you can spend the rest of the money any way you
like. I just want you to try it.” George’s
grip on the steering wheel tightened. He felt tremendously uncomfortable. “Dad,
I wish you wouldn’t think I was lazy.” “I
know you’re not lazy, son,” his father corrected him. “I’ve seen how you can
throw yourself into things and work hard at stuff you really care about. Look
at your Jiu-jitsu! Ricardo tells me you’re progressing faster than any student
he’s ever had. You’re achieving in months what most of his students took years
to do. That’s because you’ve been training almost every day. Sometimes twice in
a day. Because you care about Jiu-jitsu. But your entire plan for your life
cannot just be to train Jiu-jitsu.” In
truth, George had not even thought about turning Jiu-jitsu into his livelihood.
He’d simply been training, not thinking any farther ahead than his next class
or his next challenge match with Hector. Come to think of it, Hector had
mentioned something about starting a dojo. “Why
not?” George asked. “I could teach. I could run an academy. Why can’t I do
that?” Ignacio
sighed and seemed to be searching for the right words. “Because you can’t rely
on your hobbies to pay for everything, George. Very few people can make a
living teaching martial arts.” “Ricardo
does.” “But
Ricardo is a legend. He’s been on television. He has a brand and products and t-shirts
with his name on them. And his family started Elite. You don’t have that,
George. Ricardo is an exception to the rule. You are not. And even if you were,
I wouldn’t want you to.” George,
by this point, was frustrated. He wasn’t used to hearing his father express so
little faith in him, and it bothered him. Was it so hard to believe that George
could become a great professional fighter? Didn’t his father just say how
highly Ricardo regarded him? Why wouldn’t his father want him to teach Jiu-jitsu? “Why
not?” he asked aloud. “Because
it would be a waste of your potential,” he answered. “Because as good as you
are at Jiu-jitsu, you’re better at other things. And because you owe it to
someone to make something of yourself.” “Who?”
George asked incredulously. “I owe it to who? Myself?” George could not believe
his father would try to sway him with such a childish notion. Who was to say
what George owed himself? Didn’t he get a say in that. “Not
yourself,” Ignacio said, shaking his head. “You owe it to your mother. And you
owe it to me.” George’s
angry thoughts ground to a halt. He was shocked at the clarity of his father’s
answer, like someone who’d just been shown something large and obvious he’d
never noticed was in front of his face. “You
owe it to your mother and I to be successful and happy.” Ignacio leaned to his
son and kissed him on the forehead. “I love you, George. I hope you’ll trust
your mother and I on this.” With
that he said goodbye to his son and walked to the terminal. George watched him
go, a lump developing in his throat. He couldn’t say that he wanted to continue
the conversation with his father. In fact, he couldn’t think of anything to say
in his own defense. The matter was closed, and the point was made. George knew
it. But he didn’t necessarily want his father to leave. He could have done with
his company for a little while longer. He
began the long ride back to Vacaville alone. © 2013 Brian B |
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Added on January 22, 2013 Last Updated on January 22, 2013 Author![]() Brian BIDAboutI'm 28 years old and an English teacher. Besides reading and writing, I'm big into fighting. I love martial arts, MMA, self defense, and all that stuff. There's a lot of other stuff I like, like comic.. more..Writing
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