The continuing tradition - or the pervasive smell of stale sweat

Because of my Dad's lifelong interest in karate, growing up I spent a lot of time at his various dojo through the years.  Either working out or hanging out.  There were the rented spaces at the YMCA that he would run after a long day being a Marine (I am not sure exactly what "being a Marine" entailed but I am sure it was super important!)  We were always surrounded by his karate students and friends - and all of them had nicknames.  I rarely knew anyone's real names - it was like I was surrounded by comic book characters and if I ever did find out there real names it was quite a letdown.  There was "The Wookie" in High Point who I think was really tall (I was only 7-ish so everyone was rated in the tall category to me) and convinced me that the reason he grew so tall was because he ate peanut shells.  So I would crack open peanuts, give them to the brothers and down the shells.  Thank goodness they were salted.  It's a wonder I didn't die that summer in my fervent devotion to grow. 

And then there was Atha Plaza in Hendersonville, NC.  There are only about 5 shops in this strip mall and Dad's dojo has been in about all of them.  I think Dad will stay in his current location as it is the last shop in the mall and he has nowhere else to go.  What is consistent in all of these various spots is the smell.  It is pretty indescribable, really, but you know it when you smell it.  It may not be pleasant but smells like home.  Well, only in the soulful sense - not literal.  I was so excited because this trip because my boy, who has joined a dojo here in the Seattle area,  is finally old enough to train with his Poppy.  So off we went for his first class.

I haven't been in the dojo for many years.  The last time I was here I knew just about everyone and they me.  This time I knew no one but many weirdly knew many details of my life.  Patsy was really sweet and made sure to be there to help with the very newest ones which would include Sean.  I was worried about how he would do since Dad takes kids no younger than 8 and Sean just turned 5 but he was amazing.  He worked so hard to get everything right.  He really paid attention.   But bless his heart, he didn't have the coordination for jumping jacks (legs and arms going every which way) and he couldn't understand why everyone kept calling his Poppy, Sensei.  Not being shy he made sure to correct one and all.  The kids there were amazing with him.  Introducing themselves and really being aware of his smaller size and abilities.  I was super impressed.

This is his first time holding the kicking bag for the blond kid.  He stood firm and really braced himself but still got kicked mostly to the wall.

Then it was his turn to do the kicking.

He then got to experience some "wrasslin'".  This green belt was reminded "emphatically" that this was Sensei Perry's grandson and to be careful but I don't think it mattered.  I suspect he would have been as good with him regardless.  Sean had a huge smile the entire time.

And he had strong enough character to let Sean feel what it was like to be on top also.

Some final words from Sensei Perry.  Sean thought his red belt was the "coolest"!

These smiles make my heart melt into a big puddle of butter (it's a southern thing - it must be butter.  Out here on the West Coast maybe a puddle of organic silken tofu? - locally grown, of course)