Day 169

Last night, Dad appeared in my dream. It was the first day of school, the first morning of homeschooling my son. He and I sat down at a table in a room I didn’t recognize. It was yellow, the table was oval, and the seats were off-white swivel chairs. I sat across from my son and pulled out the books we were going to use. As I was getting ready to introduce The Hobbit, Daddy walked into the room wearing his black “The Force Is Strong In My Family” shirt. He pulled out the seat next to my son, sat down, and said, “No kid should have to sit alone in school. He needs someone to study with.” And he proceeded to pick up a copy of the Hobbit so that my son would have someone other than me in his classroom. I woke up crying because I know, if Dad were alive, that’s exactly what he would do. He wouldn’t want my son to feel crushed by the prospect of sitting in school without friends. He might not have read the novel, but he would have faked it. And he would have a been good company for my son in the the other subjects. Oh how much fun that would have been. He would have make homeschooling fun for all of us.

Thirty-five years ago, my parents sent me to basketball camp for the first time. It was at a college up in the Bronx and it was only for a week, but I loved it. For the entire week, I did nothing but play basketball and eat ice cream at practically every meal. It was my first time away from home, my first experience eating in a cafeteria, the longest stretch I went without seeing my parents. But I called them every night. Back then I had dreams of playing ball professionally. I believed that hard work and dedication were all you needed to be successful. How wrong I was. That dream didn’t pan out, but at the time the future didn’t matter. I loved the drills, the games, the adrenaline, and I swallowed the lies that if I listened and didn’t give up, if I dedicated myself to the sport, opportunities would open up. They didn’t. But that’s in the past. I left sports in my youth. After I graduated college, that was it. My dreams of making a living as an athlete crumbled. Depressed, I walked away from the competition that fired me up, motivated me, made me happy. I simply wasn’t good enough. Needless say, I would have sworn my days of summer camp — sports camp especially — were unequivocally over. But the old adage, “Never say never,” proved quite accurate this morning. At forty-five years old, with a busted ankle, knees that don’t work as they once did, and bones that are starting to creak, I joined a bunch of kids (and a few other adults) in a half-day Zoom taekwondo camp. How could I not do the camp. I’m not working, therefore, I have the time. If my joints aren’t what the once were, my stamina can still run circles around most everyone else. And if I complete the camp — three hours a day for five days — I can test up a level. In short, I can accomplish in five days what usually takes ten weeks. As if camp wasn’t enough, I had an hour of my usual class this evening. Four hours, my body is laughing at me for thinking it could work as it did twenty-years ago. I only hope I can walk tomorrow. As for kicking…well, I might look a little like the TinMan. 

For camp I needed nunchucks. I don’t have any. My son does, but all his weapons are in New Jersey and we are in New York. I messaged my instructor in the midst of a panic attack last night asking what I could do. He responded, “It’s okay. Be creative.” And so I was. With a saw, a Swiss Army knife, a stick, my son’s plastic necklace, and duct tape (yes, you can do anything with duct tape) I made a crude pair of nunchucks. They don’t look pretty, but they’re functional and that’s all that matters.

Dad would have been happy that I’m doing the taekwondo camp. Back in November, when I told him I was going to enroll in my son’s school, he was excited for me. “It won’t be long until you want to compete too. I know you too well. A belt won’t be enough. You’ll want to win.” And he was right. However, I may be too old, but at least I’d be competing in a ring with other old people. Dad was looking forward to seeing me compete. I was looking forward to him watching. But alas, it wasn’t meant to be. But I hope Biden wins in November. It’s the only hope we have of this pandemic getting under control any time soon. And we — my son and I — need to get back to real taekwondo. In-person classes, conversations with classmates, and tournaments. 

Today, I also finished rereading The Hobbit (on my walk this morning because apparently 4 hours of taekwondo wasn’t enough exercise). It took awhile because I had to take note of the important parts and jot down discussion questions. But now I’m all set for my first unit in literature for the semester. I only hope my son enjoys it as much as I think he would if he didn’t have to read it for “school.”