Indiana

Dear Dad,

Last night, I had a dream about you. I was home and G3 and I were in the middle of a homeschool lesson. He was angry about something I asked him to do — the details are a blur — and we started to fight. Before it could escalate, before I could get really angry, you showed up. Suddenly, out of nowhere, you walked into my study and told me to go take a walk, that you would take over. I didn’t argue, I didn’t even think it was strange, I simply grabbed a book and stormed out the door. 

Next thing I knew, I ran into my son’s Taekwondo instructor. We were in a park I didn’t recognize. But I headed over to him because I needed to ask him a question. I said hello, and we started to talk, but then he wandered away from me — as I was mid-sentence, though I’ve no recollection about what I was saying — and I saw him in the distance, standing at the window of a food truck. 

Then, the setting shifted and I was standing at the edge of a body of water. It looked like an inlet, and across the way were apartment buildings, the water lapping against them. The water was a dark black instead of blue, and the current was strong. None of it was familiar — not the beach nor the buildings. G3 was beside me (why he was suddenly there I’ve no idea) and he asked, “How are we going to get back to Grandpa?” I took a deep breath and said, “We’ll swim.” We were fully clothed in long plants and a sweat shirts. It was obvious swimming was not something we intended to do. But my son didn’t object, he dove into the water first. I followed. The water felt neither warm nor cold. Strangely, it didn’t even feel wet. But we couldn’t advance. The current was too strong. It kept pushing us back. We swan as hard as we could, but each stroke failed to advance us. Then a wave came and knocked us back onto the shore. I was getting frustrated because we needed to get across. I needed to get back to you. We needed to find you before the day ended. But as I dove back into the water I woke up.

Yes, I know what that dream means. It’s easy enough to interpret. I desperately wish that I could call you up because I really need your advice. But I can’t get to you because you’re dead. The black sea is obviously death. No matter how hard I try, I can’t traverse it. As for why I need your advice, well, for that I should back up a bit.

This weekend was teacher convention in New Jersey, which means schools had a four day weekend. Teacher Convention would mean nothing to you. You’d know it as, the weekend I always came out to rake leaves. Yep, this weekend was the weekend I always drove out to Mattituck. I’d arrive early on Thursday morning (or sometimes on Friday, depending on G3’s activities) and after breakfast, we’d get started on the leaves. We’d spend hours raking them up the old fashioned way because I hated the noisy leaf blower and refused to used it. But I didn’t mind the labor. I found calming and peaceful. After every day, you’d write the number of bags we filled on the calendar. And we always filled at least sixty, usually more. 

But Mom sold the house, so for the first time in more than a decade I wouldn’t be driving out to Mattituck. Someone else would be cleaning up the leaves. Someone else would be eating breakfast at our table and sleeping in my bed. I knew if I stayed home, I’d spend the weekend crying. Silly, right. Who in their right mind misses manual labor. But it wasn’t just the cleaning up, it was you and house — too much missing. 

I told Kati I couldn’t stay in New Jersey this weekend. I’d be too depressed. She understood. I recommended that we go camping. She looked at me like I was nuts. November would be a bit cold — for her. However, she looked on the ATA Taekwondo tournament schedule and saw that there was a tournament out in Indiana. Yep, that’s perfectly normal, to drive twenty-four hours round trip over three days just so G3 could compete. But there were no leaves. Or rather, there was no house — no you. So I laughed, declared that she was absolutely insane — especially since she never lets me take a turn at the wheel — and then I packed.

Disappointingly, G3 did not place. He did very well, considering it was his first time (in a competitive ring) doing the second degree form, but not well enough to impress the judges. I don’t know enough to know exactly what the boys who placed did better. They were perhaps a bit more powerful, and they ran through their forms at a slightly faster tempo, but I couldn’t distinguish any of the other minute detail the judges might have observed. As for his weapon form, he did that as beautifully as he has in the last few tournaments, but the judges didn’t like it. G3’s oh-sung-do form is slower, more fluid, and more graceful than the nunchucks and the staff. The boys who did the nunchucks seemed to beat the crap out of themselves with them, but they were fast, and that impressed the judges. One man told me that the corner judges are supposed to look only at the power. That in the ring, the competitors are supposed to demonstrate the ferocity of a fight. That ran counter to what G3’s instructor had taught him. And sure enough, later that night, when I googled the rules, the criteria for which judges are supposed to score a weapon’s form, power was not on the list. As for sparring, G3 didn’t advance to the final rounds. He was crushed. It’s been a long time since he participated in a tournament and didn’t place.

However, the trip out west was valuable. We all learned from the experience, and we returned home with questions for G3 to take to his instructor. One: How can he alter his weapons form — without altering his grace and fluidity — so that he can be a competitor in rings with judges looking for power? Two: How can he improve in sparring when he doesn’t have anyone — in his age group — that is better than him to practice with? His sparring instructor is wonderful — he’s extremely knowledgeable and the drills he makes the kids do are fantastic. But is that enough? To be better, doesn’t G3 need to practice with others who are at the same level as the boys he competes against?

And this is where I wish I could speak with you. We are at a crossroads and I want your advice. I know you were always regretful that things didn’t work out differently for me in terms of athletics. (And I was always too sad and disappointed to want to talk about it, but now I do.) If you could have gone back in time, would you have done anything differently? And if so, what would you have changed? Driving home, I told Kati that I wanted to talk to you and she asked me what I’d thought you’d say. I guessed as to what your advice would be, but by the time we stopped at a hotel and I was falling asleep, I was second guessing it. And that’s when I had the dream.

As for G3, he’s still disappointed, but his disappointment is hardening into determination. He’s only been doing his form for a two months, there is a great deal he can tweak, and with the help of his instructors he’s eager to do whatever it takes to make it as perfect as possible. Next time he meets those boys in the ring, he doesn’t want to walk away without a medal. And I guess that’s the most valuable lesson of all, getting up when you’re down, and putting yourself back out there.

I miss you!