Our four and a half year old had been taking Tae Kwon Do, more to burn off his energy than for him to become a Karate Geek. You know the type, right? My uncle was, and is, a Tae Kwon Do Master, so I'm not ignorant about the benefits for anyone who undertakes the practice of this Korean Martial Arts. My son, we noticed after a month, made it a point to practice kicks, punches, and this strange twirling thing he did everywhere. And I mean everywhere. His obsessive--there is that word again--practice reminded me of my equally obsessive practice of grand jetes and pirouettes around my family room. I am not the usual parent that thinks anything my child does is perfect, and that he is headed for a destiny of brilliance. I think he is interesting, and will undoubtedly have a life like everyone else, full of promise where the realities set in much too quickly. This is probably taken from the Korean parenting book where you can't express too much pride in your offspring's talents, accomplishments, almost to the point of being pathological about it. For instance, if your son was Yo Yo Ma, and people gushed to you about what a prodigious talent he is, well, it is your duty to make sure you point out some shortcoming of his like he suffers from Halitosis or he's short. You can imagine how lovely all of this was for me as a child to hear my mom point out to others that my prettiness came at a cost of thousands in orthodontic bills.
His Tia kept telling me how good our child was in the class. I didn't discount her comments, but I chalked it up the rantings of an extremely proud Tia. So, you can imagine my dismay when I was told he would be testing for the yellow belt. OK. He's four and a half. I thought the teacher was being typically Korean in his ambitions. But since it seemed his entire class was testing, I signed him up. We told him he was testing, thinking he wouldn't really understand what all of this might mean. We did notice that his practicing took on new fevered concentration.
The morning of the test arrived with him announcing he had a tummy ache, and therefore couldn't take the test. This alarmed me just a bit, not because he was really sick, but because it signaled something far more troubling...performance anxiety and all that that implies. After so many years on the couch, I could only guess why my young child was already displaying such anxieties at the, oh so young, age of four. I mean, so what if he didn't pass, right? Which is what I asked him, trying to point out that the worst that could happen is what? He didn't pass. But that he could retake the test later, perhaps in a few months time when he would be five--this new age having taken on mythic proportions of the things he would be able to do, if not, master when he turned this number. Somehow he seemed to absorb what I said and the morning passed without any more mention of his tummy ache, or any other ache, for that matter.
His Tia and I dressed him into his uniform. Well, let's be honest, his Tia dressed him into the uniform. When she's around, I am relegated to background Mother. It is a funny thing that happens when she's here. So, his two Moms took him to the school, both of us just a bit anxious for him. The teacher, Master Lee, then assigned each child to his/her spot to take them through the test. Let me stress how I thought this test was merely an exercise for the kids to show their parents how well they do a few moves. But no, they are Korean, after all. Master Lee took the kids, most aged four to eight, through their entire repertoire of moves, and combinations.
My son, who was doing everything well enough, got just a bit confused walking backward while kicking. But really, I would have gotten a bit confused, what with all these adults watching, and the hawkish eyes of the Master's seated at the table up front. All of a sudden, my child burst into tears. When his Master asked what was wrong, he said he was sad. I, of course, rushed up to see if he had hurt himself, but instead realized he was crying from the stress of having to be PERFECT! He said, "I didn't go backwards well enough," or something in that vein. Can you imagine how the world stopped for me, at this moment? My mind flashed forward to his life where this need to be PERFECT would be the shackles around his ankles, driving him witless as he tries to tackle this terrible affliction, as well, as the task at hand. Yes, if there are afflictions to have, this might not be the most terrible. I have a friend, for instance, who, I like to say to others, suffers from the affliction to always be Right. Now, this is bad enough, but she also suffers from the affliction where she has to make sure the other person or persons knows she has been right. You can just imagine how many friends she has in her life. Oh, and she has absolutely no sense of humor about herself and her quirks. Yep, just a delight at cocktail parties, I'm telling you.
I sat with my son, trying to console him enough to finish this damn test. See, I knew that if he didn't finish, this failure with a capital F, would be something that he would think about for a long time. This much I realized since he is, unfortunately, more like me than I cared to admit. He did get up to finish the test. His little face scrunched up in ferocious fighting mode. I, unlike most of the other parents, found all of the kids spastic kicks and punches funny. Not cute funny, but just outright funny. I mean, come on. They are kids, some not so coordinated. I had to hide my face through most of the tortuously long test, trying to hide my unsympathetic mirth. I know, terrible, really. Sometimes I wonder why or who convinced me I could be a mother.
It's amazing how your child manifests all these qualities that may have haunted you, or worse, tortured you. There is something humbling to see your own ills in 3-D in this three foot person. I guess all I can do is try and convince him through his life, oh what a long life this will be, that the process, itself, is much more important than the end result. And that perfection is much too elusive, therefore the effort is all that matters. I said I would try, but I know how all of these rationales worked out for me, the women who suffers from so many afflictions to warrant an entire psychiatric ward named after her.
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