True Courage

Today was the Black Belt Spectacular. Chris participated in the Little Dragons Demo Team and of course he was great. But that wasn’t the moment that has stuck with me today. I participated in the Muay Thai Kickboxing Demo, something I’d been afraid to do. And I did pretty dang good. But that moment didn’t touch me. Miss Merrifield earned her 3rd degree black belt today after many years of hard work. But while fun to watch, that’s not what will stick with me. No, the memory engrained in my mind today is of a boy who couldn’t break his board.
I don’t know his name. I don’t recall what school he was from. But this boy had heart. If I remember right he was 10 years old, or maybe 11? And he stood in front of two hundred people like every other candidate. He was out there with instructors in the middle of the floor for his board break, the moment all the audience really looks forward to. They do them in groups, each moving at their own pace. I watched with enthusiasm, cheering as some candidates took a couple attempts to make their breaks, shouting for the students I knew. And then I started watching this boy down at my end of the room.
He was practicing for a kick-break. It wasn’t a jumping kick and it wasn’t a push kick, I don’t know the tai kwon do terms. It was close to a roundhouse but hitting with the ball of the foot. Anyway, he made his bow to signify he was going to attempt the break. He attempted. He failed. He tried again. No. And again. And again and again. The instructor adjusted the boards. He made a few more practice strokes. And bowed and tried again. And again. And again. By the third set of attempts he had tears streaming down his face. I watched as the instructor took the boy’s face in his hands and spoke to him, forehead to forehead. I know he was pumping him up. I’ve never heard a single negative thing from a Trans instructor in the 9 months we’ve attended. The boy pursed his lips and tried again. A woman sitting next to me yelled, “You can do it, sir!” as other candidates continued and most of the crowd remained unaware. And again. And again. One board was removed, down to one inch-thick board. And he tried again. The board was switched. And again. And again they switched the board, and again he tried.
I watched him as all this happened, and as the first tears fell I suddenly was overcome with an intense feeling of failure, embarrassment, worthlessness. Shame. Unworthiness. I knew I was feeling what this boy was feeling, it washed over him so strongly and lashed out. But ladies and gentlemen, here stands courage. Here stands a boy only in 6th or 7th grade. Here stands a child failing over and over and over before the eyes of 200 people and the masters of four schools. In the end before every candidate there. And here is courage because this boy did not quit. I can only imagine how hard it must have been, how much his foot must have stung at each failed attempt. But he didn’t turn away and he didn’t quit. He didn’t walk off the floor and he didn’t give up.
By the end of this spectacle, he was the last candidate on the floor. The audience was clapping a rhythm of encouragement, shouting praise to him. And he cried and looked defeated. Surrounded by two school masters and 3 instructors, that boy kept trying, and he DID break his board. And the entire place was filled with screams and shouts and cheers and applause all for that one child. And it broke my heart to watch him hurry off the floor with his eyes down, his face hidden in what must have been shame and embarrassment.
And you know, in the end it didn’t matter. He had passed his testing more than a week ago, all the candidates did. All this was just pageantry, a place for them to show off. A place for family and friends to take pictures.
Afterward I made a point of seeking him out. I congratulated him and told him “Good job on your board break.” He thanked me with a very half-hearted smile and his father (?) laughed. I hope he didn’t think I was making fun of him. Given the time I would have told him I thought he was one of the bravest kids I’d ever seen, certainly the bravest there that day. Good job, sir.