Grand Master Rod

Learning my limits was always a hard thing for me. I can remember all the way back to my youngest days how I'd always figured that "oh, that's easy. Anyone can do that. Here, let me show you." Famous last words. Amongst the many misadventures of my youth, one stays with me as a true testament to the very real difference between what a boy can do and what a boy thinks he can do. Then there are those things that people believe a boy thinks he can do that he shouldn't even try.

My life as a child was a long stretching streak of darkness infrequently interrupted by blips of happiness. A running history of abandonment alongside a hefty serving of physical and mental abuse had molded a tough and often bullish boy.

One of the few good things that my dysfunctional parents had given me was Tang-Soo-Do lessons under three-time world champion kickboxer, Eddie Mapula. Tang-Soo-Do is in a category of martial arts that is known commonly as "hard style." This meant that a lot of my training included punching, blocking, kicking, spinning, and "flying." Now, I know what you're thinking. I must rock at martial arts. Well, here's something for you to keep in mind during this story. First of all, I was only ten years old when I learned Tang-Soo-Do. Secondly, my training only lasted one short year.

Some years after I had quit, an accomplished Aikido practitioner compassionately taught me a very different form of martial arts. I'll save that story for another time.

The years traveled onward. During my fourteenth year of age, my whole world had changed. I found myself in a whirlwind as a newly adopted ward of the state. Although the cycle of my abuse was now behind me, abandonment was a hard sentiment to shake. The state of California had shuffled me through a seemingly endless line of foster homes, group homes, and temporary shelters. By the age of seventeen, I finally landed on the best that the state had to offer me. It was a probation home crowded with four other children amongst whom I was the only one that was not on probation for some form of criminal offense.

Toby's home was not a family setting for us second class citizens. We ate at the other table while she and her "real" family ate at the "real family" table. We had hot dogs while they ate steak. But none of this bothered me, at least not on the surface. It was "three hots and a cot" as some would call it.

Everything that brought me to that point in my life had left me with an irresistible desire to be accepted. Although I was an outcast, I longed to shed that skin with everything I had. Being a well-read individual, it wasn't hard for me to fit in with the intellectuals. Being a brawler gained me respect with the bully crowd. I had a deep baritone voice which gave me a seat on the high-school choir and awarded me with a place on the music and arts scene. I was charismatic, intelligent, and for the first time in my life, accepted. So it was that two of my good friends and I set out on an episode that changed my life.

---

You know those awesome commercials you see on television enticing you to come and visit beautiful California with its tall and green trees and beautiful sunny beaches where everyone runs around mostly naked laughing and smiling with everyone else? Well, in the summer of 1989, Santee was not in that part. Oh, it was in sunny California alright. It was scorching hot sunny.

Summers in Santee were no joke. Admittedly, I prefer a dry heat to a humid heat any day. Just the same, Santee's wicked summer blazes sat pretty high on the top five list of "things no one likes about Santee." Perhaps another season would have been a better one to pick for my grand opening of "Grand Master Rod's school of Rod-Kwan-Do." But, hey, there's never a better time than the present.

We were sitting around in the living room as we always did when the heat had beaten out the desire to bike under the sinister sun. Our conversation surrounded the topic of martial arts.

"So, you're like a Karate master or something, right?" Eric smirked at me. His words betrayed a half-belief that I, of course, accepted as an open challenge.

"Well, when you've been practicing for the many years that I have, a certain level of mastery does develop." I challenged him back with my seemingly reasonable response. I knew I was pulling a fast one. Sure, I had practiced. I had practiced a lot. But what I practiced was only a fraction of what I should have learned.

"So what belt do you have." That was a softball question. He had made it too easy for me to tell the truth while simultaneously lying my butt off.

I looked down with my eyes while keeping my face looking ahead as I confirmed that the belt I was currently wearing was, indeed, black. "I couldn't obtain mastery if it wasn't black, duh."

"You know, I've always wanted to learn Karate." Eric lifted the cold water to his lips.

"Really, what do you want to know?" There was that deep desire for acceptance kicking in.

"Well, Karate. Pretty much." We both laughed. "You know, in the year that I've known you, I've never actually seen you do any Karate."

"Really? We'll have to remedy that. You know I used to teach the stuff, right." Okay, I admit, I was lying. That was a bold-faced lie. But when you spend so much time honing your ability to hide your true self from the world, "bold face" was a natural state of being.

Shawn was my foster brother and had been sitting next to me on the couch facing the back glass door. He leaned forward when I noticed the smile on his face. "You? Teaching Karate? I would love to see that." Alright, I was developing a two man dojo.

Like most bright ideas, my mind quickly translated my thoughts into excited spoken words. "Dude, let's go out back. I'll show you some."

Eric replied. "What, you mean right now?"

Toby's voice came from the back of the room near the fireplace. She was seated in her easy chair where she had become a semi-permanent fixture. I often joked that she was the all-seeing eye. "You boys ain't gonna do nothing stupid out there in the back 40." The back forty was the nickname we had given to the early American style overgrowth that Toby referred to as the back yard. Forty was the number of yards her back yard occupied.

"No ma'am," I replied.

"That was me tellin' ya, stupid. That wasn't no question." The way she spoke often bewildered me. Toby was an enigma. She had to be at least seventy years old. She often regaled us with her tales of living in Britain during World War II. As an English woman, it would often surprise people to hear her talk. She spoke like someone who came straight out of a western. Even more amazing was that she hadn't died from emphysema. She was a chain smoker which was evidenced by the layer of haze that clung to the air just below the ceiling and the penetrating smell of cloves throughout the house. Still, nothing got past her steely eyes ... nothing.

Eric, Shawn, and I got up and took our leave. Exiting through the back door was not unlike entering a blast furnace. It wasn't until I felt the outside heat that I respected the air conditioning inside. Now to the task at hand.

"Okay. So first, a little demonstration." I grabbed Eric by the shoulders and moved him over to a place where the sun wasn't beaming directly into my eyes. Being five inches taller than him gave me a distinctive advantage.

"I don't know, man. Are you sure you know what you're doing?" I could see Eric's eyes widening.

Without a response, I swiftly stepped into a stance. I turned my torso, spinning my head until he was in view as my stance shifted with enough energy to take to the air. Torso and legs spun with the momentum as I unleashed my kick into an arch that flew over him. I was proud of him. He flinched and winced, but he didn't move into the danger zone.

I landed gracefully and spun back into a sturdy forward stance. A quick second of silence passed before Eric hooted while Shawn clapped.

Taking a bow, I felt that I had won the confidence of my new students. It was time to begin their training. "Okay. I'm going to start you guys off easy. Before we can begin, I need to know what your relative strengths and weaknesses are." I felt like a master already. Actually, I felt like one part master, two parts charlatan. But all that mattered, was that they accepted me as a master.

"Okay. I'm going to construct a kind of, obstacle course. Nothing crazy." After that, I began to give orders. We spent a good half an hour putting together the ricketiest, rot infested, wood debris obstacle course you could possibly imagine. It was exactly the kind of hazard zone your parents would ground for if you even thought of playing in it. As my "students" plucked "breaking boards" from the debris that was scattered across the wild growing yellow grass, I inspected each piece. Like I knew one termite infested wood from another. Still, I looked with intensity at each one in order to give the impression that I had any idea of what I was doing.

I couldn't believe these guys were falling for it. This was gonna be great, especially since neither one of them had any frame of reference with which to judge me. Before long we were done. Odd pieces of debris and wood were held in place by flimsy architecture and an amazing defiance of the known laws of physics. At the time, it was "Grand Masta Rod's Obstacle Course of Discipline." I, of course, was Grand Masta Rod.

Shawn was ever the consummate doubter. "This looks like a pile of crap stacked on top of a pile of crap."

After giving him the evil eye, I returned my gaze to the tetanus-waiting-to-happen course of pain before me. "I would never expect a student to enter into a course like this without first watching a demonstration from me."

With that, I took my bow. Breathing deeply, I prepared for execution. A succession of weak and splintered boards cracked and broke apart at the fury of my "master's fist." The construction and poorly placed, fragile wood only added to the masterful display of my awesome power.

It wasn't long before I had arrived at the final challenge. I remembered this board. It stood apart from the others. Thick and sturdy, it was a solid beam. Before moving into the final challenge, I turned to address the class. "You will not have to do this. A board of this strength is too much for you right now." I turned back to face the last standing obstacle. I had to give the guys a good show, being an awesome Karate master and all. I proceeded into series of strange finger structures that I formed out of my hands. Breathing deeply with each newly invented design of the hand, I pretended to focus. Boy, I must have looked like a total tool.

It was time. I reached back, my torso twisted slightly to give me that "whip" momentum. With thunderous fury, I sent my hand crashing down. As flesh met with wood I let out a deep and resounding roar known as a "kiai". Bitter pain jolted my very bones. My forearm was set ablaze with fiery sensations of agony which quickly focused into a single point. I could feel the sweat intensify as sick nausea took hold. I was beginning to feel faint, but I knew I had to keep it together. Looking down, I sadly discovered that the wood below me was completely unaffected by my fast flying punch. It mocked me with its stillness. I lifted my hand to try again, despite the intense pain I was feeling.

My hand felt heavy as I lifted it. It wasn't until my hand was raised to eye level that I realized that the board had remained attached to it. Out of reflex, I shook my hand. But the board followed it everywhere. It was then that the onslaught of thoughts rushed through my mind. "Holy crap, I can't let Toby find out. What will these guys think now? How can I hide it? Will my jaw lock and force me to eat through a straw?" I was so panicked by the sight of it that I hadn't heard my two students, my supposed friends, laughing their butts off at me.

After all of my posturing, after all of my pathetic pursuit of acceptance, this, of all things, was going to be my downfall. While still laughing, Shawn came over and grabbed the board with both hands. Without speaking to each other, we each pulled as the nail was yanked free from the meat of my hand. It was then that I realized how much blood was oozing down my arm and into the sleeve of my shirt. I was wearing black. Thank goodness, I was wearing all black.

My two friends were continuing to find amusement in my miscalculation. Eric asked. "How are you gonna get out of this one?"

"Okay, I'm going to tuck my hand into my pocket and try to make it to the bathroom. My pants are black, so the blood shouldn't be obvious." Whoah, the world was really spinning now. With my hand in my pocket, I began down my path through enemy territory. I'm not sure if it was my ghost white complexion, my inability to walk in a straight line, or the fact that I was stuttering like an idiot, but it didn't take much for Toby to realize that I had not heeded her command. I indeed did something stupid.

---

That was a humbling day for me. After spending the rest of my evening getting a tetanus shot and being grounded during a lengthy lecture, I reflected on my experience. For just one day, I was the master. I was completely accepted. Surrounded by those that believed me. Then in an instant of overreaching and a severe desire to continue the illusion, I brought it all down.

After all that I had done, after all of my shenanigans and tom-foolery, beneath the lies and the self-projection, a real person was exposed. I was naked for those in my world to see. I was humiliated and disgusted with myself. They had been witness to the man behind the curtain. I was sure that, once the word got out that Rod was a phony, my world would come crashing down. Like my parents and all of the foster homes and everything I ever dared to get close to, I was sure they would all leave me to suffer the darkness alone, once again.

In the weeks that followed, however, I made some startling discoveries. My friends laughed about the whole thing, sure. But they were still my friends. They didn't disown me. In fact, in a strange way, the experience brought us closer together. I took some ribbing from the folks at school, but it was fleeting and my world did go on. Through the grace of God, I was spared the darkness and a new light was lit before me.

My wounds have since healed. My life has carried on. But from that moment forward, I made a pact with myself. I would let the chips fall where they may. The world ahead of me would know the real me. It has been so much easier, living the truth since then, instead of inventing the person I wanted people to accept. Though the physical scar has vanished, I have learned to embrace the things that I can do and to respect the things that I cannot, no matter how much I wish to think that I can. And for the things that a boy shouldn't even try? I wouldn't have this story to tell if I hadn't.