My Red Belt

One day last week I had an MRI and another day last week I tested for my red belt in karate. I began taking karate with my children about two years before my surgery. It was a fun activity to do with my kids, and it occupied my mind as I was going through my divorce. I was also able to express my violent side without actually hurting anyone. The guys I worked with in the class always feared me when I was in an “I hate men” mood.

I was a blue belt at the time of my surgery, which meant that I had passed four levels’ worth of techniques. As I passed each level, I was promoted to a different color belt. I had mastered almost half of the techniques required to earn my black belt.

Now, with my limited capabilities, I’m considering reaching for the ultimate karate goal: my black belt. When my karate teacher first told me that he wanted me to work towards my black belt, I thought, “Come on. How can a disabled freak like me earn a black belt?” Earning a black belt is akin to having a set of knowledge and the ability to perform a series of moves. If I can do the moves, even with modification, Sensei Lee will award me a black belt. The label “disabled” doesn’t, and will never, apply to me. Everyone is disabled in some way. How many people can kick a field goal? How many people can perform a perfect triple Salchow on the ice? Someone who can’t perform these feats is unable, or disabled. Everyone is disabled in some way.

My red belt test went smoothly. Pat, my close friend and karate partner, is a mild-mannered and gentle person-outside of the Dojo! She doesn’t “baby” me because of my condition and we’ve both gotten bruises from our work-outs.