Jordie Guasch
Pd. 4
Her Father’s Fire
I was never good at sports. I couldn’t dribble a basketball, couldn’t keep the soccer ball from going all over the field, and couldn’t hit the tennis ball back to the other player. The only games I was half-decent at in elementary school were softball and contact sports like football. I really dreaded some PE days back in elementary school. This was because I knew that at the end of the class I knew my face would be red from embarrassment. I could never be the athletic kid; I would always be sitting in the sidelines. Gosh, did that feeling suck.
I was about 8 years old when my Dad tried teaching my younger sister Jeanine and I how to do fight. Dad wanted my younger sister and I to take up the martial art that he most dearly loved; Taekwondo. It is a martial art that originated in Korea, and it means, “The Art of the Foot and Fist.” My older sister Janielle, who was 16 at the time, had started up Taekwondo when she was 6 and won various medals to show for her hard work under my Dad’s wing. Now, he wanted to do the same for my sister and me. We didn’t pick up the martial art too well, and eventually we gave up. Looking back, I know my Dad was disappointed. He loved Taekwondo so much; it was his driving force as a teenager and it shaped him into the man he is today.
I was about 8 years old when my Dad tried teaching my younger sister Jeanine and I how to do fight. Dad wanted my younger sister and I to take up the martial art that he most dearly loved; Taekwondo. It is a martial art that originated in Korea, and it means, “The Art of the Foot and Fist.” My older sister Janielle, who was 16 at the time, had started up Taekwondo when she was 6 and won various medals to show for her hard work under my Dad’s wing. Now, he wanted to do the same for my sister and me. We didn’t pick up the martial art too well, and eventually we gave up. Looking back, I know my Dad was disappointed. He loved Taekwondo so much; it was his driving force as a teenager and it shaped him into the man he is today.
I decided after a couple months into my freshman year of high school that I wanted to better myself. Knowing very well that I am not very good at group sports, I decided I wanted to take a martial art. I confided this to my parents and I told them that I wanted to take up Taekwondo. The light in my Dad’s eyes, the excitement in his voice makes me proud. We researched a couple local Taekwondo gyms and found one that wasn’t too out of the way; the Oahu Taekwondo Center. The gym was located in Aiea, right next to the elementary school.
I remember walking through the doors with my Dad on a Friday night in a white panda t-shirt, brown shorts, and feeling so out of place. My Dad breathed in the smell of sweat and feet as I could literally feel his memories coming back to him. He hadn’t done any Taekwondo since we moved to Hawaii since he’d been busy with putting food on the table for us. So, we sat down on the floor, and watched the students spar. I could tell you, I was amazed at the speed of some of these kids. They were all around my age, which was awesome too. I remember I kept thinking; if they can do it, so can I. I left the gym with my Dad with a new zest for life. There were so many things I could achieve, now.
I came back the following Tuesday, as that is when the adult classes are, dressed in shorts and a shirt. But, my Dad figured he’d buy my uniform already. The moment we stepped into the gym was the turning point; there was no looking back now. The teachers kept me aside with some of the new white-belts as well, and I remember how frustrated and embarrassed I was because I couldn’t contort my body enough to kick the pad correctly. When I left the gym a second time, I urged my Dad to teach me how to correctly kick something. But he’d somehow managed to injure himself while doing the kicking drills, so all of the teaching would have to be through my Dad telling me verbally what I was supposed to do.
I progressed fine with my Dad's guidance. My Dad had gotten his black belt at 19, and started Taekwondo at 15. I wanted to get my final belt within the same time frame as he did. I remember studying like crazy for my first belt test. There was a verbal exam on some of the basics of Taekwondo like what some of the Korean terms used in class meant, how to count to 10 in Korean, where Taekwondo’s origins, and how to address the teachers. There was also a physical test that included doing the basic kicks—low kick, axe kick, front kick, and forms—4 rotational kicks and 4 rotational blocks. My Dad drilled me through that and more. He taught me how to do my first Taeguk form; Taeguk being a detailed pattern of defense-and-attack motions and techniques used in traditional martial arts. It was a long and arduous process, but I practiced when I had enough space to get it right. I had to make my Dad proud.
I remember walking through the doors with my Dad on a Friday night in a white panda t-shirt, brown shorts, and feeling so out of place. My Dad breathed in the smell of sweat and feet as I could literally feel his memories coming back to him. He hadn’t done any Taekwondo since we moved to Hawaii since he’d been busy with putting food on the table for us. So, we sat down on the floor, and watched the students spar. I could tell you, I was amazed at the speed of some of these kids. They were all around my age, which was awesome too. I remember I kept thinking; if they can do it, so can I. I left the gym with my Dad with a new zest for life. There were so many things I could achieve, now.
I came back the following Tuesday, as that is when the adult classes are, dressed in shorts and a shirt. But, my Dad figured he’d buy my uniform already. The moment we stepped into the gym was the turning point; there was no looking back now. The teachers kept me aside with some of the new white-belts as well, and I remember how frustrated and embarrassed I was because I couldn’t contort my body enough to kick the pad correctly. When I left the gym a second time, I urged my Dad to teach me how to correctly kick something. But he’d somehow managed to injure himself while doing the kicking drills, so all of the teaching would have to be through my Dad telling me verbally what I was supposed to do.
I progressed fine with my Dad's guidance. My Dad had gotten his black belt at 19, and started Taekwondo at 15. I wanted to get my final belt within the same time frame as he did. I remember studying like crazy for my first belt test. There was a verbal exam on some of the basics of Taekwondo like what some of the Korean terms used in class meant, how to count to 10 in Korean, where Taekwondo’s origins, and how to address the teachers. There was also a physical test that included doing the basic kicks—low kick, axe kick, front kick, and forms—4 rotational kicks and 4 rotational blocks. My Dad drilled me through that and more. He taught me how to do my first Taeguk form; Taeguk being a detailed pattern of defense-and-attack motions and techniques used in traditional martial arts. It was a long and arduous process, but I practiced when I had enough space to get it right. I had to make my Dad proud.
The testing day rolled around faster than my father and I expected. I remember walking into the gym, breaking into a nervous sweat already. My class started their usual warm ups—running, jumping, stretching. I was pulled away when we got to the stretching section to practice one last time before my test with 3 orange belts. They were testing with me at the same time, which, I thought was fine; the less spotlight on me the better. I looked up every now and then onto the balcony where my Dad was sitting. He was watching me with that manic smile on his face; he was excited. I bit my lip to stifle my laughter as I bowed before the master and began my test.
Hana, dul, set, net, ta-sat, yah-sot, e-gup, ya-dail, ah-hop, yol.
One to 10 in Korean. I remembered messing up halfway when I was counting but I caught myself and continued on without making a big deal out of it. The rest of the test progressed fine; I had done my kicks fine, and my form was nice and clean. I’d been dreading my board break; I didn’t know if I had enough ‘kick’ in my kick to snap the board in half. The orange belts did their kicks first; they had to do an axe kick. An axe kick is when you raise your leg up as high as it can go, and you force your heel down--similar to a guillotine dropping down on a board. Two of the three orange belts broke the board on the first try, but the last orange belt took 6 tries to break the board. I started getting nervous: what if I couldn’t break my board?
My master came up to me last with the board in hand. He put it on the ground next to his feet, held up his hand, and told me to do a practice kick at his hand. I managed to sneak a glance in the direction of my Dad before I did the jump kick. I hit his hand gently; I didn’t want to break his hand! I hit my small, soft target and he placed the board where his hand previously was at an angel. I stared the board down for a moment and kicked it. I heard a snap, and something scratchy rubbing against the top of my foot. I looked, and saw that my foot had gone through the board and now the soft splinters were scraping me. I squeaked and retracted my foot as I heard the studio fill with clapping.
I beamed towards my Dad. If his manic smile could possibly get any bigger, it just did. I bowed to my teacher and he handed me my two pieces of board. I stared down at the board as I headed towards the stairs to give it to my Dad. I had reached an obstacle in my life and broke through it. I held out my board to my Dad and he hugged me as he shook the camera he used to record my test. My Dad looked like he’d cry out in joy, but he knew better. The celebration would have to wait until after class because when I walked out of the doors, I felt like I could take on the world.
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