Tuesday, August 24, 2010

Highest Rank

Tonight was the first time I've ever been the highest rank in a Taekwondo class. I've been second highest before, but never highest. For those who don't know, the highest rank lines up first (furthest to the right) in the first row and is responsible for saying the necessary words to bow everyone in and begin and end class. This involves knowing (and in my case remembering) some key Korean words/phrases: cha-ryuht (attention); geuk gi hyang kyung-nae (bow to the flags); sabumnim kyung-nae (bow to the Master); kahm sa hamnida (thank you).

More than the words, though, being the highest rank comes with a responsibility I didn't anticipate. Everyone is looking to you for an example of, well...everything. How to pronounce the words, how to behave while Master White is speaking or instructing, how to move your body in the right way. I realized as we were warming up, and I was going through the same warm up exercises I have done for three years now, that the white belts at the back of the room only know me as a black belt. They didn't see me progress; they weren't there while I struggled at the back of the room, trying to figure out how to turn my hips so I could execute a good round kick. They only know me as the highest rank, one who's supposed to be experienced and polished. And while I'm sure they don't expect me to be perfect (or maybe they do -- did I expect the black belts to know everything back then?), they certainly look to me as an example of how to do things properly.

When I think about it like that, it all seems pretty crazy -- I mean, I'm no expert. I may be a black belt, and sure it took lots of training and hard work to get there, but I have so much to learn. Becoming a black belt is really just the beginning. I hardly feel capable of teaching, and yet, here I am doing exactly that. And people are calling me "Ma'am," and that's weird too.

Theoretically, none of this affects my performance. I still give 100%. But somehow that 100% seems more focused, more aware of details in my stances and kicks, and less willing to slack off when things get tough. At the end of class, as we bow out, we all say kahm sa hamnida to each other (Master White included). We say "thank you" for teaching us, and he says "thank you" for being my students. And now I know why.

Thursday, August 5, 2010

The Better Mouse Trap

Lately I've realized I have a mouse problem in my house. Oddly enough, real mice are not as cute as they seem in nursery rhymes. I have two traps for them, and so far I've caught a mouse a day (does that have the same effect as an apple a day?). Luckily for me, Indy has been willing to help.

Each morning we have a ritual: I check the traps, usually find a long, rigid tail sticking out above two petrified little feet, and I pick up the trap and head outside to release the carcass. Indy follows, more than willing to help me find a good dumping spot. The trick is, I have to throw the mouse over our fence far enough that Indy can't retrieve it and adopt it as her new toy -- like any healthy dog, she has quite the taste for the delicacy of rodent carcass (and bird carcass and fish carcass and...you get the picture).

On Monday of this week, I failed. I threw the mouse over the fence and headed back inside, quickly realizing Indy was not with me. I looked back just in time to catch Indy rooting her nose under the fence just far enough to snatch the tail and rescue the dead rodent. She then pranced around the yard with the limp body in her mouth, looking at me as if to say, "Mom, look at my new bitch!" Then she broke into a run -- a zoom, actually -- in repeated ovals around the tree in the center of the yard, stopping only briefly to give the mouse a good wrenching back and forth. Eventually she gently dropped the dead body in the hole she's been digging in the yard, preparing to give it a proper burial (and not, I'm sure, planning to dig it up again later), at which point I ran over to that spot and guarded the mouse while yelling at Indy to stay away. This upset her greatly, and she barked back at me like any good teenager.

Then I realized the difficulty of my new mission: somehow guard the mouse from Indy, while simultaneously corralling Indy back into the house and discovering a way of picking the mouse up and throwing it back over the fence without touching it. In the end I used two sticks to pick up the carcass chop-stick style (which was difficult, as I can't even use real chop sticks), chased Indy back into the house, and shut the door so she couldn't see the mouse's final resting place (far into the woods on the other side of our fence).

Looking forward to tomorrow morning.