Have you ever felt embarrassed by the things that you used to like?

When you really get down to it, the interests of kids are not very diverse. There are kids who play sports, kids who do art, and probably a half-dozen other categories you can think of.  In my mind, martial-arts is one of these common interests. Given that it’s a common interest,  I’m not embarrassed that I did Kung-Fu. I am embarrassed that, as a five foot tall eleven year old with four years of glorified dance lessons, I felt like Jackie Chan, Chuck Norris, and Batman were my peers.

I don’t mean to insult martial arts in general (that may be the topic of another essay) or my specific kwoon. I have great memories from Kung-Fu; I loved the teacher, my classmates, and at the time, I thought the uniform was awesome. I started taking lessons in 3rd grade. At the time, they were held in my classroom after school, although eventually the teacher upgraded to his own building.

There were a lot of rituals in the class. We had to wear a uniform consisting of our special shirt, sweatpants, jacket, sash, and Feiyue shoes. We had to address the teacher in a certain way and bow before entering and exiting the studio. We also had to memorize paragraphs of philosophy. But the worst part of all was the forms. These are sequences of punches, kicks, and blocks that we had to memorize and perform, but really, they just look like dances (with required grunting).

The kids’ classes were pretty laid-back. We played a lot of games like dodgeball and we did obstacle courses. We spent a lot of time practicing punching and kicking and occasionally we would spar. The sparring was occasional because we would instantly forget everything we had learned and it quickly devolved into wrestling. While I can’t recall every drill that we did, I do remember a particularly humiliating one. It was a five minute “air fight,” which involves randomly punching, kicking, and blocking the air for five minutes. Even ten year old me knew that that was lame. 

In addition to the normal classes, I also took weapons classes. These were once a week (I think) and every few months we would learn a new “weapon.” The “weapons” that I learned were the fan, cane, nunchucks, and staff. Other than the staff, none of these weapons had very practical uses, but that didn’t stop me from feeling like a dangerous killing machine. I don’t blame the teacher for this -- I wouldn’t expect him to give a room of fifth graders handguns, and even if he had explained that the weapons were primarily artistic, I wouldn’t have listened.

Another special class I took was the demonstration team. We were a group of about six kids who would go to community events and perform demonstrations to recruit new students. As with the other classes, this was a lot of fun. We designed our own forms and got special jackets. I remember performing at the Sweetcorn Festival, in parades, and in promotional videos. While I know I was young and nobody even took notice, I can’t help but be embarrassed that I felt qualified to show off my skills in public.

I ended up quitting Kung-Fu some time in seventh grade. At that point I was starting to feel embarrassed by it all, and I was in the adult classes, which lacked both the friends and activities that had made Kung-Fu so exciting. I still have my black belt certificate hanging on my bedroom wall. It reminds me of all the fun times I had, but it also serves as a reminder against excess pride. I still feel happy about my accomplishments, but I try not to brag about anything because I know that I will look just as silly as a chubby 10 year old who thinks there’s a good chance he’s the reincarnation of Bruce Lee.