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May 14, 2006
Requiem
On a bitter cold evening in February 1993 my father drove me to a non-descript commercial building in Wheat Ridge, Colorado. There was an Italian restaurant on the road front. I must have rode by it a thousand times but I'd never noticed it, probably because I wasn't yet old enough to frequent any restaurants. Behind La Cosa Nostra, or whatever it was called, was a series of small businesses that didn't require storefront attention: some kind of wheelchair repair store, a pawn shop specializing in denim pants, and a Kung Fu school.
Somehow or another, I'd heard that this particular Kung-Fu school taught an especially effective brand of Kung-Fu that I, as a wanna-be tough guy, should learn. My wanna-be tough guy father was was extatic; since I wasn't going to play football, this was the next best thing.
The air was cold enough cause piercing pain in your ears on the short walk into the parking lot. The glass was frosty with the condensation from the sweaty, humid interior. The blinking "I Buy 501's" sign next door showing up clearer than the dragon decal scotch-taped to the front window. We entered.
I wondered who all these people were. They wore black or white, with various colored belts. Lots of fake-looking mass produced karate weapons adorned the wall, along with pictures of an old, half-naked (though fit looking) asian dude. What was the belt progression? Why are only black belts wearing black? Does that mean "teacher?" Who's the guy in the pictures? Why is everyone here over 40?
One of the men in black came to chat with us. I assumed he was the teacher but later learned he's the teacher's brother. We read a badly written synopsis of this flavor of Kung-Fu. My dad signed an insurance waiver and forked over $40.00.
Thus I began my first inquiry into "real" martial arts, which I have continued off-and-on ever since.
Kung-Fu was the only real, steady part of my life from then on. When I was away in the Army, it was Kung-Fu that I missed from home and not much else. Kung-Fu made me confident, fit, and changed my composure. It introduced me to probably half of the really great people I've ever known and taught me more conspiracy theories than Chris Carter. It was the best thing I ever did with myself during my teenage years.
Yesterday I ran into a classmate at the hardware store who told me that the Kung-Fu school is closing. My first reaction was to doubt this, both because the school's been going out of business longer than Apple and the class mate is generally known to be full of shit. But then he cited the close date-- July 1, 2006. Apparently the Kung-Fu teacher's wife got a good job offer in Wyoming and they sold the farm.
I'm glad for the teacher and his wife. For them personally, this is an awesome opportunity. But for me, it's the end of one of the few eras of my life worth remembering. Like a good funeral, it's a celebration of what-was and an acknowledgement that the time of what-will-be is over.
And it's a real fucking bummer.
So thanks to Master Bob, for all you've done, and to all you of that sent me home limping and pissing blood.
So long and thanks for all the fish.
Posted by james at 10:51 PM | Comments (2)