When You Get Knocked Down . . .
I quickly grew to enjoy the rigors of martial arts training. Luckily, Lil’ Joe — one of my cousins on Dad’s side of the family — was also in Tae Kwon Do. Lil’ Joe was a year younger but had already been practicing Tae Kwon Do for at least two years, and boy was he fast. So quick and nimble, I thought he was a miniature, black Bruce Lee. Having him in the class made it easier to acclimate. Because we were similarly sized we were regularly pitted against each other in Kumite. Class after class, we went at it pounding each other. Some days, he’d beat me. Other days, I’d get the better of him.
About a year later Dad dropped me off for practice one Saturday morning. I was scheduled that day to test for belt advancement. When I entered the gym Sensei Duckworth instructed me to move to the middle of the basketball court, face away from him, stare at the brick wall, and stay silent. My ears tuned to the sound of fluttering birds above. My mind preoccupied itself with the particles of dust drifting in the sunlight that fought its way through those dingy gym windows. To be honest, I don’t even remember what color my belt was that day. What I do remember is Sensei Duckworth walking up from behind and ordering me to turn around to face him.
Before I could fully rotate to face him, two things happened. First, to my horror, I realized that there were two additional black belted men standing before me: Brad Craddock and Ellis Screws. Brad was a slim, redheaded, freckle-faced white guy with lightning quick speed. Ellis was a big guy, comparable to Sensei Duckworth in size and weight. Second was a familiar scream and solid punch as Sensei Duckworth rocked me with his right hand. Brad and Ellis joined in on the assault. Weighing only about seventy-five pounds myself, I was still light as a feather. Every time I kicked, one of them would whack me in the jaw. When I spun around to confront the sucker puncher, I’d get a kick to the ribs from someone else.
It was like fighting ghosts. I was punched, kicked, knocked down, and dragged across the floor. Everything became a blur. It felt like birds flew all around me, phantom punches coming from everywhere. Then I got whacked in the jaw and knocked off my feet; everything moved in slow motion. My ears rang like a giant church bell was inside my head. I landed on the floor, and my glasses flew off, the world went out of focus. Breathing heavily, uniform hanging off my body, I was about to start crying — I wanted to quit.
I wondered, was this what Dad felt as a child when those bigger white boys tried to jump him? Or when the rain and sleet pounded down as he worked the farms day in, day out to provide for us? Was this what Daddy-Eck felt as an illiterate farmer, resisting repeated attempts to take his land? Could this be how Otha Lee felt hiding in that grain silo? Is this the feeling felt generation after generation by my ancestors, who walked those endless rows of cotton across the Delta?
As the ringing slowly dissipated, I could hear those birds fluttering. I could hear the heavy breathing and the shuffling feet of Brad, Ellis, and Duckworth behind me just waiting for me to stand up to pound on me some more. As I lay there on the floor trying to catch my breath, I pushed my glasses up the bridge of my nose with my index finger. Vision restored, I noticed someone had wiped the dirt away from one of the dusty square windows. I looked closer, and it was Dad. His eyes locked with mine; I read his lips.
“Get up!” he was saying. “Get up!”
I staggered to my feet. And I continued to fight! And I got knocked back down! And I got back up!
I knew Dad was still standing there on the other side of the window, staring. I heard his voice in my head, saying, “Get up!” And I did! And I finished the fight.
The room stopped spinning and the world became calm. All I could hear was my own breathing. Sensei Duckworth sent his two henchmen away.
“Turn away from me and stare at the wall,” he said coldly.
I was tired and nervous as I pondered what Sensei Duckworth would do next. There were no fluttering birds, only quiet. I sensed Sensei Duckworth behind me. He wrapped his arms around my waist, removed my old belt, and replaced it with a brand new color.
“Congratulations!” he said as we both bowed out of respect.
I had passed my test!
Tired and dirty, I walked out of the gym to Dad, idling in his truck. He didn’t say anything as I climbed inside. We drove down Highway 61 back to the new home we’d just moved into. Dad had found another job, which of course meant another house that belonged to another plantation owner. We left behind the peach and plum trees and moved to a place out on Council Bend Road.
For the first time, the engine’s roar didn’t bother me. I didn’t hear anything at all in that moment. In the silence as we drove, I could feel Dad was proud of me. I leaned back into the seat as he shifted gears. With my right index finger, I again pushed those big brown glasses up the bridge of my nose. I looked out the window as rows and rows of cotton passed us by.
I hope you enjoyed this post — if you want to connect, you can reach me here via email at ty@typinkins.com or connect with me on social: LinkedIn, Facebook, Instagram, Twitter. Also, you can purchase my book, 23 Miles & Running, on Amazon.
