Enter The Dojang

My downward slide into the bullied loner had already begun by the time I was nine-years-old. My parents had already seen the effects that this was having on my self-esteem. To help me learn to stand up for myself, my parents asked if I wanted to take martial arts.

Having grown up in the post-Bruce Lee era, I knew of the power and mystery of Asian arts like kung fu and karate, even at nine. They were exciting to me -- beautiful and dangerous all at once. I used to watch the kung fu movies on television with my father. My best friend and I would sneak and watch the Rated R Chuck Norris movies on cable when our parents didn't notice.

Needless to say, my answer was yes.

I can still remember that first day meeting Master Ik Jo Kang. I could barely understand a word he said, and I worried that I would fail because I couldn't comprehend. I also worried that I wouldn't be good enough -- a trait that had already begun to develop in other sports (except, not surprisingly, baseball). Right away, I wondered if this was right for me.

Master Kang taught Tae Kwon Do and Hapkido in a large dojang (studio) on Main Street in White Plains. I remember changing into my outfit that first day, and needing help tying my white belt. When I walked onto the floor, I was told right away that I needed to bow to the American and South Korean flags any time I entered or exited. I also needed to bow to any black belts already on the floor. From day one, my first lessons were about discipline and respect.

In time, I would learn some basic forms and techniques and was able to test for yellow belt. I was so nervous that day -- with so many students, parents and friends watching. Somehow I made it through and passed.

Like every other sport, I wasn't the star in martial arts. I was still in the children's class and there were always other students who were better than me. They could kick higher, or they were stronger, or they had more snap to their movements. I was never one of the better students. Still, I was able to use my mind and remembered everything well enough to pass each test and earn another belt.

As time went on, many of the other kids who were better than I was dropped out. Soon, I became the senior and most respected of the children's class.

That is around the time Master Walter Eddie took me under his wing. First, he convinced my parents to move me to the adult class. At this point I was about thirteen. The bullying had reached its climax, but I had already proven (though not yet to myself) that I was tough enough to withstand any of it.

Back then, we sparred nearly every class. And we did not have the padding we have today. We wore cups, gloves and foot pads. The purpose of sparring was not to win points, but to learn, to gain confidence and to gain experience. I was thirteen looking up at a full-grown adult, thinking to myself, "what have I gotten myself into?"

What I got myself into was the best confidence-building lesson I could have had. Fighting adults -- and holding my own -- helped with my self-esteem. I saw myself differently and I gained a new determination.

When I began high school, I promised myself I would no longer be bullied. I would not allow it. I found out that most kids feared crazy kids. So I acted crazy. It worked. Most everyone dared not to challenge me. Those that did faced a different person than the one who used to take it.

One season I volunteered to assist the coaches of the football team. It was fun and passed the time on Saturday afternoons. One particular Saturday, the weather was so awful that they actually cancelled the game. Football players get themselves worked up to a near frenzy before the game and were left to do something with that energy. The second string center thought he could release that energy by pushing me around. We were in the gym and another kid was there. He pushed me a couple of times. I looked him in the eye and warned him if he did it again he'd get hurt. He took a look at my smaller size and assumed I couldn't hurt him so he pushed me again. Without thinking, I spun around and gave him a backside kick to the stomach followed by a backfist to the cheek. He was a little hurt and very embarrassed. He walked away. The following Monday he wanted to be my friend.

I had developed a defense against the enemy. I had learned from all those years of training. And I had the courage to execute.

Still, I was not ready for the final test.

That would come a short while later in the basement of my parents' house.