Early Memories of Late Nights. With Dad.

When I was too young to attend karate classes myself I would do one of two things. Sometimes I would go to class with my dad and watch from the sidelines. The old karate dojo was very small compared to the dojo I eventually took classes in. I presume it smelled of the same stale sweat. Stale karate sweat. I have always loved that smell, unpleasant though it may be to most noses. It is sweeter than than the stale Bikram Yoga sweat, closely related to hockey sweat, perhaps because they both involve equipment.

When the class stretched out, I would sometimes stretch with them on the side of the room. I wanted to participate, but was too young to do so. I was probably four or five. This was a time before kids of this age were allowed to do martial arts. Then I might play with the dragon puppet that slept on the bookshelf in the waiting area, do some coloring in a coloring book, or just watch the class. I liked hanging out with the older boys when class was over. I was in such awe of them.

On nights when I did not go to class with Dad, I stayed home. We had a clock in the kitchen that was next to the front door. This was before I knew how to tell time, but I had memorized the position the hands of the clock would be in when Dad usually came home. I would play in the living room, run to the kitchen to check the hands' position, and then run back and play some more when it wasn't yet time.

When Dad got home, we would often eat dry roasted peanuts and orange juice or sometimes Rice Krispies or Cheerios. That was before I figured out that Rice Krispies gave me nightmares. I think it was the high sugar content. Since I was this little girl, I stayed up late (probably past my bedtime) talking about the creation of the universe, how dinosaurs became extinct, the phases of the moon, and planetary orbits and rotations with my father. I recall him demonstrating the phases of the moon and solar and lunar eclipses with the help of a flashlight over dry roasted peanuts. I remember him laying out the structure of our galaxy on the floor with Duplo blocks.

Sometimes we didn't talk philosophy and science. Sometimes we did flying kicks. Dad would string up the postcards that came inside of Newsweek magazine with masking tape in the archway between the living room and dining room. We would run, jump, spin, and kick them! How fun! He was so impressed with my ability! Sometimes we'd do pushups, situps, chinups, and skin the cat (on the bar). He seemed to take great pride in my strength and athleticism!