Here we are at another Monday. Unless Monday is a holiday, most people are not big fans of this day. Growing up, Mondays in our family were just another day of the week. Mondays were Karate nights. For those of you who knew Dad, you know Karate was a big part of his life. He started going to classes when I was about three years old. Well, that I can remember anyhow. There's a good chance he went before then, but I don't remember. I DO remember, however, that I would accompany Dad to class and would color in the corner. Or play with my dolls. That karate class sort of became another family to me.
One of Dad's favorite stories was one such time we were at one of the karate classes, and I was dutifully coloring on the sidelines. One of the potential new students was watching the class, and approached me to chat. He asked me if my Dad was in the class. I nodded. When he asked me which one was my Dad, I simply replied "the one in the white suit". Of course, in Karate, they all wear white suits. It's called a Gi and is basically the training uniform. But Dad loved the story. He would always say "she only had eyes for her Dad".
Dad agreed to teach a Karate class at the local community center on Monday nights. Partly so that I could start training. He taught two different classes - both the same night one after the other. The first class was for five-seven year olds and the other was eight to I guess fourteen ish. I was seven when he started this, so I was in the younger class for the first year. Then I moved to the second class. As I grew older, I was actually recruited to help teach the younger class. I remember one time when Dad was explaining that in Karate we address each other by last name. The six year olds were baffled that both teachers had the same last name - Mr and Miss Charman. Dad joked that we were married. As anyone over the age of 14 appears to six year olds as an adult, they bought it. He did then explain that I was his daughter, but the kids didn't seem convinced.
Karate was a huge part of my life, and it's entirely because of Dad and his love for it. I mentioned before that the Karate class was like a second family. After losing Dad it was hard to go back, and both my brother and I stopped going to classes - it was too much of a reminder of who was missing. But I carry karate with me in so many ways... Public speaking from watching our instructor, and demonstrating our katas. Breathing techniques from the meditation we did at the beginning and end of every class. The awareness of the body that comes from the training that I now apply in Yoga. Karate was a chapter I have since closed in my life, but have not thrown away, nor locked away. Perhaps I will return again. But in the meantime, it sits in my muscles, in my heart, in my soul. It sits with Dads memory, and his essence.
Mondays brought a time for Dad and I to go teach something he loved and believed in. I didn't always enjoy it. I didn't always look forward to it. But now I look back on it, and am so grateful for that time. For the many times I heard Dad recite the same speech about Kara-te and what it means. The stories that would be passed down to each class about ambition and how to not let it cloud your vision. I think about those stories and speeches a lot now. And they are for another time, another blog post. For now, I just revel in remembering Dad at the front of the class. Wondering if any of those six year olds remember him now. Those little ones didn't know how lucky they were to have shared time with my Father. But I do. And I am grateful every day!!
Enjoy today. Enjoy Monday.
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