First Sparring Day

Jaxsen has been doing taekwondo for about a year. He's been waiting to spar for months. The school doesn't let kids spar until the instructor decides they're ready — there's no set timeline, no test, just a call. On Friday afternoon, the call was made.

I drove him out to Shoreline at 5:30. He was quiet in the car, which is unusual. I asked if he was nervous. He said no. I believed him about sixty percent.

The sparring gear goes on in layers — chest protector, shin guards, foot pads, helmet, gloves. By the time it's all on, they look like small astronauts. Jaxsen stood there in the red vest and white helmet, bouncing on his toes a little, watching his partner get geared up across the mat.

They went for two rounds. He got hit. He landed some. He didn't stop moving. After the second round, he took off his helmet and his face was flushed and completely serious — the focused kind, not the upset kind. His instructor said something to him and he nodded.

On the drive home he talked almost the entire way about what he did wrong and what he wanted to fix. Not what he did right — what he wanted to fix. I didn't interrupt much. There wasn't a lot to add.

I think something clicked for him in there. I don't have a better way to describe it.