...I like to wax on….I like to wax off.
(ooh..sh*t…that reminds me to update my Advent Calendar)
Actually…it’s not what it sounds like.
Last night, my 4-year-old son decided it was “wrestling” time.
Wrestling time, for my son, consists of this:
1) He stands at one end of our family room
2) I am on my knees, facing him, on the other side
3) He runs 75 miles per hour (sorry, I don't DO metric), hands outstretched, straight into my chest
This has two effects:
1) He laughs as he piles THROUGH me
2) I black out from the impact…waking up in Canada days later…speaking to someone I don’t know. Oh..wait…wrong blackout.
This differs from my buddy’s “family wrestling” where, apparently, they stare at his junk.
My daughter became involved in the wrestling match.
At one point, with my daughter behind me, I grabbed her arm and flung her over my shoulder.
She said, “Daddy! Where did you learn that?”
…this is where children are fun…you can tell them anything…like…Raisins are People.
“Well,” I said, “I used to be a karate instructor.”
The kids’ eyes open WIDE.
Me: “Yep. In fact, I was so good that they used to call me 'The Karate Kid.'”
On the couch, my wife’s eyes roll.
Daughter: “Did you REALLY used to teach karate?”
Me: “Of course. I was taught by a very wise man. My teacher's name was Mr. Miyagi.”
..wife is laughing…
Me: “We used to sit around and practice catching flies with chopsticks. It’s VERY hard to do. We’ll try it some time.”
Son: “Did he teach you to do karate chops?” (waving hand in the air like an Atlanta Braves fan).
Me: “Oh, of course he did. And do you want to know what our best move was?”
We all stand up.
I then instruct them to hold their arms wide and go up on one leg…and kick with the other.
My signature, Ralph Macchio, move (does not work in Canada, by the way).
They are impressed.
Daughter: “How did you learn to do that?”
Me: “I HAD to learn how to do that. We were in a fight with another karate club one time, and one of the bad kids kicked my leg so I couldn’t use it. Mr Miyagi taught me this.”
I’ve impressed myself.
But now…I can’t stop…
“Do you want to learn another move?” I ask.
Me: “This one’s called ‘The Vulcan Death Grip.’ You grab RIGHT HERE and.….”
Wife: “ENOUGH! I don’t need to get a phone call from the school saying your son is giving other kids the ‘Vulcan Death Grip’…unless YOU want to talk to them.”
No Vulcan Death Grip.
But tomorrow, I’m teaching them how to get stronger by training in the snow with logs on their backs.
..back when I was a boxer and they called me "Rocky", my manager Mick, showed me that trick.
Boy…I sure do miss Mick.
Damn you, Clubber Lang…DAMN YOU TO HELL!