Fighting the Good No-Fighting Fight

Lee is a sweet and shy straight-A student with long, wavy brown hair that falls to his shoulders and curves along his forehead. When his bangs get long, you can barely see his right eye.

My dad would call him a hippie, and judge him harshly. To him, Lee's hair would be proof of either apathetic or rebellious character. On the contrary. I learned long ago not to judge the book of this 10-year-old yellow belt by his mocha-covered scalp. Under all that wayward hair is a smart, attentive, and focused young man who absorbs every word his teachers say and who takes his study of life and Taekwondo seriously.

Recently, my class at the East Communities YMCA worked on improving their self-defense techniques, and at the end of the class, we discussed the value of non-confrontation—about how just because we know how to fight doesn't mean we should. We talked about using Taekwondo only in self-defense and about walking away from a fight whenever possible.

Unfortunately, Lee got the opportunity to practice this lesson right away.

Last week after class, Lee stood quietly next to his mother. She asked if I had a moment to speak to them. From experience, I've learned that when parents ask that question, it's usually because their child's behavior has been less than ideal.

Instead, Lee's mother told me about an incident that occurred the night before that blew her away. Lee and a friend were having dinner with their families when the two boys began arguing. Lee’s friend hit him. But Lee did not hit back. Instead, he used a strategy we had discussed in class the week before.

“He stood up confidently,” his mother said, “and then he said, ‘If you’re going to treat me like this, I’m going to sit somewhere else.’ Then he took his plate and went to another part of the table.

“I was so proud of him,” she said. “And I just love that you do what you do with these kids. It means so much.” She choked up and turned away.

I smiled at Lee and raised my left hand for a high-five slap.

“That’s what I’m talkin’ 'bout!” I said as we slapped palms. “Nice job, buddy! I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” he said humbly.

“That qualifies you for a black stripe on your belt,” I added.

His eyes widened. Black stripes are the rarest award to receive in my Taekwondo class. Students earn them only after demonostrating good character through the application of Taekwondo's tenets—courtesy, integrity, perseverance, self-control, and indomitable spirit—to a tough situation at home or at school.

"You know [Lee], friends who treat you like that aren't really your friends," I said as I wrapped the black electrical tape around his belt.

"I know," he nodded, sounding a bit sad.

"I'm sorry you're having to learn that," I added, "but I'm proud of how you handled a tough situation."

"Thank you, ma'am," he said with a half smile.

"I have a feeling that this is going to open doors for you to have more friends who will treat you with respect."

He smiled.

I paused, looking him in the eye.

“And I have to give you something else,” I said, reaching into a clear plastic bag that I keep in my white electrical tape bucket. The bag contained a variety of patches.

Months ago, I ordered 10 snazzy red and black circular patches with the words “Taekwondo Honor” embroidered on them. I had decided that these patches were not for sale. Students had to earn them, and so I waited for a reason to award one. Lee’s self-control and inner strength in the face of an angry peer—a peer that he thought was his friend—showed tremendous courage and proved that he was more than worthy of such an honor.

“Sew this on your right shoulder, son,” I said, “and keep up the good work.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” he said. We bowed to each other.

Lee is just now learning about how applying Taekwondo's tenets will make him a stronger, wiser young man with true friends who treat him with respect. If he's already absorbing these kinds of lessons now as a yellow belt, I can only imagine what greatness lies ahead for the young man with the wild, lovely mane.