Ruthie Says, “No!”

Three-year-old Ruthie is quiet and shy—the opposite of her boisterous and energetic big brother, John. She has long, pretty, light brown hair and a sweet spirit. Her still, Zen-like manner is often overshadowed by John, who is 5 and taller and louder, and who doesn’t mind using his voice to interrupt when I’m talking or chat with his classmates when he should be listening.

John has no problem being heard. However, Ruthie is like a little ninja: silently watching, learning. Yesterday, she finally came out of her stealth shell and she was impressive. What's more, she may have even unknowingly set the tone for a more confident, powerful life.

Tuesday’s Tiny Texans class started with kihap practice, yelling 10 times so that everyone could practice their spirit voice. I use a number of strategies to get my students to yell with good, solid fighting spirit.

"You know the lady at the front desk? The one in the lobby who tells you not to run in the hallways?" I asked them yesterday.

"Yes, ma'am," they said in unison.

"Well, she doesn't believe we study martial arts, so we have to be loud enough for her to hear us. O.K.?"

"Yes, ma'am!" they replied.

"Also, you know how your parents tell you to use your inside voice. Well, when you kihap in Taekwondo class, be sure to use your outside voice!"

"Yes, ma'am!" they exclaimed, grinning with excitement.

Except for Ruthie. She remained stoic, watching.

She is a tough read, but I had a plan to gently coax her out of her shell.

In the day's first drill, the Tiny Texans practiced knee kicks to the thick, black and red power kicking bags. Everyone was on fire, kicking hard and kihapping loud.

Except for Ruthie. She kicked softly and wouldn’t make any noise.

I coached her, trying to get something—anything—out of her little mouth.

“You can do it,” I whispered. “You can make any noise. You can say, ‘Hah!’ or ‘Hi-yah!’ or ‘No!’”

I offered her the power bag again, and she kicked. At the same time, her voice released a quiet, “No.”

“Yes!” I screamed, almost scaring her. I offered her a high-five palm slap and she obliged.

“That’s great!” I told her. “I’m so proud of you. Can you do it again?”

She nodded yes. I offered her the power bag.

“Say, ‘No!’” I said.

She kicked, and out of her mouth came another, “No.” This time it was a little louder.

“Yes!” I screamed again. Another palm slap followed.

It happened just like that again and again: I kept reminding her what to say, and she kept kicking and verbalizing louder and louder.

“No!” she finally said, with great spirit.

In the span of 45 minutes, Ruthie’s kihaps went from an uncomfortable, unsure, and meek statement to a loud, firm refusal. Parents and spectators who were watching the class from the sidelines of the mat were impressed, and they cheered her on. They clapped each time she said, “No!”

They clapped, I smiled, and I hope we were all thinking the same thing: This little girl is learning at a young age that it's O.K. for a woman to have a voice. It's O.K. for a woman's space to be respected. It's O.K. to set boundaries, and to enforce those boundaries when threatening people cross them. It's O.K. for a woman to take care of herself, to say the necessary things to make herself be heard, and ultimately to defend herself when her words are not heeded.

This was Ruthie’s second week in martial arts class, and she obviously has a long way to grow. But I’ve been doing this teaching gig for a long time, and I suspect that this little girl’s evolution is going to be an extraordinary thing to witness.

And I’m betting that this will not be the first time she makes the blog.