Proof that God has an interesting sense of humor: the part-time job that’s unpaid means about fifty times more to me than the one that gives me a paycheck. And that’s a conservative estimate.
Another weekend over, and rather than making a mental checklist of all I have to do tomorrow at the office (and it’s a lot, with Christmas right around the corner, two interviews taping in studio beforehand and one that I have to do in the field), I’m thinking about items attached to the assistant teaching gig. I’m wondering if the two white sashes who are testing this month will be in class Monday evening and if they cleaned up their palm strikes. I’m hoping the yellow sashes have corrected their front kicks or at least gotten the incorrect ones waist high. I’m hoping the damned commuter train comes in on time and traffic is reasonable, so I only arrive five minutes after the students instead of fifteen. And I’m thinking about a key.
Apparently there was a time in our school’s history when the founder handed out keys left and right to any black sash who asked for one. That era is over. A few weeks ago, I asked Sijeh Melanie if there was any way I could bribe Sifu to give me a key. Her response: “Well, I had to be married to him before I got one.” I guess homemade cupcakes won’t do it, then.
We headed home from three hours of Saturday classes at about 1:15. By the time five o’clock rolled around, I’d showered, worked the kinks out of my leg muscles with my massage roller, eaten, chatted it up with my family, and baked two different kinds of cookies. At that point, I turned to my son and said, “Okay, I’m rested. Let’s go back to kung fu now.”
“If I didn’t have to study for exams, Mom, I’d be right there with you,” my fellow die-hard answered, playing along with my fantasy. Only it probably wouldn’t be a fantasy if I had a key to get back in. Perhaps that’s why I haven’t been offered one.
Yep, it’s an interesting sense of humor.
Middle-Aged Martial Arts Mom 