It Really Will Hurt Me, More Than You.
I became a single parent as a young man. It was challenging to perform the usual paces of an energized twenty-something in the city with a pullup-clad toddler vomiting in a papoose each day, but we managed. I always say my son raised me into adulthood.
I say this because my son helped me learn to prioritize (or drop) many of those typical twenty-something steps…he taught me to put down some of my childish ways. In retrospect, that period taught me unconditional love, especially during his “terrible two’s”…or as I call “the mafia years of human development” because a 2-3-year-old’s unshakable mindset is “F*CK you, PAY me!”
The more strenuous or difficult the situation, fevers, nightmares, ear infections, or that g’ damn never-ending, pink eye, the greater my love and desire to protect him grew. I always heard that parenting was a “labor of love.” Being a single parent wasn’t a LABOR of any kind…it was an OPPORTUNITY to relearn life through the eyes of a “baby-gangster” that I would die to keep comfortable. Yup…there’s that word again…comfort, so you know BJJ is close by for me.
During the COVID quarantine, my son, now 28, walked in as I was sprawled out on my mats after a “grueling” 20 minutes of Jiu-Jitsu drills with my grappling dummy. He commented, “one day I’m gonna roll with you again.” (He dappled in BJJ for a few weeks when I initiated my search for a place to learn BJJ eight years ago.) I asked him, “why not today?” His response trailed off, “I want to learn a little more before you know…” Although I did “know,” I asked, “where are you going to learn a little more?” He paused. I interjected, “we’re stuck together for a while, want to learn a little more now?” While I waited for his answer, I went to my closet and brought out a gi that had always been a little tight on me and tossed it at him. I said, “I’m not going to fight you, son, I’m going to show you how to safely control a physical altercation before the situation controls you and you get arrested in an IHOP parking lot…during a weekday lunch rush.” His sheepish grin welcomed my offer, and he said, “okay, let’s start tomorrow morning.”
We started with aspects of the fight from the standing position. When I asked my son to grab me, he did so with the slightest of pressure. I asked, “you okay?” He hesitantly replied, “sure.” When I prompted him again to grab me, he hesitated. I could see in his eyes that he was uncomfortable with something…yes, again, uncomfortable.
He told me that he didn’t want to “hurt” me and immediately knew the feeling he was experiencing. We don’t want to hurt those we protect… it makes us uncomfortable. I told him that is where the phrase “this will hurt me, more than it hurts you” is partially derived. When at a loss for alternatives, I sometimes resorted to chastising him as a child to stress a life-lesson’s importance or danger. During those instances, it greatly pained me to see my child cry. The relief from those uncomfortable moments is that many of the catalysts that lead to me chastising my son are no longer issues he harbors today. At that moment on the mats, I told him that I was willing to go through any pain he could issue to prevent future tears should he face a potentially lethal situation unprepared. Unprepared because we didn’t want to be uncomfortable during training. Getting comfortable with the uncomfortable to avoid further discomfort was a lesson we both learned that day…and that he has some pretty good stand-up skills.
