In the middle of Monday evening class, coach Gene came and wrapped a band of

white sport tape around the black patch at the end of my belt, a promotion after

six months of hard work. Everyone clapped. Neither the stripe nor the moment

could money buy. 

After 40, this was one of the rare moments I felt recognized for something.

During the past nine years, I lost a quarter of body weight, ran long distances,

and lifted weight and successes came quietly as inner triumphs. I did my best

work in coding but there had been no recognition from my regular job, and gradually

finisher medals from races no longer thrilled. But Jiu-Jitsu was different for its

roots in self-defense, a deeper need for me, and maybe because I had pursued it on

and off for so long. The stripe meant that the coach, a third-degree black belt,

believed I was on the right path. I might still feel inadequate but shouldn't take

his opinion in vain.

It felt especially important to have Tim there to witness. Jiu-Jitsu seemed to 

be one of the best things I could do to inform him of my values: discipline,

work ethic, and a take-it-easy attitude. Teenagers rebel, and lectures backfire

but I wonder if it helps if parents sweat with their kids now and then. So far,

it seemed to work for us.

Newly striped, I submitted a fellow beginner with an armlock at the next round

of sparring. Afterwards, Tim jokingly came up with the title of this post as it

reminded him of a line in Kung Fu Panda: "The scroll has given him power."