Kick of the past

Self Defense class, first actual learning. We learned how to stand, hold our hands, pay attention and pivot. I’m sore in places I didn’t know I had places, but I know it was a great workout which pleases me.

The instructor went on to show us a kick, and the kick triggered something in my mind. He showed us the kick again, but this time I saw someone else kicking a figure from my past, my childhood…

Bruce was the toughest kid I ever knew, his nickname was Tiny, and unlike most people with that moniker he was in shape. I don’t know that he participated in sports or anything, but he loved karate and the martial arts. The kick was something I had seen him do often enough, not to any actual people, but just to show me he could perhaps. A quick stab of his leg into the air and back again almost quicker than the eye could see.

I wasn’t the kind of kid to go out looking for fights, and I don’t recall Bruce that way either, but if I were ever to be faced with one, I had hoped he would be at my side. Not for the kick, but because he was that kind of friend-loyal and true.

When my Mom was dying, it was Bruce to whom I sent money for groceries for her. It was Bruce who I called to see if I should go home.

Some people are like that, good people from the time they are little kids and into adulthood. True friends last that lifetime, beyond states, throughout history, beyond fathers and mothers… true friends are a treasure.

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