Paris in May. D. Grey

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СКАЧАТЬ After all, the pharmaceutical company had smart people making medicine. His doctor was a smart man who knew about medicine and how it helped people feel better, and the social worker had his best interest in mind. There was no reason not to trust their judgment. However, this did not sit well with David, and his anger was ignited. But in short order, he realized that there was nothing he could do. Eventually the anger subsided, and David came to think maybe his own concern was exaggerated and all he was doing was making a bad situation worse. But even though his concern waned over time, he was nagged by a lingering suspicion.

      David understood his father’s psychology but did not accept it as his own. He knew he would not allow himself to be seduced by the demons of the past. Even without assets or support, he had an inchoate optimism driven largely by his sports-oriented community that allowed a way out of the dreary box-like existence that offered little more than a driving need to escape. He had known only the hot, dank, heavy musk of a tiny apartment filled with the smells of fried pork and chicken parts and reused bacon grease that permeated almost everything but made him simpatico with his equally poor friends and playmates. Because of school, he saw the look of neatly frocked, well-groomed classmates and smelled the sweetness of their presentation, so he knew something of another path and wanted it for himself. To discharge himself from the legacy foisted on him by a history of societal sin, few doors were left open except those that led to sports or entertainment. He was aware these were the only gold rings he could grab. Luckily, David was the proverbial jock. He played every sport with grace and high intensity. Football, baseball, and basketball were the sports in which he excelled, and even though he was considered a gifted athlete, his aspirations were unknown, to himself or to his boosters. Years later, he confessed to a friend that he often played sports so he would not have to face going home to his father and the legacy of the oppression that had spawned him. Nonetheless, it was clear to all that his physical gifts were considerable and could take him far.

      While taking the bus to the next town in search of a cobbler to repair his worn shoes, David happened upon a window sign advertising something he could not pronounce and knew nothing of. The sign read “Aikido,” a strange word that he could not place. He looked in the window with both hands cupped around his face to block glare, and a man wearing odd white clothes saw him at the window and waved him into the space with mats on the floor. Except for some black and red calligraphy that lined the walls and looked to be painted with a broad brush, all there was to see was a small Asian man and three others not much older than him throwing each other around on heavy mats with an ease and smoothness of motion that David had never seen—bodies thrown and hands pressed in prayer-like formations followed by a respectful bow. David did not know what to make of it. He could see, however, that whatever it was required skill. He was immediately drawn to it and wanted to learn to do what he saw them doing.

      “Please come in,” said the man cloaked in white with an accent David guessed was Asian in origin. “I’m Sensei Kim.”

      “What does Sensei mean?” asked David, a little unsure about whether or not he was welcome. Feeling uncomfortable being in a strange place was not a foreign feeling for a black kid away from home. There was always the likelihood that he would not be treated well. But even with that potential threat, David was not able to withdraw himself.

      The man smiled, extended a welcoming hand, and said, “Sensei means teacher.”

      “From the way things look, you teach wrestling.”

      “No,” the man said softly. “I do not teach wrestling. I teach aikido,” he said with a sense of pride. “It is a Japanese form of self-defense and martial art that uses locks, holds, throws, and the opponent’s own movements to subdue him. Would you like to try?”

      “Sure. What do I have to do?”

      “Nothing,” said the man, who held out a hand to meet David’s in friendship, but in a blink, David was on his knees in pain, begging to be let go. It happened so fast that he found himself in disbelief, wondering how such a little man could so quickly subdue a six-foot-tall athlete in prime condition. When Sensei Kim released him, he stepped back and bowed. In the time it took to recover his lost sense of pride and appreciate his sense of amazement, David thought of a hundred questions.

      “How did you do that? Will you teach me how to do that?”

      “What you have just seen was a tiny demonstration of the science of aikido. It takes time, patience, concentration, and self-control. If you have respect for others and aikido as your friend, you will be able to walk through the world unafraid and unmolested. If you are willing to join the dojo and take the practice of aikido seriously, be here next Tuesday at three o’clock and we will discuss fees and appropriate dress and begin your instruction. So goodbye until then.”

      David said goodbye to Sensei Kim. He waved to the students and turned and walked toward the street, so excited he could hardly contain himself. Except for baseball, some small jobs and the light demands of school, he would spend most of his time studying and practicing with Sensei Kim. Through it all, he never told anyone of his involvement.

      In a high school counseling class designed to help students think strategically about their futures, students were asked what professions they would like to pursue. As in all his classes, David found himself one of the very few black students. Students would have to present their aspirations in a report before the class. Influenced by their professional parents, other students wanted to be doctors, lawyers, engineers, or other professions they thought would be interesting or exciting. One by one, they stood up to share their hopes and dreams. Then David was asked to stand.

      “David, what would you like to be?” the teacher asked. David stood, nervous, not knowing what to say but knowing that a few things were true. He had not done his homework and he was willing to admit it. That was not the question before him. Also, he knew what he did not want to be. He did not want to be a day laborer; he did not want to be invisible or treated with disrespect. He finally answered.

      “I don’t know what I want to be.”

      “You must have some idea. Everybody wants to be something. Everybody has a dream.”

      He tried to think, but nothing came. Time seemed to move slowly as he was caught up in a vortex of embarrassed confusion and the expectations of the class waiting for him to speak. The warm day and the closed windows heated the room, and David pulled at his collar.

      “I don’t know what I want to be. I just don’t know.”

      He could feel the unsympathetic eyes judging his irresponsibility in not having done the homework or his stupidity for not having an aspiration. Or the sometimes spoken accusation that he was just another shiftless “coon” from the projects going nowhere. Either way, as the room got hotter, he was frozen with feelings of inadequacy, and the only way out was hostility toward the teacher.

      “You must participate like everybody else, David,” she said insistently. “So say something, even if you have to make it up. I want you to stand there until you do.”

      “I don’t know what I want to be. Please stop asking me.” All David had left was anger. All he wanted to do was fight.

      Uncharacteristically, David gathered his nerve and defied her.

      “I won’t stand here and be embarrassed and belittled by your insistence. Leave me alone.” He walked out of the classroom and out of the school. The students and the teacher were surprised. Some were dumbfounded, others laughed, and still others said they would have expected nothing more given who he was and where he came from. The next day, upon returning to school, he was suspended for a week for leaving school without permission.

      David’s experience in the СКАЧАТЬ