24 Jan Boxing Kids
I walked into the gym. A nice man wrapped my hands in red fabric. He asks me about school and what I like to do. I grumble a few words, looking up to Dad. Dad smiles and nods. I smile back. The nice man walks me over to the larger room filled with bags hanging from the walls and a large box with ropes.
There were other kids in the large box with ropes. The nice man lifts the ropes for me to enter. I look at Dad. He’s watching me from an odd bench. He smiles. I smile and enter the box. The nice man follows.
The large box with ropes was a ring. The nice man introduces me to the other kids. They smile and I smile back. I look to Dad. He’s still on the bench but talking to another mom and dad. I watch the nice man tell us to close our hands. He says this is a fist. I close my hand into a fist. Is this it?
Then, the nice man shuffles us in a line like we’re in the lunch line. He tells us to get in a stance. A stance with left foot forward, right foot back. I do it. He smiles at me. I smile. The nice man shows us “punches.” A straight one and another straight one.
I look at the other kids as they follow the nice man’s instructions. They have their hands in fists by their faces, shooting one hand out at a time. I try and do the same. Hands in fists to faces, to shooting outwards. The nice man tells me to tuck my arms in unless I want to be a chicken. He says it with a smile. I smile. I don’t want to be a chicken, so I tuck my arms in. I try it again. I smile.
The nice man teaches us some more punches. My favorite was the one with the thumbs up, the hook. The nice man lifting the ropes of the ring to let us out. The class is over.
I run to Dad, giving him my biggest smile. He smiles.
“Dad, can I do it again?”