The Test

I have this vision of my oldest son.  In my vision he is taking his Tae Kwon Do test to get his black belt.  I see his tousled hair and his goofy grin and I smile. Before the test he jokes with his friends, two other lanky boys just beginning to enter their teen years.  They stand close to one another, jostle each other and laugh.  They look, just like any other awkward budding teen-age boys.  But then the test begins and I am reminded that these boys are about to engage in a sacred rite of passage.  By the time this test will end, each of these boys, including mine, will be changed forever.  They will have crossed over that certain threshold of becoming a man. 

The test, which should have been three hours in length, grows to last five hours.  They do every form, every block, every punch and kick.  The masters have them train for hours to break them physically.  And then they must put on equipment, helmets and special guards in order to spar one another.  Weary and beleaguered, these boys begin to use all the skills they know to fight one another.  The once lighthearted banter before the test is gone.  It is replaced by grunts and staggering gaits.  The urge to quit is great.  Yet they are prodded onward to spar with each and every person taking the test that day, sometimes facing as many as three attackers at once.  I tense as I watch the boys draw near to their breaking point. 

One boy does become physically ill.  He begins to gag and vomit.  He is led outside by his mother.  I wish to put my arms around him too.  As soon as he is finished being sick, he is urged right back into completing the test.  Sweaty and red faced, he comes back to spar with the other boy of the original trio.  Near the end of this match it is the other boy who gets hurt and yelps in pain.  He begins to cry abruptly and cannot seem to stop.  He is also led outside to catch his breath.  As a mother, I want to hug all of them and protect them from this process.  But I don't.  I sit and watch as each boy confronts his own limitations and moves beyond them.

I watch my own son especially so.  What will he do under so much stress and pressure?  How will he react when he too reaches his breaking point?   I watch my son face his two friends in one of the last sparring matches.  He is reeling with physical exhaustion.  He sways and staggers to an indefinable rhythm.  One of his friends kicks him right in the groin.  My son steps back in great pain.  He looks like a young Rocky, his eyes wincing, his long legs dancing in circles.  He gets kicked again in the same place.  He keeps going but his reaction is anger.  He is pissed!  He mouths a long "Youuu" followed by some sublingual expletives.  His friends are not meaning to kick him there.  My son is just so much taller than everyone else that their feet often land in the wrong places.  Yet despite his exhaustion and pain he kept going until the very end as did his friends.  I was beyond proud of them all.  They had survived and persevered.