As a holiday departure from my usual posts, I offer this fictional narrative. Well, partly fictional; the karate stuff is true.
My Saturday karate class was difficult. I just couldn’t seem to get my body to do what my mind was telling it. It was a rough one, too; the only Christmas color missing was green: I had reddish bruises on my white forearms and knuckles. So that afternoon I decided to head south of downtown Seattle to visit the International District, the “ID.”
It had been a while since I’d been to the ID. It was a cold, clear December afternoon and I kept my thick jacket zippered up as I wandered about. Grabbed a red bean paste bun and a cold Mr. Boss coffee from Uwajimaya, gazed at displays of colorful characters gracing animé shop windows, and listened to the mingled conversations of passers-by in Japanese, Chinese, Vietnamese, and English. It was a pleasant way to while away an afternoon, but my thoughts kept returning to martial arts. Why was it easy to grasp a concept mentally, yet incredibly hard to execute that concept physically, or at least to do so well or consistently? Techniques like connecting the upper– and lower body, keeping proper posture, subtly transferring body weight, keeping elbows in when performing uchi ukes (an inside-to-outside chest block) and down when punching. It’s even hard for me to keep my eyebrows from popping up before I strike.
These thoughts occupied my mind as I aimlessly wandered about the shops, parks, and alleys of the ID. I’m not sure how much time had passed but my snack was long gone and it was my hunger—weighing a hot bowl of ph? against a delicious plate of sushi—that pulled me back to reality. Then it struck me: I was lost. This was a part of the ID I did not recognize. Surrounded by unfamiliar storefronts, I searched for street signs in order to find my way back. It was then that a nearby park caught my attention, for it was better lit and numerous people, most with children, milled about. I headed that way.
What greeted me was a surprise: a handful of kids, the younger of them holding their parents’ hands, lined up waiting to see… Santa? He was perched upon a golden bamboo chair set upon a raised platform. Though his garb was the traditional white-trimmed red suit and a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles sat atop his nose, the similarities ended there. Santa’s beard lacked the typical bushy curls that left only the lips exposed. Instead, tendrils of dark hair snaked down from the center of his chin and each corner of his upper lip. This Santa carried none of the heft of jolly St. Nick; he was thin but his posture, even while sitting, gave the impression of strength and command. White socks and gold-painted wooden sandals took the place of thick black boots. And a small, red had rimmed with gold lace completed his costume. This Santa was Japanese.
Intrigued by this scene, I edged closer, smiling at the families waiting their turn. I watched as Santa conversed quietly with a small boy while his parents snapped photos. As the boy slid off his lap, Santa turned to look at me as though he’d known I was there all along. Far more than a twinkle, his eyes blazed as he looked at, no… through me. After a moment, he held up his hand and beckoned me over. Embarrassed, I muttered apologetic sounds to the families in line as I passed them on my way to Santa.
“Sit,” he said, indicating his lap. I felt awkward and embarrassed at this, but was unable to decline the offer, as it felt more like a command. So I approached and gingerly sat on the edge of his leg. In one deft motion, he shifted his weight and arranged me solidly on his lap as though I were a child myself, despite outweighing him by at least 20 pounds. I looked at him (mostly to avoid the amused faces of those in the crowd) and felt the intensity of this Santa… this was no temp-agency hire; he seemed like the real deal.
“So…” Santa began, “what do you want for Christmas?” His voice was soft and low but somehow this question—not usually asked to grown men perched on Santa’s lap—did not seem childish. I had to clear my throat before responding. “Well,” I hesitated, wondering how to answer, “I, uh, need some new shirts for work—”
“No!” Santa interrupted firmly, but not rudely. “What do you want for Christmas?” he questioned me again, and I suddenly knew what his question meant. “Uhh… elbow control, that’s what I really need.” I confessed. It was true, too: I had such a hard time keeping my elbows down when punching and keeping them inside when blocking.
“Why?” He asked, staring at me intently. “For karate,” I told him; he nodded sagely so I continued. “Keeping your elbow in when punching is important because it’s more structurally sound. If it flares out”—here I demonstrated by bending my elbow as I slowly punched—“the power of the strike is lost when contact is made and that elbow bends.”
Santa nodded at this, then again asked, “why else?” I thought for a moment, then replied “Chest blocks are weak if they’re like a windshield wiper.” I demonstrated the incorrect block by holding my arm out in front of me, elbow bent 90-degress, and raising my fist in an arc so my forearm swept like a windshield wiper. “This way only uses the deltoid muscles, which are relatively weak. It’s stronger to reach out and then pull the elbow down to block the attack by redirecting it.” Here I again performed the technique, earning a few chuckles from the assembled crowd. Santa again nodded, and I thought I detected a hint of a smile crack his lips.
It seemed my time with Santa was over, so I moved to get off his lap. A strong (but not tense), arm stopped me. “Why else?” Santa asked me again. I had to think a moment before replying. “Maintaining a strong connection throughout your body is important to generate and accept power,” I mused, more thinking out loud than stating a fact. “Keeping an ‘elbow out’ fixation, a ‘hug-the-tree’ posture, helps maintain the body’s posture.” Unconcerned with the onlookers, I rolled my shoulders forward slightly and held my arms out in front of me, curving them a bit at the elbows so my finger tips almost touched, palms down. I visualized them forming an iron hoop such that any pressure exerted on them would be transferred to my body (and then into the ground) rather than collapsing under that pressure. Santa gave my arms a slight push, testing my posture. It must have satisfied him, as he gave a slight approving nod.
After a moment, I tried to stand again. This time, Santa let me. “Uh, thank you Santa,” I said awkwardly. He gave a nearly imperceptible bow, which I returned before stepping through the bemused families who’d been watching the strange exchange. I affixed a half-smile to my face and got out of there. Before I knew it, I’d turned down a side street and had emerged back in a familiar area. “That,” I said to myself as I returned to my car, “was weird!”
The intervening days between my encounter with Santa and Christmas morning came and went quickly. I’d nearly forgotten about it in all the holiday excitement. But that morning, opening presents, my wife asked me “Who’s that from?” as she pointed to a small package, roughly the size of a pen or chopstick container. It was delicately wrapped in white rice paper and had a gold-lace ribbon around it. “Ha ha,” I said, smirking at her, sure she was being funny. No one had been to our house so I assumed it was from her. Her look told me that her question was, in fact, serious.
“It’s not from you?” I asked. “No,” she said, seeming surprised that I’d ask. Intrigued, I picked up the package. It was very light. I untied the ribbon and the rice paper fell away, revealing a humble box, which I opened. Inside, a small scroll lay atop a red cloth.
“Who’s it from?” she asked again. There was no name on the package, inside or out. But then I remembered my meeting in the International District. “Santa, I think,” I said as I removed the scroll from the box. Taking a deep breath, I held it up and let it unfurl. Written upon the left side of the scroll were a series of katakana characters, and on the right was (an English translation of the Japanese, I assumed) this word:
PRACTICE!
And below that, much smaller, was a short addendum. A smile broke across my lips as I read:
and relax.
That’s just good stuff. I thought I would post the First Amendment in honor of 
Who’s saying what