Brokeback Taekwondo?

I really look forward to my TKD workouts in the evenings. Sometimes you wouldn’t know it by looking at me or even by listening to me when I arrive, but I do. I work 50 miles north of my dojang and have to drive straight to the dojang from work. Often I am a little late depending on whether I was able to get out of the office on time and if the traffic was running smoothly. I depend on my family and fellow TKDers to bring my dobok and gear with them when they come in. They are coming in from 10 miles to the south of the dojang. As you can tell we live out in the boonies and making appointments isn’t easy. What doesn’t help is the fact that we have eight children. This fact can complicate the simplest plan. So what does all this have to do with “Brokeback TKD?” Hang on, I’m getting there.

Like any serious martial arts practitioner who has hard workouts I have to wash my dobok between each workout. Again this wouldn’t really be a problem except that we have mountains of laundry at our house and finding what you need isn’t always easy. In the mornings rush to get my kids to school and get myself 60 miles to work I don’t have time to mount an expedition to find my TKD clothes in the mountains of clean laundry. I depend on one of my kids to mount that expedition for me during the day, put my TKD clothes into my bag, and then bring it with them when they come into their earlier classes. There have been times when my clothes have not arrived and I found myself sitting on the sidelines watching a great workout instead of participating in the great workout.

Yesterday it was my nine-year-old daughter who mounted the expedition for my TKD clothes. She searched valiantly and found what she thought were my black Hapkido pants which I sometimes wear with my white TKD top. She was quite proud of herself for not letting me down and having my bag ready. However, when I ran into class a couple of minutes late, as usual, and pulled my clothes out of my bag in the changing room I noticed that my black pants were of a thinner material than I remembered—and they had pockets. Clearly my young daughter had made a mistake and these weren’t my black hapkido pants. I was very disappointed thinking that I was going to miss another good workout. But then I thought that at least I could try them on. If they fit acceptably I could still get in my workout. I was pretty certain they were my wife’s, but they were black and most likely no one would notice. To my surprise they fit. Well, it wasn’t a good fit—they were a little short and they were tight around the calves, but the elastic waist stretched out to fit my waist. I did notice that they were a little tight in the crotch and I wasn’t going to be able to do any high kicks, but I wasn’t going to have to miss the workout!

As I walked out of the changing room I noticed everyone was getting their sparring gear on. That made me feel even better about making the workout because I don’t get enough sparring in. I was right, no one noticed I was wearing my wife’s black dress slacks. I had to strap my shin guards on the outside of the pants because they were too tight around the calves to go over the shin guards. Again no one seemed to think anything of this. We did some line sparring to start things out. I liked the way the slacks felt. No, it wasn’t because they brought out my feminine side, but because they were so light. They gave me the illusion that I was kicking faster.

When we finally got to free sparring I fought a young green belt and taught him a thing or two about being predictable and rushing in to attack. When the Sabunim ended the match I walked off the mat feeling pretty good—I had kicked more than I got kicked. The endorphins were kicking in inside my brain. It was then that my luck ran out.

A female green-stripe who had watched from the sidelines was motioning frantically to me and whispering. I couldn’t figure out why she was whispering in such a noisy place. I thought maybe she was trying to give me some advice or something. I didn’t want to hear any advice from a lower belt and just looked her way and nodded even though I hadn’t heard what she said. She was motioning to her backside and pointing at me. What? What could she possibly mean? I grabbed at my backside not knowing what I’d find. I admit I raised my eyebrows when I felt, not the nice dressy material of my wife’s dress pants, but the not-so-dressy feel of my underwear. I had ripped my wife’s dress pants. This was no little rip in the crotch, this was a chasm from the crotch to the calf. I don’t know how everyone else missed it. Maybe they hadn’t missed it and were just being kind, but on the other hand I’m pretty sure they all would have burst out laughing if they had seen it.

“Mr. Jerman,” I said. He was on the mat getting ready to spar a young student. “I won’t be able to spar you later. It wouldn’t be decent.” He caught on pretty quick and gave me a thumbs-up—and a grin. Now everyone laughed. We have a pretty close school and everyone is comfortable with each other. At least the Laverys weren’t there. They would have rolled on the floor and wet the mat with tears of laughter. I got lucky and Mrs. Jerman found an extra pair of Mr. Jerman’s pants that I was able to put on and still get in my sparring match with Mr. Jerman. It sure didn’t help much with the laughter when I came out with the “Superior” logo that was supposed to be on the front on the back. It just wasn’t my night.

My daughter told my wife all about the night’s proceedings when we got home. She was horrified. It wasn’t so much that I had ripped her nice dress pants as much as it was that I was able to get them on in the first place. That is a miracle. She is only 5’3” and I am 6’1”. I am 230 pounds and she is a lot less. It was a miracle that I was able to pull them on. Or maybe it was just a horrible accident waiting to happen. Whatever it was, I will never forget the night I wore women’s clothes to Taekwondo. I don’t suppose the rest of the dojang will either.