Malik Fences Off Bullies

 

 Malik was preparing his gear for the Fencing competition coming up on the weekend. He felt confident, knowing he was well trained with the epee, the dueler's sword. It is similar to the foil but with a stronger blade. His equipment is good, of the finest quality. 
    He mentally went over the various techniques. His thrust was good, extending the sword at arm’s length. Judges in previous tournaments had given him good scores. He was told his was above par, as was his lunge.

     The lunge required carefully determined practice. All movements from his leg and foot positions to advancing toward the opponent required perfected skill. Malik had practiced it until it became natural to him. He could lunge, retract and repeat with balanced speed.

     Thinking about the opponents he was about to meet, his main concern was his feint. Provoking a reaction from the other fencer was a form he felt was his least strong technique. Malik was not a provoker.

     Sitting on the side of his bed, the weapon lying across his knees, he thought about a debate a few days earlier during lunch at the high school. Malik and several of his friends were talking about martial arts. A buddy from his former Tae Kwon Do class asked him why he was no longer doing martial arts.

     "I'm still doing it." Malik picked up a French fry, dipping it in the watery Ketchup.

     "Which one? Judo? Karate?"

      Malik swallowed, took a gulp of milk from the carton, and replied. "Fencing. I fence."

     Loud, boisterous laughter came from several boys at the next table who were listening.

     "Fencing, hell man, that ain't no martial art. And it ain't no sport. Prancing around like some ballerina waving a stick at someone." One of the guys from the other table called.

     Malik knew that these tough guy-bullying jocks thought that only hand-to-hand combat was a true sport. They didn't know that fencing is considered a martial art and a sport. He knew the difference and was proud to be good at both. Having played soccer and baseball when he was younger, then moving into Tae Kwon Do, he had learned the ins and outs of being on offense and defense.

     He could have told them that a goal in most sports is getting mastery over others; a goal of martial arts is to master oneself.  Malik had learned that early in life. He also had learned early in life that arguing with people who are determined to provoke you into action is useless.

      Instead of retorting the comment at the jock, Malik picked up his lunch tray, stood, and changed the subject. "So how do you guys think the game against Brashier, our biggest rival, will go Friday night?" He pushed his chair under the table. "It's the biggest basketball game in the county. Think we're going to win?"

      Distraction, tossing the potential argument in another direction, always worked. Malik had perfected it, not just in fencing but also in life. When he was in elementary school, he learned how to evade the tough kids who tried provoking him because he didn't fit the description of a normal family. A bi-racial, adopted by a single mom kid didn't fit the stereotypical family identity pattern. It wasn't a problem for Malik. He was proud that he fit exactly where he belonged.

       It was like that with Fencing, Malik thought, releasing the memory of the lunchroom. He put the weapon back on the wall mount. He could relate fencing to life.

       Some time ago he read a book about fencing. That's what drew him to take lessons. The author had written that fencing is the art of negotiating for a position, for cooperation, and learning to give and take in order to achieve goals.

      His first fencing teacher had emphasized that the skills he would learn in this mastery sport would change his life. It would enable him to make good choices in life. And it had, Malik thought. He had learned how to parry, a defensive move aimed at blocking or deflecting an opponent. That's what he did at the high school lunch table. He distracted the jock. He could have made a counter-attack and responded with a defensive remark. Instead, he maintained his position of strength, deflecting the comment that was meant to provoke him.

     Ending his thoughts, he started packing his fencing gear into the unique equipment carrier his mother had bought for their travels to various fencing competitions. He was ready for this next one, he felt confident but maybe he should practice his feint and strengthen his ability to provoke his opponent. It was a good move in fencing, but in real life, Malik liked the art of deflecting.  It always served him well.

The End

Written for Malik by his G'ma 

©2013 All Rights Reserved

All stories are fiction.

My grandson Taylor was 10 when I wrote these---he asked me to write one for him

A Three Shot for Taylor

A few years ago my granddaughter spent some time in Israel. I wrote this fictional story for her.

Jordan Mees Tobias

Grandson Sean loved playing the guitar and starred in several school plays. 

Sean's Starring Role

David loved baseball and played youth ball for years before going to College.

Strike One for David

A Three Shot for Taylor

  

Taylor wasn't sad that football season was over. His team had done well with a 6 and 2 season, and he liked playing free safety, the position his older brother had played. But it was time to move on to basketball, possibly his favorite sport. Practices had begun.

    His team was expected to do well this season. It was the same team his brother coached for two years before going to college. The guys were friends on and off the basketball court.

    Taylor was getting good at long shots, not quite the three-point spot yet but almost. He practiced during the summer on the basket in his driveway His jump shot was getting where he wanted it, rarely touching the rim as it swooshed right in.

     There was something about playing sports that Taylor felt was what he should do. As long as he could remember, his family was involved in one sport or another. His father went to college on a football scholarship; his mother coached volleyball and basketball; his older brother and sister played sports in middle school and high school. Taylor knew he was meant to play sports.

     He also knew being a good student was important. He liked school and looked forward to the challenges. In a way, school was like playing a sport, you had to work at it, learn how to be good at it, and then do it. That's what it was all about, learning and doing.

    Taylor had many friends in school. He spent time with lots of different kids, not just the ones who played sports. He was involved in school activities, and never hesitated to do something extra to be helpful.  That's how he met Alex.

    Ms. Simmons, one of the school counselors asked Taylor if he would be an assistant to Alex, a special needs boy in his class. Taylor was glad to help. He liked Alex, who was slow in doing physical things but seemed to be mentally above average. He impressed Taylor with his math abilities.

     Taylor made sure to watch Alex on the playground during recess. Sometimes he had to run interference when a bully would start to pick on him. He would go to Alex, throw his arm around his shoulder and guide him to another area of the playground.  He made a point of going through the line in the cafeteria behind him in case he needed help. He made sure Alex sat with him and the other guys during lunch.  After school, he helped Alex get on the school bus.

     During basketball practice, one evening, Taylor's ride home was late. He was watching the Wildcats practice, sizing them up to see their moves. They had been the team to beat last year. Unfortunately, his team had lost to them in the city playoffs. Taylor watched to see if they had any special plays.

     He was bouncing a ball on the sidelines near the door watching when he saw Alex on the court running up and down with the team doing drills. It surprised him that Alex was there. He'd never seen him at any of the games before.

    "Hey, Alex," Toby, one of the Wildcats guys called, "get off the court. You're slowing us down."

    "Let him be," their coach called. "He's on our team."

    "What?"

    "Just keep your pace and Alex will keep his," Coached said sternly.

     Taylor's pick-up driver stuck his head inside the gym door and waved for him to leave.

    As the season progressed, Taylor was good at making baskets, but he was at his best in defense. Never hesitating to get in front of an opponent and snatch away the ball, he found it was his favorite part of the game, getting the ball and driving it back down to his side of the court. His coach relied on him to get in there and get that ball. His teammates made sure they were ready when he got it and passed it to them.   

    Near the end of the season. Taylor's team, the Amazons were at the top of the standings. They had been first, then the Wildcats were first, but the Amazons moved back into the top spot. It was a fierce competition.

    Finally, the time had come. The Amazons were playing the Wildcats. Whichever team won would go on to play in the district playoffs. Taylor's team put in extra practice time at coach's house.  Taylor spent whatever free time he had shooting baskets in his driveway, even in the dark.

    During school time, he thought about the plays coach had taught them. He knew the right spot to take basket shots. He knew how to guard his opponent. He was ready for the Wildcats.

    The day before the big game Taylor was in the lunch line behind Alex, who was moving slower than usual. Alex never moved fast, his disability made it hard for him to reach for items on the lunch layout. 

    "Alex!" a voice behind Taylor yelled. "Move it or lose it. Come on, you're holding up the line."

    Taylor looked behind him. It was Toby, the same guy who had yelled at Alex to get off the court at practice.

    "Do you want the jello salad?" Taylor asked Alex who nodded.

Taylor picked up one of the bowls and put it on Alex's tray. "Here, you go. You okay carrying the tray?"

    "Yeah," Alex responded. "I'm okay. Thanks, Taylor."

    During lunch, the guys talked about the game coming up with the Wildcats. 

    "You think we can beat them" Will stabbed his fork into a salad.

    "Yeah, no way we can't," Connor banged his milk carton on the table.

    "You going to beat us?" Alex asked, looking at Taylor.

    "We're going to try," Taylor said. "You never know what's going to happen."

    "Do you think I'll get to play this time?"

    "Sure you'll get to play Alex," Taylor said, "Why wouldn't you."

    "Coach never put me in yet."

    Will looked at Alex. "You never played in any of the games?"

    Alex shook his head. "I don't play good," he stammered.

    "Sure you do," Taylor punched him lightly on the arm.

    Lunch was over. Time to go back to class. Taylor picked up Alex's tray.

    "See you at the game Saturday," Alex pulled himself up from the chair.

    "Yeah. See you." The guys called.

    Taylor couldn't remember seeing the stands as full as they were at the game on Saturday. People were standing on either side of the bleachers. He was tense. He knew his teammates were tense. This was a big game and the two teams were evenly matched. Both had lost only two games during the season. Anything could happen.

     The Wildcats played a fast-paced game. Taylor's team kept up with them, one on one. The score stayed close. The Wildcats scored, the Amazons scored. They were evenly matched. One of the Wildcats fouled out with 7 minutes to go. Taylor was guarding him and then his replacement, who was taller than Taylor. Height never bothered Taylor, he could get in and take away the ball no matter how tall an opponent was. He knew how to make fake moves to put the opponent off guard, then get in and grab the ball in mid-air.

     The Wildcats scored. The race to the opposite side of the court was fast and furious. Taylor stayed with his guy. Suddenly from off to the left, one of the Wildcat players tripped, falling on the guy Taylor was guarding. Both players hit the floor hard. Taylor barely managed to stay on his feet. A timeout was called. Taylor looked at the scoreboard. The Wildcats were ahead 31 to 29. He breathed deeply as Coach went over the things they needed to think about when play resumed with only a minute and a half to go.

     Back on the court, Taylor was ready to guard the player he'd been with before the fall and timeout. It wasn't the same guy. It was Alex. The two guys who had gone down were on the bench.

     "Hey Taylor," Alex waved at him. "Coach put me in."

     Taylor gave a thumb's up.

     The Wildcats had the ball, moving down the court surprisingly slower than earlier, setting up positions under the net. Taylor stayed with Alex, watching what play was being set up. They went to full press knowing the Wildcats were trying to play out the clock. Somehow the Amazons had to get the ball. Taylor watched the ball tossed from one Wildcat to another. He had to make his move. He did. Dashing between two players he grabbed the ball, dribbled down the court. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Alex standing to the side. Without looking at the Wildcat defender in front of him, Taylor bounced the ball to Alex.

     The crowd in the stands was suddenly silent. The Wildcat players stopped, not sure what Alex would do or what they should do. Taylor moved swiftly to Alex, "Come on Alex, you can do it." Taylor encouraged him.

     Alex moved slowly, he dribbled the ball, got just beyond half court when he stopped, looked at Taylor, smiled and moved forward, the ball in his hands. 

     "Traveling," the coach called.

    The Wildcat coach signaled for their last time out.

    "Why did you do that?" One of Taylor's teammates asked. "You gave him the ball."

    Taylor just shrugged his shoulders. Their coach rubbed him on the head. "Good job," he whispered.

    The Amazons won the game in the last 8 seconds when Taylor made his first three shot of the season. He felt good about making the basket. He felt good about seeing Alex with the ball.

© 2013 M. Bradley McCauley

for her Grandson, Taylor 

Jordan Meets Tobias

 Loosening her seatbelt as the 747 reached its cruising altitude, Jordan looked out the window. The scene below was cloud-covered. Even if it wasn't, she knew Tel Aviv would be out of view. Her vision blurred as tears filled her eyes. She closed them, promising herself she would be back and her newfound friends would be waiting.
   The trip to Israel had been a long-time dream for Jordan. Her Jewish heritage is a vital part of who she is. She embraces her Hebrew faith with pride. She is also Irish, English, and Hungarian from her mother's side. Jordan likes to think of herself as a mixture of Old World heritage and Ancient religious tradition.
    So many moments of her trip flashed through her mind. Which ones did she want to capture to tell the family waiting in Florida? Her brother Jake would want to know all about the Kibbutz experience how she relished that time. She not only felt welcome, but she also became a part of the community as if she had been raised there.
   She and her brother Jake knew the history of European Jews settling in Israel in the early 1900s, developing a place where each would give to each other according to their means. Those early years were farming and building. Today, living in a communal style atmosphere, residents contribute to the good of the whole, helping those in need and sharing in whatever way they can.
   Dad would want to know about the politics, how young people feel about serving in the military, and the Temples' Hebrew services. He would listen intently to everything she had to say about the religion of his father,
   Mom would want to know everything, from the food they cooked to the Geographical landmarks like the Dead Sea, the Western Wall, and the historic Temples.
Pulling away from her thoughts as the flight attendants offered headsets for the movie. Jordan declined; she had her own set of films in her mind.
Jordan was impressed with the diversity of the living areas of Israel. As small a country as it is, each city from Haifa, Jerusalem, and Tel Aviv has its own flavor distinguishing them from each other. From the pastoral north to the desert and the beaches, each area has distinctive life offerings in an ancient yet newborn country.
As the meals were served, Jordan's seatmate, an elderly well-dressed gentleman, passed the meal tray to her, nodded, and smiled.
"You are American, yes?" He slowly unwrapped the plastic from his utensils, unfolded his napkin, and raised his glass of wine in a toast.
  Jordan smiled, returned the toast gesture, and opened the salt and pepper packages.
"I noticed you in the airport. Is this your first trip to my country?"
"Yes."
"And did you like it?" He turned his head to her. Jordan noticed the smile in his rheumy eyes.
"I liked it very much," she responded.
They ate quietly for a few minutes. Airplane food is not usually the best, but Jordan thought her salad was fresh, the chicken tender, and the roasted vegetables nicely seasoned.
Laying down his plastic knife and fork, the gentleman spoke again, this time without looking at her. "My name is Tobias," He paused. "You are Jordan?"
Surprised, Jordan looked at him with raised eyebrows.
"I heard your friends say your name. We have good Hebrew names, you and me. Tobias is from the word Toviyah, it means the goodness of God." He took a sip of wine.
Jordan wasn't sure what to say. She smiled as he continued.
"I hardly remember coming to Israel. I was very young. It would be my new home." He folded his napkin, laying it across the half-eaten food. "I was scared." He looked at her and sadly shook his head. "My parents sent me to live with an Aunt and Uncle. We were from Germany during the bad time. That terrible, terrible time." His eyes lost the smile.
Jordan's thoughts immediately centered on stories of the Holocaust. So many millions were killed.
"I never saw my parents again."
Jordan whispered that she was sorry. He nodded. "Thank you."
Nothing more was said, and soon Jordan heard the soft breathing; her new friend was asleep. Not wanting to think about the terrors of wars past and unrest today, she glanced up at the movie screen. She blinked, and her thoughts returned to the country she had come to love. How many of the young people she met had parents and most likely grandparents who escaped the onslaught of terror?
Tears again filled her eyes. She must have dozed. When she awakened, Tobias was talking with one of the other passengers in the row. Jordan pulled a notebook from her tote bag. She thumbed through many of the pages, stopping to read notes about the places she visited. It caught Tobias' attention.
"You are awake. I hope you slept well. It is a long flight." Tobias was sipping coffee.
Laying the notebook on her lap, she asked him how long he would be in the States.
He didn't answer immediately. She went back to scanning the pages.
"I am not going back to Israel. My son brings me to America to die."
Jordan stiffened.
"I am old and I am ill. I want to die in my country, but I have no family left there. My son does not want me to die alone."
Jordan didn't know what to say. It was very sad.
"He is my source of income. I do what he says."
Instinctively Jordan reached out her hand and touched his. "It will be okay."
He patted her hand. "Yes, they say Miami has many Jews, but they are not Israeli Jews."
"I don't understand."
"Israeli Jews have suffered much disruption and tension throughout history. American Jews have lived different, easier lives." He paused, adjusting his body.
"Now I will sleep again. When we get to Florida perhaps you can meet my son."
The rest of the flight was uneventful. Jordan slept some more, ate the breakfast served, and spent some time tidying up her notes. She said some prayers for Tobias that his health would be better and life with his son would be good.
During her visit to Israel, she had been mostly with young people about her age. This was the first time she had an in-depth conversation with someone from the older generation. She felt empathy for the people who had gone through so much to build their country. Jordan knew she would always feel the pride of her Jewish heritage, she would have loving thoughts of her friends in Israel, and she would never forget Tobias, the goodness of God.

This is a work of fiction written by M. Bradley McCauley for her Granddaughter, Jordan.
Granddaughter

©2013