She's Come a Long Way Baby!

Saturday was testing day at our school and I for the first time in my life got emotional during a test.

I first met Emelia (names changed to protect the innocent)  when she was about to turn seven years old.  Her uncle, a student at the time, kept saying, “I need to bring her here. She really needs it. It would help her so much.” Finally her concerned grandmother brought her in and signed her up.  

Her motor skills were poor, almost non-existent. She couldn’t jump. She would look down at her feet and try, but she couldn’t do it.  Whatever we asked of her, she would need a few seconds to process the information and then look at her arm or hand as though willing them to move.  She couldn’t get her body to do anything she wanted. There was such a disconnect between her brain and her body that it was disturbing. 

The same disconnect was apparent in other areas.  She was unable to express herself.  The words just would not come. She tried and then would just stop. She also needed many more seconds to process and understand what people were saying to her. She would become embarrassed, flustered, and scared.  She seemed as though she was waiting for everyone to make fun of her or reject her. Apparently this was something she was very used to outside of our school.  She had been labeled.  And everyone labeled her. Whenever anyone spoke to her, her fists would involuntarily go to her mouth. She hid behind her hands.

After a few weeks, we discovered that there was nothing “slow” about her.  She was smart, even if she couldn’t get the words out.  She was good natured and funny.  And more importantly, she was always willing to try.  Sibok (pronounced see-bok, meaning chief instructor) Rocco Ambrose, always made sure Emelia knew how well he thought of her and her efforts.  She just needed a positive, safe, and nurturing environment. A place where her efforts were applauded, her accomplishments were lauded, and where everyone (no negative peer pressure allowed) wanted to help.  So her training began.  That was three years ago.

This past Saturday was testing day.  Ten-year-old Emelia stood in front of Sibok ready to test for her brown belt.  Her focus was intense, her eyes clear.  She listened intently to the directions given her.  She responded immediately. (Prior to the test, I had reminded Sibok to give her a few seconds to process a question, but it was unnecessary.)  She was so on top of things that I was awed. 

Her physical techniques were clean.  She generated power and flow.  The only thing that needed work was her scissors kick.  She could only get it up to her chest.  But if you only knew what an accomplishment that was for her, you would have cheered.

I had spent months with this little girl to get her ready for this test and many tests in the past. I didn’t realized how vested I was in her development until I started to tear up.  When at the end of her test, I saw her looking at Sibok, waiting for his critique; I realized that she couldn’t be called a little girl anymore.

When Sibok came into the office to get her new brown belt, he looked at me (crying and sniffling) and concerned said, “What’s wrong?”  Nothing of course, I was just so proud and awed.