Deborah Halverson's Blog

Apparently twisting a brother into a pretzel agrees with my sons. Yesterday, they earned their first stripes in jui-jitsu class. They were incredibly proud—jumping around and burying their heads in my stomach and plainly not knowing exactly how to process this first promotion of their lives. All the other parents in the studio added to the excitement, patting them on the backs and giving them high fives. I’ll tell you, those boys worked hard to earn that little white stripe on their white belts.

One example that stands out in my mind is the fact that they’d never done a somersault before taking this class. On the first day, when the teacher had the class do somersaults in the warm-up portion of class, the boys were puzzled. They watched the other kids and then gamely tried to bend over, tuck their heads between their legs, and then flop over onto their backs. It looked painful. But they kept at it, even practicing with me at home (I can report that it is painful), making progress each week. Yesterday, I noticed that these not-yet-five-year-olds can roll forward like a couple of car tires, without even stopping. It’s as though they’ve done somersaults all their lives. Their improvement in most other areas of their jui-jitsu is equally dramatic. Any fears I had about starting them in martial arts too early has been washed away.

Actually, I should clarify: Only two of the boys now take jui-jitsu. My middle born, a boy who tends toward shyness, only took one class, on the day he received his gi. The teacher was surprised and pleased by his first efforts, proclaiming that my shy boy was a natural. And that’s indeed what it looked like, as he easily twisted his brothers into bows and then sat on them, smiling the whole time. However, for reasons unknown, he has refused to participate since then. We tried everything—from encouraging him to actually going out onto the mat with him, but he’s holding firm: no jui-jitsu for him. So, we finally accepted that for now at least, this boy will hang out with Mommy and Daddy on the sidelines while his brothers roll and twist each other. I try to give him some attention so that he won’t feel jealous, but not enough that he’ll never participate because he’d rather get one-on-one time for an hour. Maybe some day he will try it again, but the little guy isn’t even five years old yet, so I’m not going to push him. And I’ve gotten over the notion that being triplets means they must all do the same activities. It doesn’t, and they won’t.

I do wish I could get my money back on that gi, though. Those uniforms are ridiculously expensive. If only I hadn’t washed it… Oh well, maybe we’ll get lucky and he’ll decide to rejoin the class before he outgrows the gi.

Anyway, I’ve stopped mourning the notion of the Halverson Triplets Jui-Jitsu Team. Instead, I’ve stolen my middle born’s spot in the family jui-jitsu contract. Two days a week, I now run out there in my bold blue gi and let men more than twice my weight tie me into a knot then sit on me. It’s fun. I’m learning self-defense skills and the workout is fabulous. Once in a while, whether due to my tripping or my partner’s pity, I even end up on top. Actually, I’ve only attended four classes so I don’t want to exaggerate my prowess at evoking pity from my classmates. I may soon get good enough for them to take me seriously and drop the pity.  That scares me a little. But what they don’t know is that I have a secret weapon. Two, actually: my clever sons, who, with their new stripes, now outrank me two nights a week.  All last week, in preparation for my first class, they kindly sat on top of me in the living room, twisting my arm in the “Americana” maneuver (ow) and teaching me to squirm out of leg holds (more ow). It was truly an education:

“See, Mommy? You twist their arm this way—”

“Ow.”

“—then you twist their wrist that way—”

“Ow!”

“—then you pull their whole arm backward like you’re painting the floor with it. This way.”

“Ow! Stop! Ow!”

“Mommy, you have to tap him to make him stop.”

Tap, tap, TAP!

“Good for you, Mommy. Now let me teach you how to flip someone’s legs over his head.”

You know, I actually applied that Americana thing during last night’s sparring session and it worked! My sons know their stuff.  They may be the youngest in their class (the other kids are 6 and older), but they will take on any of the other kids. Last night, they even put a chokehold on the professor.

Yes, indeed, my boys are adept enough to twist a brother, paralyze their mother, and choke out a black belt. And now they’ve got the stripe to prove it. I’ll tell ya, it does a mother proud.