The Test

At Rowan's last checkup, the doctor told us he is in the 40th percentile for height and 14th for weight. We only give him helium balloons indoors. Looking ahead to middle school, when ordinary children become Lord-of-the-Flies savages, he might need more than a conch shell to survive. Hence Kung Fu.

I wish I could say I decided on Kung Fu after careful analysis of all the martial arts, but it's just the one I happened to see on the community education website. It's like when I was 10 and my family moved down the street from a Lutheran church, instantly rendering us Lutherans.

Yesterday, with the verve and defiance of a young Martin Luther nailing his 95 theses to the door, Rowan passed his white belt test.

And sure, that behemoth in front of him blocked him off to half the Jedi council judging panel, but it didn't matter. His skills were apparent whether you could see him or not.

Afterward at Culver's, Rowan didn't eat his cone; he five-point-palm-exploding-heart-techniqued it into oblivion. Many napkins perished.