Iron what?

I spent a week in Dallas last month. Because I was in Dallas for more than a day, I needed something to do in the evenings while I was there. Did I mention I was in Dallas? No offense to that town, but unless you like strip malls and movie theaters, there ain't much else going on.

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So, I picked up this book that is shown above at the airport on the way out. Basically, because of all my martial arts goofiness, anything that says "Shaolin" on it will get my attention.

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This book got my attention. And kept it.

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A true story of an American fella who in '92 left the sweet confines of Princeton to essentially go to China, live with Shaolin monks, and practice martial arts with them. Everyday. He lives at their temple, he trains with them, and my god, he fights challenge matches for them. Along the way, he learns a few things about himself, smooches a few girls, and watches a man repeatedly whack his own "privates" to practice Iron Crotch kung fu. That last part was not made up.

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So, of course, it was a great read.

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Accounts of us Westerners heading off to Asia to live and train in martial arts are everywhere nowadays. I've read a lot of them, but this book was the only one that captured the experience for what it really was. I too had my own 3 year excursion in Japan doing many of the same things that the author, Matthew Polly, did. Although I was "working" when I was in Japan, and didn't live in a remote temple, my experience echoed a great deal of what was in this book.

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The echo itself was one of comedy. Too many accounts written previously try to portray a rather romantic vision of what it was like. Yes, there were temples shrouded in mist. Yes, there was something undeniably cool about training in a martial art at its birthplace. Yes, there were moments when you (at the risk of hokiness) felt at one with the universe.

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But through it all was an underlying feeling of comic ridiculuousness. This is where American Shaolin triumphs. There is a lot of humor to be found when you're a gangly foreigner who decides to move out to Asia and train in martial arts with the native folks. It's not all tough guy stuff.

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Reading through this book really made me think about all of the kooky things that I had done in Japan. I sometimes can't even believe I had the pluck to do it. This was my life before the boys were born, but I am certain that it helped shape who I am today.

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So, this is somewhat of a strange post. Part book review, part nostalgia trip. I suppose I write it because there are not a vast amount of books out there that feel so incredibly personal. Like hanging out with an old friend talking about the old times.

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It was also one of the very few times I felt compelled to write this same stuff to the author directly. To the man's credit, he puts his contact details out there for everyone to see. So, I wrote a far too lengthy email to Matthew Polly. Basically just to say thanks.

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He wrote me back, and indeed, his response felt like an old friend getting back in touch.

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It's one of those books that I will have the boys read when they're older. I'll say to them: "Boys, if you want to know what it was like for your old man to do all that kooky martial arts stuff in Asia, read this". I'll say this to them, because no book could capture the experience better.

Whirlwinds - Chapter 2

The boys turned two recently. Was it not only a few weeks ago when I was writing about their first birthday? It certainly feels like it.

As I look back, year one of their lives seemed to be a kind of parental marathon. It felt long. Sure there were great moments. Fantastic moments. But sheesh, I can see why the first birthday is a real milestone for the parents mainly. It is as if you made it through something. All of that "time flies when you have kids" didn't apply at all.

This year was different. The speed of it leaves me scratching my head a bit and wondering where the days all went.

So, birthday number two arrived and we found ourselves at one of those kid gymnasiums that seem to be sprouting up everywhere nowadays. We shelled out a fair amount of cash for two hours to rent the entire place for our boys and all of their gazillion little pals.

This is what we got in return:

1. A huge space with lots of stuff they can climb on without killing themselves.
2. The chance for about twenty kids to run around like the banshees they are.
3. An extra room where they could all sit down together to eat birthday cake. There is nothing quite as terrifying as seeing a large group of two-year-olds stuffing their faces with high fructose content food. The sugar-induced mania which follows is impressive.
4. The ability to simply walk away from the maelstrom of the aftermath without cleaning a single thing up. The flotsam and jetsam created by toddlers would keep a person busy for hours. Mulitply that by 20, and well, you'll be tidying up for like, a thousand years. We just said thanks and left.

Result? It was probably the best money we've ever spent.

Certainly the ability to not have to pick up after one's own children, or anyone else's for that matter, after a toddler's birthday party is something that all parents can appreciate. But there was more to it than that. Parenting young kids is a lesson in "firsts". First crawl, first word, first poo that makes your eyebrows melt, etc.

Their second birthday was the first time I really appreciated the unblemished joy of watching my own kids have fun.

I don't mean fun in the tempered sense we adults have grown used to. I mean the kind of fun that is the sole property of a two-year-old. Man, that's some crazy fun. Kids at that age look like they're gonna go out of their frickin' minds when they are at the zenith of their fun.

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This place we rented brought out all the goods as well. Bubbles (what is up with kids and bubbles?), huge foam balls, one of those jumpy castle type thingys, and when the staff broke out "the parachute" I thought these children would pass out with glee.

My god, it was really something.

But here's the thing. It might have been one of the most fun days of my life as well.

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My wife and I were the enablers of unabashed fun. We were the Ambassadors Of Good Times to our kids and their friends.

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To stand back and watch your own children running around possessed by the spirit of pure joy while knowing that you were the ones that "made it happen" is really, really great. Simply, I felt happy that I could give that to my kids.

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The bonus of being able to leave straight away at the end without picking up a single messy plate was pretty darn good too though.