Donovan Blair - Even If it Kills Me: Martial Arts, Rock, and Roll, and Mortality

S HERMAN, TEXAS, 1982. Every kids heroes were the Von Erichs, Rambo, and Ronnie Reagan. Dont like it? Youre a girl.

In the Blair household we were all about the ninjas. My brother Zach and I watched weekly ninja matines on channel 39 from Dallas. All the characters wore black belts, so to us it seemed every badass had one. A black belt is not the real reason you should study martial arts, but try telling that to a little kid. I imagined a secret black-belt club with shadowy initiations, passwords, and rituals. Actually, I still imagine it that way. Even as a ten-year-old I knew getting a black belt would be an effort that might kill mewhich made it that much more attractive. I wanted in.

A new school, Ricks Taekwondo, had just opened in town. All of my friends were going, and Zach and I wanted to join them. It would have cost fifty dollars per month for us to go, and my parents just couldnt afford it. They had both lost their jobs, and times were tough in our house.

Mamaw, my grandmother Naomi, had the solution. She worked at Texas Instruments, which had a health club for employees and their families. One of the men she worked with, Calvin Anoatubby, had begun teaching taekwondo there. Master Calvin was a full-blooded Cherokee and a former student of Demetrius Golden Greek Havanas, who won the grand nationals in 1974. The guys were legit. We just had to get into those classes.

With Mamaws employee discount, maybe my parents could afford to send us. Wed give it a try. Mamaw got us enrolled. I was ten, and Zach was nine. We were finally on our way to ninjahood.

We went to the health club for our first class. Kids and parents filed in a few at a time. The dojang, or taekwondo school, had low, flat ceilings; mirrors on one side; assorted exercise equipment; and a mat that covered the floor. It was like any other martial arts studio I would ever see, except ours smelled of chlorine from the Jacuzzi next door.

We had no idea what to expector what was expected of us. Before Master Calvin had a chance to call the class to attention, my brother and I decided to impress everyone with a little demonstration of our ninja moves. Zach did flips, or tried anyway, and threw imaginary Chinese stars. I threw smoke bombsalso imaginaryand disappeared with a whoosh, cartwheeling away.

We both had attention deficit disorder. I repeat, both of us. And no, my parents didnt get much sleep. This demonstration was just a sample of what they put up with at home.

After our audition Master Calvin called the class to order. He instructed us on how and when to bow. Before you get on the mat, you have to bow. Before you leave the mat, you have to bow. If you have to run off the mat for a piece of equipment or take a pee and come back, you bow off and then bow back on. All this bowing shows respect for your teacher. It also suggests why so many martial artists have back problems.

Next Master Calvin led us in stretches. The first one was the butterfly. You place the bottoms of your feet together and bounce your knees up and down, stretching your thigh and calf muscles. Zach really exerted himself. He farted. It was loud. He would do this at least once a week for the duration of our TKD studies. Did he and I laugh? Every single time.