R goes Electric

R has been struggling to keep up with his homework. Not because he's buried in it, but because he's been having trouble focusing on it. Working from two different households, learning a new rhythm, and spending a number of days sleeping on the couch instead of in his room didn't help.

Nevertheless, some things now seem to have him on an upward slope:

1. We've upped his ADD meds slightly. It's not unexpected that he's got a bit of a tolerance for the meds. He takes a VERY small dose compared to some of the other kids in his similar position.
2. He's back in his room, with his things.
3. He's looking forward to time at the Beach Compound with all of us: the Three Johnsketeers, the Grandparents, and Teddy & Tilly.
4. Last night, he was invited to spar on electrics with the rest of the 'guys' after class.

Because R had his homework caught up, we could stay late and spar. He was all sorts of excited when Zach told him to put on a lame' jacket. He's fenced electric before, but this was full on sparring with the big guys. What ended up happening is that R and I sparred each other on a second strip, in parallel with the competitive types. It was good. R's working on a fourth parry / disengage/ riposte move that's accurate and whip-fast in execution. When he throws his lightning-fast super-long lunge behind the riposte, he's very dangerous -- pushes right through anyone else's parry and getting the point on the continuation. Soon to be overwhelming, that move! So we worked on that. It would seem that he was pleased to be there, pleased to have been promoted. 

I drove home a young man who was focused, thinking well, and all together in his organization. It was nice. For us both.

Private Fencing Lessons

Private fencing lessons were worth it. Inevitably, some one-on-one time with an instructor becomes a valuable thing. After eight weeks of group lessons twice a week, 30 minutes of solo time with a great instructor, Len, was a big impact.

And yet, as is so often the case, we worked only on the most very basic skills during our session.

Len and I hadn’t ever worked together before. So he started me with my en guarde position. He tweaked the position of my feet a little, and we moved on to how I hold my foil.

I’ve been told that I hold my foil way too close to the center, that I need to keep my foil much more to the outside when I’m en guarde. Len helped me really ‘feel’ the correct position, and gave me some insights as to the ‘why’… and ‘why’ always helps me to maintain an unfamiliar skill until it becomes familiar muscle memory. In the case of my guarde position, having my foil so far toward center means I open up the whole of my ribcage to an attack outside my blade. Not good. Len made sure my foil and forearm are in proper alignment, fixed my hand position, and we moved on to my basic footwork.

Len had me advance and retreat, then he had me lunge. We pretty much stopped at the lunge for the rest of the lesson. Not that my lunge was bad. Len told me to my face that my lunge was pretty good and had good extension (what he said to Zach after I’d left might be something different <GRIN!>) but that I had to be wary of some mechanical issues to avoid injury. This is especially important given that I’m coming to fencing relatively late in life. With that in mind, Len fixed the following in my lunge:

• My foot needs to land further forward. At the terminus of my lunge, my knee should end up behind my foot, not beyond it. The angle formed by my thigh and shin should still be obtuse.
• I tend to pronate my foot on my lunge, landing on my instep and big tow. That throws my knee inside, and pushes my back end out. With my back end out, my spine angles and the reach of my foil shortens.
• I tend to sight down the foil like it’s a rifle. Len moved my had further outside on my reach. Again, back to guarding my ribs as a target zone, and to get around my opponent’s parry.
• The timing should be that the foil tip touches my opponent BEFORE my front foot lands in the lunge. If the foot lands before the point touches, I have to extend my reach. and push my knee in front of my foot.

And that was the whole 30 minutes. There’s a huge long list of things wrong with my lunge, but if I just fix my foot (further out, no pronation) then everything else migrates back into proper alignment.

By the end of the session, I was already feeling how my form was snapping ‘to’. I’d never really felt a good form, so it was great to actually feel it for a few consecutive minutes. It was a lot like the first time I stitched together a half dozen turns on alpine skis: uncomfortable and awkward at first, but once I’d felt how a good turn set up the dynamics for a successful subsequent turn, my technique locked into place. Same thing here. Sort of.

R took a private lesson, too. His feedback? It was boring. All he worked on was lunging and parrying, which seemed stupid and a waste of time to hear R tell it. R wasn’t so impressed. But then, R is in it for the ‘battle’. He’s twelve. He’s impatient. He delights in flailing away with a sparring partner as his learning mechanism. And, that technique works for him. Shoot, it worked for me, too, when I was his age. Afterall, a five minute lesson with a splitting maul and a wedge was all I needed. After that, they just let me flail away until I could read the weakness of the wood all by myself, and split tree rounds that others had given up on. That’s where R is in his life. I’m very clear that I’m no longer in that place in MY life any longer. I’ve learned to love the repetition of the drill. My body needs more opportunities to get it ‘right’.

Nevertheless, I’m betting that the information from the lesson will sneak into his fencing this week. Whether he would admit to it or not.

Do I LOOK Like a Francophile?

Sometimes, I have to step back and look at myself from the outside. I’ve had occasion to the that in a number of ways lately, in work, in family life, as a husband…

So I guess it should come as no surprise that I’d find myself going through an unprompted review of what someone might conclude about me by looking at my bedside items. One word would describe the person who inhabits the area surrounding where I sleep: Francophile!

Mind you, I have nothing against the lovers of French culture. I just never felt drawn to it over any other European culture. In fact, I feel drawn a bit more strongly to Greek and German culture than I do French. But you wouldn’t know that from looking in my room. At least, not right now.

The evidence. On my nightstand:

• A book, titled Ballet 101, on loan from Oregon Ballet Theater
• A book, titled The Art of Fencing, on loan from The American Studio of Fencing
• a left-handed foil on the floor, near the bed
• a clock radio
• a lamp

So, the area is relatively spare. Not a whole lot of clutter going on. BUT, what is personalized is ‘strong with the Force’ of  French culture.

Now, in my defense, I’m reading Ballet 101 so as to learn more about the art form  my daughter is pursuing. I really know nothing about ballet except the spectacle of the finished product. M is deeply engaged in the process of learning/making the art, not consuming it. There’s a big gap here between what I know and what she knows, and I need to bridge in order to maintain a connection with her going forward. That explains the primer on Ballet.

Now, Fencing started out for R as a sport of his own choosing. Last night, though, with the start of my first lesson, all four members of the family now suit up and study swordsmanship. R is currently the most committed and most skilled, followed by M, then C. While everyone else has been taking lessons since June, I’ve been the last holdout. The Art of Fencing has been a supplemental read for me, as I figure out the basics of the sport.

The first lesson was not so much Fencing as preparing. I showed up pretty-much on time, but didn’t get involved in the class until halfway through. I had to find a pair of knickers that fit me. Then I had to try on fencing jackets until I found one that fit me too. Work through the bin of gloves for the elusive lefty glove big enough for my hand, and – finally. I was ready (I already have my own lefty foil and my own mask, thanks to C’s diligent shopping for high-quality used equipment).

Now, C was at the Fencing studio, too. It was a crowded night, actually. Class had double the normal number of fencers! I stepped out of the changing room in my gear all white canvas, cradling my black wire mask in my right elbow, and holding my foil in my left hand, and C sort of gasped, “you look really hot!” she muttered out loud, but to herself.  While I was glad to hear she liked the look, I was feeling rather lost and a little silly in all the new, unfamiliar gear. I was just thankful I didn’t look as out-of-place as I felt.

It only took her a few seconds, though, before her thoughts moved on to more competitive thoughts much more in line with how I felt. In that same self-muttering delivery, she next said, “I can’t wait to see how THIS goes!”

Well… it went.

With all those students at the same time, there were two classes going. R was sparring in the more advanced group (R is one of the youngest in this group); M was working on basics with the beginners (where her age is about normal).  The head instructor waved me over, and I joined the beginners – the only fully grown person in that group.

When M realized that I’d just joined her class, she squealed and hugged me. We settled in to drills right after that. While all the other beginners were running drills, Z (the instructor) started me with the very basics. Stance. Advancing footwork. Retreating footwork. Grip.

I don’t know if I moved faster, slower, or the same as any other rank newcomer, but I do know that Z only drilled me on footwork a couple times before he paired me up with another adult to make a third group away from the beginners. Together, we drilled on advancing, retreating and basic lunges until the end of class.

I enjoyed it. I have absolutely NO fluid motions in my technique. It’s like learning to ride a bike, or learning to swing a golf club. The body has to learn the new movements. My feet keep getting rotated all wrong; I don’t angle my foil correctly; I grip the foil handle too tightly…

Oh, I don’t know if I’m an accidental Francophile. I’m probably just over-reacting.

There is, after all,  Italian ballet, German ballet, American ballet. There’s German fencing grips, Spanish fencing gear, and the like. Neither of these disciplines are wholly French. I’m just building knowledge bridges between me and my children, as they pursue passions of their own. That is why, I’m sure, Catherine Fences. It’s fun, but I suspect she wouldn’t Fence just for herself; she Fences because the kids like to Fence. I’m not loving these things because they’re French; I’m learning these things because they’re my kids’ loves. And that process enriches my life too.

Hey, Who’s The New Kid?

R and M have been going to fencing class most of the summer. I’ve blogged about it before. I think the timing was somewhat inspired, to be honest. Here’s why.

Turns out that the Fencing studio does a lot more business during the school year (go figure!), and that class attendance drops to almost zero for the summer months. That meant that, while M and R were just starting out, they got to do all their crazy, clumsy, how-do-I-do-this-again? stuff in relative obscurity. Everyone else, who’s been fencing longer, was on vacation. R and M had the instructor all to themselves for ten weeks uninterrupted.

So. Now, the rest of the students have returned. They’re picking up where they left off, but there’s a new kid in each respective class. And – surprise! surprise! – these new kids know a wee bit about the sport!

In both M’s class, and in R’s class, it’s the Johnson kids who seem to regularly get used as examples of what to do. It’s the Johnson kids who pay the best attention to the instructor. It’s the Johnson kids (R, specifically) who have the basics down enough to elicit public praise from the instructor.

This is a darned good thing. Especially for R.

Last night, for example. There are four boys in R’s class. Zach, the instructor, drilled them on parry-riposte for the first half of class, then had them spar with those same drills to finish class. In R’s case, he was consistently outscoring the other boys. Now, I don’t mean to take away from R, but it wasn’t so much that he was all that good. Rather, he was just not making mistakes. The other three were making technique mistakes all over the place. All R did was do the drills correctly, wait for a mistake from his opponent, then take the easy touch when the mistake happened. And, like I said, the other three made enough mistakes that R didn’t have to wait very long. Interestingly enough, when the other boys sparred with themselves, with both sides making lots of mistakes, the sparring seemed evenly matched. It wasn’t until they sparred with R that their overall weakness in the drills became apparent.

So, Zach debriefed each of the four after sparring. To each boy he asked the question, “How did you get touched during the drill?” and each boy did a self-analysis of the mistakes they made. R was last in this process. Zach turned to R and said “How did you get…No, strike that. How was it that you so easily made all those touches?” Zach took R’s answer and used it as a lesson for the other three. Part of Zach’s lesson: in fencing, the point often comes only because your opponent made a mistake. if your mistake comes after theirs; it won’t matter. Because their mistake got you the point.

Then, after dismissing class, Zach made a beeline to me, saying “If R keeps fencing like he did just now, none of these other three will ever touch him. When he just listens and does what I tell him, good things happen.”

M’s class is different, but the theme holds. M is, by far, the smallest in her class. And last Tuesday was her first time with the full class of children. A couple of the other girls – a little older and feeling well-established in the class – did a little bit of verbal putting down of M. That didn’t last long. Zach jumped right in, defending M by saying  that “she knows quite a bit about fencing. She’s been coming all summer while you’ve been on vacation.” A bit later, Zach used M as an example to the rest of the class for good footwork.

I can’t help be feel quite proud of my kids. as they both gravitate toward this unexpected sport. It’s something else to watch them both delight in getting suited up. M wears this little plastic breastplate under her jacket. R wears knickers now, as well as a jacket. They take very little prodding to get ready for fencing. They are clearly very self motivated by the sport. And it’s a lovely thing.

Looks like the last remaining piece of R’s gymnastics equipment has been sold. I have two interested buyers. The transition seems to be complete imminently. M auditions for Nutcracker in three days… wish her luck.

Fencing

My son made a life choice recently. He’s not quite twelve; big life choices are new territory for him. R’s been going to gymnastics class for, what, six years now? He’s been on the competitive team for two years. Blog readers may recall that he placed second in state individually, back in March.

But his coach left, moving on to a new life as a husband and a new father with his new wife. They’re now in New Mexico as she finishes her studies to be an Anesthetist.

Gymnastics, for R, was about his relationship with his coach. And about his love for doing that sort of activity. Not about competition.

I think he has quietly been seeking another place to put his athletic attention for some time now. So, when his Mom asked him if there was something the two of them could do together, could share together, he immediately said ‘Fencing!!’

And so, that’s what they do. They go to Fencing class. R loves  it. I see him ‘on fire’ about Fencing in a way he never was about gymnastics. For that, I am relieved.  C really enjoys it, too. She finds dance in it. R, of course, finds swashbuckling fun and endless layers of complexity in it. That’s what keeps him engaged.

R is selling his gym gear. His mushroom, etc. The proceeds will go to the purchase of his own fencing gear… and probably his own gym membership for a while. Just to see if he 1) loves it enough to fund it himself, 2) buys in mentally because he’s the one paying for it now, or 3) a bit of both.

So, farewell to Gymnastics. Hello to Fencing. The family blog should see more fencing over time. I’m adding a new category to the blog for Fencing.