How to Create Your Own Army

There was a time long ago, when my reality was basically at a reverse of what it is now. Skinny now, I was once a porker. Now ready to take on bears and ligers, I was unsure of things pretty much of the time. Family life was rocky with the abrupt introduction to a group of soon-to-be relatives (my now stepsiblings who are some cool cats), and things are more or less leveled out. Also, I do not spend my time being the vent for the rage of redneck martial artists, while back in the day this was how I passed much of it.

I did not fit in at the studio, and for many reasons. As a chubby, nearsighted 12 year old, I didn't like the idea of having to run laps down the side of the highway and then forcibly meditating in the front yard of a trailer with drunk white-trash neighbors yelling and laughing at us the whole time. But that's just one of those things that everyone goes through in life, I thought, that everyone had to go through at some point. Just like everyone has to dig glass out of their feet, or find some way to stop peeing blood, or pull their larynx back out after somebody pushed it in practicing a move called "Passing the Horizon" on me in class.
Just the facts of life, fat boy. Get in the game.


All in a day's work for Scott, sensei and (probably self declared) 6th or 7th degree black belt. This was a man who didn't take no for answer and got what he wanted. The only problem was that what he wanted was his own army of prepubescent boys who could yank your spine out and sacrifice it to him. He trained children to finish off their attackers, usually by death but sometimes by simply pulling out their eyeballs. One move protected against someone grabbing your shoulder, but constituted a broken back, a shattered humerus, and loss of coherent speech for the dastardly villain who dare try it. I hope no little boy's grandmother slipped up a little too quietly from behind to get their attention, because some of those little fuckers could do some damage.

If you were to just step up to the dojo, you'd see lots of trophies, mirrors, and excited hillbilly kids with rattails kicking many things, principally other hillbilly kids. You would presume that this was one of those evil karate schools because of the black ghiseveryone had to wear, like someone who would be taking on the underdog cool karate dudes in a Disney movie. You would be exactly correct in this presumption. They weren't evil, just ignorant to advanced human emotion and thought like benevolence, charity, goodness, and not sucker punching children.

The routine as I came to know it started out in the first class with lots of punching imaginary criminals and going through some sort of gauntlet called the "Sidewalk of Death". Really. This was where we had to be blindfolded and walk down the line of the other students in the class, and then one of them would grab us in a very specific, prepared hold and say something like "HIYASAHHHT!", at which point we had to react with one of the handy and devastatingly powerful self-defense technique that we were taught earlier on. I didn't know any of these at this point, so I had to make shit up as I went along and basically did my best imitation of Ryu from Street Fighter 2.

"Heh heh, good job," the instructors said as I shamefully stood back in line in my tight, tight beginner's ghi. Then the sons of bitches decided to teach some more moves, with Scott the centerpiece of the demonstration. Kenpo is a karate with lots of little swipy, choppy moves to it, like playing the bongos or something like that. What it lacks in power it makes up for in showmanship. So Scott goes to the front with one of the other instructors as the bad guy. While Scott basically does ballet around the guy, the other instructor makes lots of faces that said "Ow, I really didn't see this coming!" and "Youch! Your crane stance has really gotten the best of me!" How dumb.

Each class was usually something like this, with lots of extended periods of meditating to Pure Moods. I must have listened to "Sail Away" by Enya and "Return to Innocence" by god knows who 75 times. Meditating was hard when you sat like they wanted you to, on your knees. Holy mother of fuck did this hurt. Also, Scott would tell tales of people who really knew how to kick some ass, including a guy who supposedly punched a bull that was running at him and its horns fell out of its head. One night he took a group of his best students and went to another dojo to start a fight with them. Nobody ever mentioned how this turned out.

At the beginning and end of each class we had to pledge our allegiance to the ways of Kenpo through the Kenpo Creed:

I come to you with only Karate! Empty Hands!
I have no weapons!
But should I be forced to defend myself! my principles! or my honor!
Life or death!
Right or wrong!
Then here are my weapons!
Karate! EMPTY HANDS!
KIYAAA!...

At this point the instructor clapped and we bowed like monks in a heap on the ground. How degrading.

Scott loved this shit. Even more so, he loved expressing his rage towards his class. Problems with his wife could be dealt with on a nightly basis via 35 people, young and old*. Simply longer periods of time in the "horse stance" that in no way resembled a horse, or about 100 extra rounds of "Chinese Corkscrew", which sucked. Another option was pushups. When I first started out there was an instructor named Bo who I am convinced is in jail somewhere. He just has to be. One night he made me do a ridiculous amount of pushups, getting on the ground and yelling/laughing, "Go boy, go boy! Do it, you ain't done!" I stopped where I was and I said "Bo,
I can't do anymore pushups. I'm done now." Bo was unhappy, but didn't say anything. He was possibly high and thought I was Duke Nukem or a talking chimp.

My stepbrother was more adroit at getting out of these especially shitty classes, saying he felt sick or whatever it fucking took. After a round of face-to-face pushups (because it would arise competitive instincts and make you an ass-kicking machine, of course), I yelled at him "HIYAAAAHSAAAHHT! I BEAT YOU!" Nobody was supposed to talk though, so he and I had to do extra. Sorry, dude. Also, he was cool enough not to lose his cool when Scott said to him "Did you order a cup yet? I bet you need an extra small! Aaaahahaha!"

To summarize, Kenpo sucked because of:

1. Pushups
2.Somebody stealing $100 from my stepbrother
3. Standing in the painful karate stance
4. Cupchecks, especially when your parents would not buy you a cup**
5. Pagan worship of a guy whose trailer is next door
6. The ballsweat smell in the men's bathroom



After an anticlimactic end, my tenure at Crossville Martial Arts was over. I started the gentlemanly game of tennis and really enjoyed it. I was no longer fat, which I owe to Scott. I also owe him a stick to the nuts and $600 in property damages after smashing his trophies through the window (Not really, but that would be pretty awesome. If anyone wants to do that, let me know). In retrospect, there are some things I learned from Scott Padgett. Not only moves like "Japanes Stranglehold" and "Opening the Cowel", but that if you want your kids to get exercise it would be cheaper and less traumatic to throw them in a fucking bull ring. That or meth.





*Many of the adults that took these classes had some serious problems. They always came in talking about their failing custody agreements and how they don't see their kids much, or how awesome Van Halen's 1986 tour was all the time. They thought Scott was a really together guy, mentally and emotionally. One dude said "KENPO POWER!" after every punch he threw in practice, even though the instructors told him not to.

**We had to stand in that damn stance again, in a big line while Bo and his nightstick went down the line. The "thock-thock" got closer and closer, and when he came to me Bo and I shared a glance that made it clear that my scrotum was open territory. "pip-pip" is the best way I can describe the sound, though the feeling wasn't so simple. I'm not saying Bo and his stick had a field day on my balls, but he did give them enough of a thwack to grant him a place on my shit list.