The forces of good...

Those were the words Michael’s fencing coach used when completing the initiation ceremony for young fencers moving from the beginning to the intermediate fencing class.

During the ceremony, the kids dress up in their gear – all of it shiny, spotless, and brand new – and stand at salute position while the coach addresses them; challenges them to be “ambassadors of the sport, abide by their honor…” and then finally, binds them on their oath to join “the forces of good.” He then moves smartly down the line of modern knights, striking the guard of each one’s sabre with a quick stroke from his own blade thus giving each of his students their first dueling marks.

So I heard the words “Forces of good…” and thought “My God, who talks like that any more?  The forces of good?”  I was moved by it.  We all ought to talk that way, I thought.  What’s wrong with telling kids out loud that they should make it a goal to do good things, take good care, and be good people?  We place an emphasis in our family on being the good guys - and that goal is not always easy or uncomplicated.  I was reminded of that fact late last year when I got a note from Michael’s school indicating he had been making comments that some thought were perhaps better kept to himself.   

Michael is neither particularly shy nor quiet.  He is my live wire.  A terrific kid, full of energy and laughter.  I cannot imagine he blends meekly into the woodwork in any class.  Leading a class with him is probably sometimes a little like trying to fish with dynamite.  

Inquiring a little farther, I learned from Michael that he had been having disagreements with some of his classmates over, of all things, a cousin’s name.  Michael has a cousin who is wonderful, Ababu.  Actually all of Michael’s cousins are wonderful kids.  My family, this flock of great kids ranging in age from 20 to 4, is overflowing with fantastic kids.  Proof again, I suppose, that as a child I was found wandering near my parents' home and they just sort of took me in.

‘Babu is from Africa.  A child my brother and his wife adopted from Ethiopia, literally saving his life from a place where he was given up for dead.  To watch ‘Babu with my brother’s family is to understand that love and life exist on a level most of us could never imagine.

So when Michael learned they were coming to visit last Thanksgiving, his enthusiasm got the better of him.  Pretty much the case for all of us really.  I think the last time my entire family; siblings and their kids, was all together was about 4 years ago.  We were all a bit giddy about seeing them.

So the disagreement at Michael’s school turned out to be that he was telling his buddies the story of Ababu and a couple of the kids starting making fun of ‘Babu’s name.  Michael, who has not seen ‘Babu in four years, took up the defense of his kin by lighting into the offending classmates.

“That’s racist,” he told me he said to them.

Hardly words of temperance and deliberation, and not the kind of words his mediator dad would use to resolve a conflict, but then again his mediator dad wasn’t there, was he?  So this 10 year old, possessed of a very strong “champion” gene, took up the fight and, as a  sworn member of the "forces of good," rode out to meet the forces of ignorance, intemperance, and discrimination.  Lochinvar in tennis shoes.  A champion with freckles. 

“He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone.  So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, There never was a knight like the young Lochinvar.”

Did I mention he’s 10?

The champion gene, not always the most useful in every situation but nearly always one of the most remarkable to observe in action, is strong in my family.  My dad’s family had it – one ancestor was actually kicked out of West Point for striking another member of the Corps of Cadets over the head with a plate because he thought the man a coward.

And my mom’s family is rife with it.  So famous is the fast blade of indignation and affront on her side of the family we actually named those moments “Joan moments” after her.  If she didn’t have a car she would certainly have the fastest horse in the county and it would remain perpetually saddled next to the homestead, ever at the ready to ride into harm’s way if someone dared trespass against one of her kids.  The Joan moments are things to behold. She is indeed a champion.

So that night when I was chatting with Michael about the note from school, it was with equal parts concern –I reminded him that we absolutely will be respectful of the educational setting and treat everyone’s learning time as if it is vital; and admiration.  The admiration part was me wondering “who among us taught you to be so righteous, so decent, and so devout to the high principles of the forces of good?  How are you so courageous and yet won't turn off the light in the basement?"

Mostly, I did not forget to remind him of how proud we all are of him that, though he cannot remember to turn off the basement light, he certainly has kept his promise to join the forces of good. He is, among all the other things a 10 year old could be; impossibly decent and essentially good.

So thanks for stopping by my blog today.  I hope the day finds you in good health, protected by the love of a fine family, and that among your kin there is a champion who will protect, inspire, and defend you to the last as a dauntless member of “the forces of good.”

Dennis

smalltowndad@hotmail.com