I know this is wrong and, as an adult, I should exhibit more self-control but I can't help myself when Miss O kicks some little kid ass.
I was seated in one of the cruel chairs at Miss O's Tae Kwon Do dojang (Korean for "run-down strip mall taekwondo* school"), reading the latest Franzen novel that I'm not sure if I like yet, when they announced that it was time for sparring. I used to get all anxious during sparring because I was afraid one of the goon-y spazmo fucks was gonna kick Miss O in the face and break her nose... and her $400 glasses.
But sometime over the summer, she became badass. I think it was after a pep talk I gave where I reminded her that she's wearing well over $100 worth of sparring gear for a reason -- so she can kick and punch and hard as she fucking wants without hurting anyone. Something clicked that day and she proceeded to kick the snot out of some innocent, pony-tailed brown belt. And she never looked back.
Anywhich, today, when they announced sparring, she seemed a little tired and distracted, so I strapped her into her little padded suit and planted a light punch on the big red dot on her chest protector, just to snap her out of it a bit. She gave me a "what the shit?!" look and then socked me in the forehead.
She was ready.
When I saw that she was being paired with a crew-cutted shit who appeared to be a year or two older than she, I wasn't exactly thrilled. He had about an inch or two on her in height and reach and just seemed like he was waiting to take out his daily parental whupppins on someone else. But I should've never doubted her.
Master S. gave them the "Go!" sign and, in the blink of an eye, Miss O unleashed a flurry of brutal kicks and punches that had the kid flailing backward until he slammed into the big padded pole in the middle of the room and then bit it... hard. The ref helped him up, made sure he wasn't too severely brain-damaged, and then gave him a few pointers about keeping his guard up. But words cannot stop the force that is Tae Kwon O!
She waited for him to regain what little composure he had left and then she unleashed her fury, once again. Left kick/right kick/right kick/fist/fist/FIST and BOOM! Back down he went, slapping the mat like a wet yak liver being whacked against Christina Ricci's forehead.
Of course, throughout the carnage, I kept catching myself smiling like a mofo, and I had to keep lifting my giant Franzen tome in front of my face to hide my giddiness. I couldn't figure which of the other adults were this poor punching bag's parents, so I tried my best to disguise my glee but it wasn't easy. This was better than the Thrilla in Manila. It was the De-pantsing in Lansing.
And then it was over. They bowed at each other, shook hands and took their seats against the wall. But not before Miss O glanced over at me, peeking out through her headgear with a look that said, "THAT'S what little girls are made of." I gave her a big thumbs up and then she ran over to the wall and took a seat, smiling.
Sugar and spice, my ass.