I hate fighting. MMA and UFC competitions make my blood run cold. It’s just so barbaric–pitting two people against each other in a ring until either one of them gets knocked out or a doctor steps in. It rouses the Mommy in me, and I have this undeniable urge to grab both of them by their ears and drag them out to have a talk. Or a lecture. Or some grounding. You know–whatever it takes to stop that insanity.
My 6 year old takes a martial art, which might sound a bit hypocritical, but I wanted him to know how to deal with bullies on the playground. Which he now knows, so it’s excellent. And he’s learned a lot of other valuable things too, like focus and persistence. Anyway, during one of his classes, I was sitting with the other parents on the bleachers, and I watched one of the coaches’ UFC fight on another parents’ iphone. It was scarring. Seriously. I’m pretty sure that a brain is such a precious commodity, that we really shouldn’t allow others to smack around its casing, you know?
Another young guy in the gym is going to do a professional fight one of these days soon, and I cringe for him. It doesn’t matter if he wins or loses (and apparently he’s won before), he’s going to come out of that fight in rough shape. He can’t be more than 20 and he has impeccable manners. It kind of upsets me to think of this young man being pummeled by a stranger.
This wasn’t supposed to be the point of this post. The point I was originally going to make was: I find that I can get a surprising amount of work done while I sit on the bleachers during my son’s class.
Right there–I just started the first scene of NURSING A SOLDIER’S HEART today.
But apparently, I feel more strongly than I thought about professional fighting. Sorry about that.