If you know me, you’ll interpret this entry’s title to mean I’m saying adios to my son. This is not what I’m inferring. At least not in this entry. I will be saying adios to my son James in a short while, as he’ll be heading back to the University of Louisville for his second year. Go Cards and all that.
Today I’m writing about my boxing class instructor, whose name is also James. He announced recently to our class this is his last week of teaching. Curious as to why he must exit, I asked him after class on Monday. The change is due to his job. He’s not thrilled. I’m not thrilled. It’s doubtful any of the regulars in the class are thrilled either.
James doesn’t realize it, but he’s gotten me through a difficult time in my life. I’ve taken a good bit of aggression out on the punching bag he provides on Saturday mornings. James is funny, helpful, encouraging, and seems to be knowledgeable in teaching people how to box. Mind you, this class is not a kick boxing class. This is a [put on gloves and hit people] class. And without James, it’s just not going to be the same. One of his young boxing proteges might take over, which will be great, but not the same.
I’m glad my daughter Allie and I have been a part of his class. It’s been time we’ve treasured. Mainly because we enjoy the class, the workout, the determined women of all ages who work really hard. She and I like our routine. Especially as we face a school year ahead of uncertainty. While we look forward joyfully, the year will bring many unknowns. Three hours a week in a room with strong women [and a few strong males] helped us along.
Change brings adjustment. The good news is I am prepared if I need to hit someone in the grocery store. I was not when I began attending the class in the winter. [thanks James] The bad news is I will miss James. Yes, I know, it’s not like we are close. Yet again, James helped me plug along through a dark period. Spent aggression. Lots of sweat. Etc.
I’m finding there are people and situations that get us from one place to another. Figuratively. Sometimes a job. Sometimes a volunteer opportunity. Sometimes a person. And often the person doesn’t even realize the role he or she is playing.