2006-01-27 - 2:56 p.m.

It Takes a Practice to Train a Kid

Fencing practice happened last night, and I am glad I made it. To tell you the truth, I was exhausted after work and the last thing that I wanted to do was to run around with a blade and poke at anyone.

No, boys and girls, all I wanted to do was to lie in the couch with a cup of tea or simply fall asleep. Instead, I packed up my stuff and dragged my butt to practice.

After a month and a half of no practice, I had expected to be rusty. Add to that the fact that I have decided to learn how to master the cloak and rapier technique, of which I don't know much other than the fact that you grab a piece of cloth and flail it as best you can, and my expectations dropped even more.

To my surprise, I did not suck. Okay, I was not spectacular, but I didn't suck either. That is, until I faced the Mighty Thomas, one of our resident kids.

Thomas started practicing with us as soon as he turned 14. He shows up with his dad religiously every Thursday evening, and often every Sunday afternoon too. He also listens. As a result, this kid has trained at various times under Marcellus, Cat, Jeff, Seamus, Cosimo, myself, and just about anyone that had anything to teach him.

Last night, he handed me my butt in a platter.

Repeatedly.

At which moment, someone said "Don't worry about it, you know that lately he beats everyone's butt."

And I had only been gone for a month and a half . . .

The worst part -- or perhaps the best part -- is that the damned kid was beating me at my own game. Under other circumstances I would have asked "Where did you learn that?" but I knew the answer only too well.

Thomas turned sixteen a couple of weeks ago, and now he wants to authorize. I have contacted the Kingdom Earl Marshal and started making arrangements to do that ASAP.

I can't wait to see him authorized. I will then feed him sugar, shake him up, and let him lose on the rapier field.

Me? I'll be watching from the sidelines and laughing my butt off . . .

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