“Will Rogers said, ‘When you find yourself in a hole, stop digging.’ I always found that he knew what he was talking about. It seems to me, you might still be digging your hole.”
If anyone else had said that to Scott, even Cheryl, he would have shot back with an angry comment. Not to his grandfather, though.
“I know you’re right, Gramps.”
“There’s nothing we can do about what’s got us in this predicament. Our government sent you off to war and used you up, then sent you home with a little money in your pocket so they could forget about you with a clear conscience. That’s done. But, we need to make the best of the situation. I love you, Scotty, and I know what potential you have. I don’t want to see you waste it sitting around here with this broken down old man. I couldn’t stand that.”
Scott absorbed that.
“This isn’t something we can fix in a day, or a week, or a month. But we need to both get back in the swing of life. Sitting around feeling sorry for ourselves only means we have more to feel sorry about. So, I got us both a membership at the YMCA here in town. I figure maybe you can drive us there. If nothing else, it’s warm in there, and they’ve got a pool and an indoor walking track. That’ll get us moving.”
“When?”
“What do you mean, ‘When?’ There is only one best time to start on a project.”
Scott smiled, which felt odd on his face. “Right. Now. I’ll get the keys.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
In the movies, someone who is depressed gets a real talking to, or listens to a happy song, and the shackles of their depression fall away in an instant—or during a song montage. In real life, of course, it isn’t like that. Crawling out of the darkness happens one small step at a time.
Scott McKenzie took many of those small steps with his grandfather.
Going to the “Y” every day was too much for Earl, so he only went twice a week. Scott found that the increased exercise—swimming, walking miles on the indoor track, joining callisthenic classes—helped him more than anything.
His head slowly cleared and he got some perspective on his previous life.
He found that he thought best while he was swimming laps. At first, swimming was painful, as his war injuries were still fresh. Over a few months, though, and with the assistance of a swim instructor, he figured out the strokes that helped him build up his stamina without hurting himself. He worked his way up from swimming a single, agonizing lap from one end to the other, to eventually swimming fifty laps per day.
While he swam, he considered where he had gone wrong.
I thought I was ready, but I wasn’t. Not even close. First time I got into a hand-to-hand situation with someone, I found out how unprepared I was. Make a mistake like that with the people I’m facing off with, and there’s only one outcome. Exactly what I got.
He wasn’t able to do a fancy swimmer’s underwater kick, but he tagged the deep end of the pool and pushed off.
I still want to do this. There are too many people out there, alive and depending on me, whether they know it or not. I can’t let them down.
He finished his laps, climbed out of the pool and toweled off. His body was scarred by the bullets and the surgeries. Adults usually noticed and looked away, but the kids often stared. Scott didn’t mind, and did his best to set their minds at ease.
Today, the “Y” was nearly empty. He changed back into his street clothes and was heading toward the exit when he saw a new notice up on the bulletin board.
It was printed on bright orange paper. At the top was a hand-drawn graphic of a man in a karate gi throwing another man to the ground. In bold letters beneath that, it read, “Self Defense Classes, right here at the YMCA, Monday, Wednesday and Friday at 10:00 a.m.”
Below that, in smaller print: “Isshin-Ryu Karate taught by sensei Jerry Werbeloff.”
Scott stood in front of the notice, contemplating.
This will help. I have no idea what Isshin-Ryu is, but I’ll bet it will help with my balance. It will help me defend myself. It won’t stop me from getting shot like I did by Brock Jenkins, but maybe it would have helped me from getting my ass kicked by him in the first place.
There was a signup sheet on a clipboard that hung on a nail. Scott signed up.
THE FOLLOWING MONDAY, Scott showed up early enough to get a swim in before the self-defense class. After his laps, he changed into a sweat suit and reported to the room where classes were held.
“Looks like I’m early,” Scott said, to the man laying mats out. He was wearing a loose-fitting karate gi and had a friendly smile on his face.
“Five minutes early is right on time.”
Scott tried to hide his surprise. He had expected someone older to be teaching the class, but this was a good-looking kid who appeared to be no more than eighteen.
“Jerry. Good to meet you.” He offered his hand, and Scott shook it.
Jerry cast an appraising eye over Scott. “Leaning a little. Slight limp. What’re your injuries?”
Scott was off-balance. No one had ever spoken to him so frankly about his wounds.
“Vietnam. Shot here, here, and here,” Scott said, pointing to his right collarbone, right thigh, and left ankle.
Werbeloff nodded. “Good to know. We’ll make some special exercises for you that will help offset those injuries. I’ll draw up a list of stretches for you, too.”
“I don’t want to hold the class back.”
The door opened and two middle-aged ladies walked in, holding gym bags. Right behind them, a teenage girl followed.
“You’re not going to hold us back, I promise. We all move forward at our own pace. Last year, I taught a guy who walked with two canes. He’s pretty lethal, now, if he needs to defend himself.”
He wandered off to greet the newcomers.
I think I’m going to like this guy.
An hour later, Scott was tired and hurting, but happy.
After dismissing the class with a bow, Werbeloff said, “I’ll be here again on Wednesday. I hope I’ll see you here again.” He laid a hand against Scott’s shoulder. “Have you got a minute? I’ll show you a couple of stretches you can start on at home.”
Scott had all the time in the world.
While Werbeloff led him through the stretches, they talked.
“I expected you to be a lot older,” Scott said.
“I think everyone did.”
“It’s cool that you know enough to lead a class when you’re so young.”
“I’m not quite as young as you think I am, I’ll bet. I’m twenty-one.”
Scott laughed. “No, you’re right, but that’s still not very old.”
“I started studying when I was only nine. I was lucky to have found a good sensei. He gave me a lot of training.”
“And now you are taking the time to pass it on to me. Thank you.”
“I’ll pass it on to anyone who is ready. The rest of the class is here just to check things out, which is fine. It felt like you have more of a purpose to coming, though. So, I’ll help you.”
“Do you get paid for doing these classes?”
“A little. That’s not why I do them, though. To learn something you must do it. To master something, you must teach it.”
“I think I heard Kwai Chang Caine say the same thing in this week’s episode of Kung Fu.”