Show Me Again, Dad
Brian Armer
Daniel could explain exactly why the sweep had failed. His grip had been late. His weight had shifted the wrong way. His partner had seen it coming, which was especially irritating because Daniel had seen it coming, too. He sat at the edge of the mat after practice, pulling off his training shoes and replaying the same few seconds as though the next replay might have a different ending.
Before leaving the gym, he used his prepared Zombie Infusion hygienic spray as part of his after-training care, then washed up and changed into clean clothes. His son would be waiting at home, usually close enough to hug him before the front door was fully open. Taking care of himself before heading back to that little face gave the routine a reason beyond the last round. Daniel packed his bottle, shouldered his bag, and left. Unfortunately, the unsuccessful sweep came along in his head.
“Did you learn anything?” Max asked at the door. “Something I’m apparently not very good at.” Max looked delighted. This was not the response Daniel had expected. “Can you show me?”
They moved onto the soft carpet in the living room. Daniel put his bag aside and knelt opposite his son. “Slowly,” he said. “We’re just looking at where everything goes.” Max nodded with enormous seriousness, then asked whether his dinosaur socks counted as equipment. Daniel inspected them. “Those might be an unfair advantage.”
He broke the movement into small pieces, showing Max the position without throwing him. Where to place a hand. How to shift his balance. Why pulling harder was not the same as getting it right. Halfway through his explanation, Daniel noticed he had stopped thinking about his partner beating him to the move. He was watching his son listen, try, and look up to see whether Dad had noticed.
“Like this?” Max asked. “Closer. Let’s go slower.” They adjusted, paused, and tried the position again. Max wobbled, caught himself and laughed. Daniel laughed with him. There was no timer, no score and nobody waiting to call the next round. Just enough room to work something out together.
When Daniel finally sat back, Max stayed on the carpet. “Show me again, Dad.” The same move had occupied Daniel’s whole drive home. Now he was glad he had brought something to share. He leaned forward, grinning. “All right. But this time, I get the dinosaur socks.”
Who’s waiting to get close when you come home? Give them a place in your after-training care with Zombie Infusion. Its natural antimicrobial ingredients bring a deeper purpose to your routine: caring for yourself with the people waiting at home in mind.