My girl has been asking me to write up the story of the events that led me to where I am today. Eventually it will be a book that I will try to publish in Chinese or English or both. But in the mean time I will just place it on the site chapter by chapter. I think it will help me learn a lot by reflecting on my earlier actions to see the future more clearly. Hope you like it.

In the beginning things are always out of focus. Clarity is formed through the understanding of our surroundings. Through understanding, we are able to develop a sense of awareness, then a sense of purpose. The more that we focus on our purpose the more details that can be found. As we continue to zoom in deeper and deeper into the details, we are left with more questions, making us question whether or not we had ever had clarity in the first place. Some people spend their whole lives developing philosophies and religions out of the questions and possibilities that could be.

I’m not that type of person. Questions seem like the perfect way to drive yourself insane. What if? How come? Is it possible? Most people use these questions as a way to give themselves a reason not to try. Most projects are cancelled with the question, “What if I don’t have enough money?” I’m sure the worlds greatest ideas that never existed were assassinated with the money question. Questions are often times the murderers of dreams.

It’s not that questions are inherently evil. It’s something about the nature of mankind that tends to want to ask the wrong questions. What if I am not strong enough? What if they don’t like me? These questions are like poisons that seep into the root of our soul, into that secret place where we still allow our dreams to live. The delicate dream that can only grow when we nurture and attend to it. How can our dream grow with all these deadly questions floating around? If you know the answer to that question, then you must be someone special. And I present you with a question, what makes you so special? This question is one that I have been asked many times in my life.

The first time was from my father when I was about 12 years old. From the tone of his voice and the given circumstances, I found the question offensive. I thought all kids were told they were special. I had heard it in songs, cartoons and even some teachers. Suddenly I was confronted with the idea that I may not be special. This is where the poisoning begins– from the people that we love the most. No wonder we eventually give in and accept that we aren’t any better than anyone else. Mediocrity and complacency certainly go hand in hand. At the time I thought it meant that I wasn’t special, but that was in my younger and less wiser days. I now realize what the question really meant was: “Are you strong enough to believe in yourself?” And my answer now is: “Who is strong enough to stop me?”

Chapter 1 Out of Focus

My childhood wasn’t much for asking questions. Especially questions that had anything to do with my father’s rules. My two brothers and I lived in what some might call a semi-militant household. Chores, homework and martial arts. A simple question such as, “Why do we have to do martial arts?” would send my father into a frenzy.

He would always respond with, “Do you want to get your ass dusted?” I didn’t really know what that meant, but his expression made it very clear that I shouldn’t ask questions like these. Being only four years old, I was quite easy to intimidate. So before my first day of school, I had already started preparing for combat. Martial arts was just as common in our family as homework was in other peoples’ families.

Martial arts was always the most frustrating part of my day as a child. I couldn’t jump high, I was not flexible, I felt clumsy and slow. Of course I was only able to compare myself to my two brothers who were always a lot better than me. They always helped me out and supported me, but I still felt like the ugly duckling. But that is the great thing about martial arts I hadn’t learned yet. It has nothing to do with talent and everything to do with effort. Since I was not given the choice to quit, eventually I would improve.

At five years of age, old there were no signs of improvement. We lived in a small town that bordered the city of Cincinnati. There weren’t many black families aside from our own and I slowly became aware that we were the minority. My oldest brother Eddie was five years older than me. Even when he was younger he was a little more hot headed than me and my second brother. My second brother Aaron was only a year apart from me in age. We saw things a little more eye to eye, cool and mellow. But being black in a hick town doesn’t leave too much room for cool and mellow.

I was going to a summer school event with my brothers which would become routine every summer.After class was over, we waited in line for the bus. It was at that time an eight year-old introduced me to a word that I had never heard before.

“Hey Nigger!” he said to my oldest brother.

“Get him Pooh!” my brother yelled to me.

Everyone called me Pooh, Winnie the Pooh Pooh. I never understood the reason for that, but I did understand that I was supposed to “get” this eight year old. Before I knew it, my hands were raised to fight, just as I’d been doing the past year. He through two lunging punches at me that I avoided easily. I remember thinking, “Wow he is so much slower than my brothers.” I lifted him as I buried two uppercuts into his stomach and he immediately collapsed. For a minute there was complete silence. I looked around and saw an expression of shock on everyone’s faces. Then it was broken by a thunderous cheer of excitement. My two brothers smiled as they pulled me in close, “That’s how we do it,” Eddie said to me quietly. It was at that moment I had a great revelation. No one else knew martial arts.

After that I never questioned why we did martial arts. It was our family’s secret weapon. And it was a necessary weapon where we lived. This was only an introduction to life as a black boy growing up in middle America. Everyday after school, we would follow the training program that our father laid out for us. Even though he was too busy to check up on us all the time, we would still train because we didn’t want to get “dusted”. Every Sunday, we would watch kung fu theatre together.

All of these Chinese stories about clans and kung fu flew over my head like the dodged kicks did in the movies. The only thing I could recognize was that they were performing techniques at a level I couldn’t touch. Acrobatics, spin-kicks, weapons use, etc. I began to wonder if what I was doing was martial arts. My father insisted on practicing the basics over and over. If I ever tried to throw a fancy kick I saw on TV, my father would scold, “HEY STICK TO THE BASICS!!”

In fact I remember the first time he said we were going to do 1000 kicks. For a kid, nothing seems impossible because ignorance and inexperience are our baby-sitters. But at the age of seven, I was able to understand that 1000 was a big number. I was frustrated as he put me and my brother Aaron into a room to begin practicing the kicks. We made a system that when we got to 10 we would mark it on a piece of paper so that we didn’t lose track. Watching kids outside laughing and playing while my brother and I were doing the same kick over and over again made it seem like we were in there all day. I even remember discussing calling the authorities on my father because we knew something had to be illegal about this.

The next day our father got us out of bed early to see if we had made any progress. He asked my brother to throw the kick first and as always his kick was beautiful. Even more beautiful than before. It made me a little upset because I never seemed to improve. I couldn’t even kick above my waist. When my father asked me to do the kick I just expected the same crumby kick as always. “SWOOSH!” My kick had changed completely! There was an extra snapping sound as it cut the air just like in all the movies I’d been watching. It was also way above my head. My father didn’t say anything, he just walked upstairs to go to bed. He didn’t need to say anything. Me and my brother were excited as if we had just gotten new toys. We immediately started kicking each other with our new kick.

At seven years old, my world once again was altered with a new reality. I noticed that if I train more intensely, then I’d improve even faster. Maybe one day I could even be better than my two brothers..or even my father. Like all kids, I believed my father was the strongest man in the world. I remember one day we were loading fire wood and there was a piece that didn’t fit into the bucket. He used a quick hand strike and split it like it was paper. He was in the military as well as a Golden Gloves boxing champion before he fell in love with martial arts. I saw pictures of him on the walls with an afro, throwing kicks that were almost straight up. As he often reminded us, his house, his rules. The rule was no punks.

I began to add on additional training to try to catch up to my brothers. I figured I may only be a couple thousands kicks away from not being the ugly duckling anymore. I would lay in bed pretending to be sick. The times my mother would let me stay home from school, I would pop right up and start throwing kicks and punches after everyone had left. I never had any rivalry with my brothers– we were always very tight. But I just got sick of being the weakest link. But as I improved, in secret, they were also improving. It was a good thing considering we kept growing older and the fights grew more serious.

We always had each other’s back. In this little town we were completely reliant on family. Sometimes I would hear someone call me a name and by the time I turned around my brother was flying through the sky with an attack. Most of the bullies and rednecks had given up on trying to mess with us.

“Those little black boys are dangerous” they would whisper as we walked by. Me and Aaron were almost always in the same school because we were only a year apart. Even though my brother Eddie was a few years older, there was never any distance between us. He always felt the need to try to sharpen our skills as a group. A training idea that that usually focused on attacking my father. We’d wait till my father had just eaten dinner so he was nice and full. He would sit in his favorite chair. We would surround him standing in strategic positions around the chair just as he began to dose.

“Whatchu’ little niggas doin?” he would ask rhetorically, the answer quite obvious as we glared at him without speaking. No matter how tired my dad appeared, My brothers and I all knew whoever attacked first was more than likely the first one to go down. Still our father was a challenge, a mountain that needed to be climbed. We would always stop when we received enough bruises and welts. No one ever really got hurt….too badly.

My father was a living contradiction at times, a humorous thunder storm that you could never safely predict. As I grew older, I was able to see that he is a temporary fanatic. Whatever he does, he has to do it until he is almost one of the best in the world. Then he drops it like an ex-girlfriend and moves on to the next pass time. My brothers and I happened to be born in his martial arts era. Which was great for us ’cause if we had been born 5 years later we might have all become hunters. Whatever he did, he did it passionately. Christmas was always full of family, presents, cheer, egg nog– everything. We were always poor growing up and I still can’t understand how we managed to have such nice Christmases. I wouldn’t doubt that he saved money all year just to be able to buy presents for us.

On the other side of that passionate coin was ass whoopins’. We got whoopins’ for every kind of reason. Chores, bad report cards, sports, you name it. I even remember getting beat once about not feeding the fish. Some of the beatings we deserved, especially my brother Eddie. But some of those beatings we didn’t deserve. You could say no child deserves. Being an older black man in America, it’s impossible not to have some kind of rage in you. I still think he did a great job given the circumstances. At least he stuck around.

My mother wasn’t the virgin Mary, either, but I’m sure she knew as much about Jesus as she did. She was always praying and trying to find different ways out of our situation. When I was nine, she was studying for her masters. I didn’t know what that meant, but I knew master was an important word for martial artists. Aaron and I used to help her deliver newspapers for her part time job. She never seemed to mind all of craziness in the house. In fact when our report cards came in she usually joined in the craziness herself.

I wasn’t really a bad student. I may have on occasion failed a class. But who could focus on tests when you knew after class you were going to have to fight or run….or both! My teachers used to give me the evil eye from time to time, like they were secretly part of the Klan or something. In our town, even at ten, I was well aware of what KKK meant. They would have their pride march every year right through downtown.

I remember watching their march on TV and asking my mom, “Why do they put them on TV if they hate us?”

I could see a sadness in my mom’s eyes knowing that I was coming into an understanding of what it meant to be black in America. She didn’t respond but kissed my on the forehead before she went to bed.

“They’re on TV because they hate us,” my oldest brother mumbled.

I had no reason to question the superior logic of a fifteen year-old. I believe it was then that I began to feel some of the earlier stages of rage that my father had. To be in a place that pretends they are the land of the free, home of the brave, they continually let the clan harass us. One day, as I handed in a paper to my teacher I heard her whisper, “little nigger”. That is where it clicked that there was no where to go for protection, help, or advise. I had been born behind enemy lines. Eleven years old and already becoming a little bit “militant”. Still we continued training as always.

My oldest brother was attending actual martial arts classes downtown. He would secretly teach me and Aaron advanced techniques without letting our father know.

The lights dim in the basement as my brother said quietly, “Ok this is called a spinning hook kick.” He whirled around so fast the wind knocked my hat off.

“Do it again!” Aaron said excitedly.

We watched and practiced until we were able to assimilate this movement into our arsenal as one of our own. I threw the kick thousands of times as I prepared to go to school for the first time without the support of my brothers. We were at the age that we had all been put into separate schools. The only problem was, I was left with all the same people that we fought last year. There were bound to be a lot of grudges and individuals that wanted to find one of the Arnold boy’s by himself. Like clock work: first day, first recess, first fight. This was a big boy. He must of been held back three or four times because he was too big to only be an eleven year-old. It was one of the first times I had really felt fear, aside from when my father was angry.

There was a large group of kids watching who looked like they were going to jump in and hit me at anytime. Even teachers pretended not to see it happening on the sides. I knew it was only me. Me against the whole world plus one big redneck. He pushed me and I planted my foot back and threw the most recently practiced kick. A spin kick that landed my heel right into the base of his neck.

He was completely unconscious before he hit the ground as the crowd was silenced. One of the teachers who pretended not to watch gasped. I wasn’t scared of what the teacher was going to do. I wasn’t scared of anything. I was ready to take on the whole world one eleven year-old at a time. But nothing happened. They all spaced themselves farther and farther away from me. After that, school became a little easier. I think every bully in town felt that kick. My grades improved and I even made a few friends. I came to find that school wasn’t as bad as I thought.

There were still bullies out and about even though they wanted nothing to do with me. I came to find a lot of other kids got picked on as well. Maybe because they smelled bad, or dressed weird. I could never understand the reasoning for picking on people. I didn’t like getting picked on and I didn’t like watching it. One day I found my self jumping into protect some of the lesser fortunate kids that didn’t know martial arts. I became the bully-slayer. It was much better fighting for someone other than myself. There was more meaning behind it. The only problem was that it never seemed to stop. As soon as I was away the bullies would pick up where they left off.

That’s when I decided that the only way for me to protect you, is to teach you to protect yourself. On the playground and after school I began teaching martial arts to the “nerdy” kids.

Chapter 2

As it turned out my brothers had started teaching to some of their friends as well. Since Aaron and I were always together, our groups eventually combined into one. My brother Eddie and his friends were more “mature” as he put it, so their group didn’t mix with ours much. We never became too familiar with his group of friends. Still we had contact with them from time to time so that we could battle it out in the woods. The woods next too our house became both a training and testing ground for us. The younger group was called the tigers. My brother Eddie’s group was known as the Dragons. The Dragons, being older, felt that they should keep us in our place, while we younger Tigers felt the Dragons were overrated.

We played a very simple and very unsafe game to prove and compare skills. If you found the other teams flag you won. We would hide our flags and then stealthy look for each other through the thick forest. Even though we always split up to cover more ground Aaron and I always ended up as our usual tag team “the siamese twins”. This alliance had been forged in order to keep Eddie from picking on any one of us. It also ensured that we would have equal TV watching rights while mom and dad were away.

In one match we had managed to sneak up on one of the new dragons. He had wondered off by himself obviously underestimating the danger of the tigers. My brother and I ambushed him from different directions. We knew that it was going to take a well thought out strategy to take out one of the “big kids.” I ran toward him at full speed while yelling at the top of my lungs. The big kid wore camoflauge covered from head to toe. He smiled as he saw a little black kid about half his size charging at him from out of the bushes. What he didn’t see was my brother charging at him from full speed from the side. As my brother Aaron got into range he swung out his arm and connected a ridge hand across the army kids collar bone. There was a loud thud as the boy hit the ground and gasped as the the wind left his entire body. He looked up to see the siamese twins staring down at him. I can only imagine the thoughts that raced through his mind. What happened? How did these little guys take me down? Why am I in such pain? Slowly his eye’s began to fill with tears. I almost felt bad for a minute but then..Bang Bang.

My brother Eddie had snuck up one us while we were relishing in our victory. He had managed to kick us simultaneously with a split kick. A move that me and Aaron had seen all too often. Though my dad had claimed it was only for “show.” While I was laying on the ground in pain trying to gain enough strength to launch an attack, I had to disagree with him.

The battle had ended. As always the last fight took place between the Siamese twins and my brother Eddie. As always my brother Eddie used a few more advanced tactics and the twins were defeated. Jumping spinning attacks, leaping attacks and impossible evasions–when he was attacking, he was poetry in motion. It was like trying to fight a ghost. It always gave me a goal to strive for. Which means I usually pretended to be sick the day after our war games.

Though I was able to make my peace with going to school, it never became a place that I looked forward to going to. It wasn’t because of the racism that I had to face dealing with the kids or even from the teachers, it was the racism I saw in the textbooks. All of the history books that I had to learn from never had anyone in them I could relate to. There wasn’t even anyone who looked like me. My teacher would say,

“Abe Lincoln was a real hero for your people. He gave you freedom.”

I would think to myself, how the hell did we lose our freedom in the first place. This old man is a hero because he gave us what someone else stole from us.

“Well who stole our freedom?” I would ask bitterly. She would just shoosh me and get back to teaching the lecture. Everytime I tried to bring up a question of importance the teacher would tell me my question was inappropriate. Things that I had heard from my family members and trusted individuals was not to be discussed in the classroom.

In anger I blurted out, ” Why do we have to discuss how amazing Christopher Columbus was for discovering a country that wasn’t his in the first place. Then he hired my people to do the dirty work.”

Sometimes I could see the expression on my teacher’s face and I just knew she wanted to hit me. But there was nothing she could do in a classroom full of kids. What I later found out she could do was give me a D. A grade that would certainly wind up getting me a beat down when my father saw it. I would always hold on to my report card with butterflies in my stomach as I waited to tell my mom. It didn’t matter that I got a bad grade standing up for black people everywhere. In my father’s house, a D was a D. No explanations, no exceptions. Luckily for me I always had two brothers that were just as scared as I was. On report card day I never had to get whooped alone.

So if I spoke my mind in class I would get into trouble. Later on I found it was better to keep secret my frustrations. I had heard that the ninja sometimes would disguise themselves for months before carrying out a mission. I had to learn to disguise myself for years before I could begin mine. Still, I found that even if you live in the devil’s house, God will still send someone to help you find your way out.

There was a teacher’s strike in our town. All of the teachers were complaining about not getting paid enough and decided not to come to class. In there place were a bunch of teachers that were eager to mold young minds and prove their competency. I found myself with a new music teacher that gave us a strange homework assignment.

“You all have to go home and write a rap.” She told the class.

“A what?” I said confused.

“Mr. Arnold you mean to tell me you have never listened to rap before?” she smirked.

Of course I knew what rap was. I know we lived in a small town and our black friends were limited, but we still had to know our roots and pops made sure of that. He even hired our cousin from New Mexico to come out and teach the three of his sons how to dance. He had us all in the garage for the entire day popping and locking like a breaking video. So of course I knew what rap was. What I didn’t understand was why my teacher would want me to do something that had anything to do with me. Anyway it was the first homework assignment that I took seriously.

I didn’t really know how to write a rap but I kind of threw some ideas together. When I came back to class the teacher had given all of the kids score cards from one to ten. One by one the students came up and performed their raps. It was a pretty painful 30 minutes. You know how mean kids can be. They were holding cards that read “-3″ and different kinds of humiliating low scores. When it was my turn I just let loose into my little flow. When it was finished I was surprised to see all of the kids holding up tens. Even the racist kids that I knew hated me still gave me a ten. It was a realing good feeling. Later on I associated rap and hip hop with good feelings.

Although I didn’t start practicing music until much later in my life, I was always a big fan of R&B and rap. From the mid 80’s into the 90’s hip hop had such a positive feeling to it. Songs about having fun, trying to talk to girls, or parents just not understanding, all gave me a way to cope with the stresses and struggles that we went through. We were the “almost” poor family. We were never on welfare, but we almost were. We didn’t live in the projects, but the projects were right across the street. Our parents continued to find ways to keep us from slipping completely into an environment where positive development was almost an impossibility.

The good thing is that poor people don’t know that there poor unless you tell them they are. We were too busy watching movies and thinking about different training methods to think about things that we were missing out on. One Christmas we got a VCR which meant we could watch all of our favorites over and over again. Of course this includes all of Bruce Lee’s flicks, Big Trouble in Little China, Best of the Best, and last but not least, The Last Dragon. We must have watched The Last Dragon at least a hundred times. The combination of the music and martial arts used to get us amped. It was the first time I had seen a black actor that did the things that we did. In fact, if you have ever seen that movie, you could see that it has influenced many of the choices of who I am today. It sparked my interest in wanting to know more about ninjas and throwing weapons.

“We should make a movie,” my brother’s would always say when we finished watching.

“We will someday,” I said confidently. Something about the entertainment industry appealed to us all. Everyone dreams of being a movie star, but for me and my brother Eddie, it seemed that it was the only option. I couldn’t imagine doing anything else that I would enjoy except for fighting on screen for the whole world to see. I would watch TV and wait for a martial arts movie to come on and when one finally did, I would tape only the fight scenes. Some were twenty seconds long, others were about a minute. Using tapes that extended up to two hours, I eventually amassed stacks of tapes packed with pieces of every kung fu movie ever played.

For a kid, it is impossible to differentiate between movies and real life. I started training different moves that I saw on TV the same way I trained the rest of my martial arts. In my mind, the only thing that was ineffective was a movement that had not been trained properly. To this day my philosophy has not changed much. Still, at the age of eleven, having about seven years of martial arts experience, my father brought a harsh reality to Aaron and I.

“You guys don’t even have a white belt yet,” he teased.

“Oh yeah,” I thought. I had never scene a dojo in person before. All of the belts, board breaking, and tournaments that I had scene on TV weren’t something that I had actually participated in yet. My mother walked in the room with new white Taekwondo uniforms for the two of us. I was excited to try it on to see if it made the same snapping sounds that it did on TV. From now on me and Aaron would be attending classes at least two times a week from Mr. Louis.

Mr. Louis was also a black man and a former kung fu brother of my father. They would have been about the same rank except my father had a tragic knee injury which ended his training and broke his heart. I am sure that added bitterness to his already existing rage. After the injury he trained a bit on his own, but mostly focused on training us. Even though I had never seen any hinderance in ability from the injury, he never picked up the arts again.

Mr. Louis’s feet always smelled like soap. We always got a good whiff when he kicked close to our heads. He smiled in astonishment as he watched Aaron and I throw a few techniques across the dojo.

“I don’t think these boys should start as white belts,” he said.

“No they will start from the beginning like everyone else,” my father answered.

The words stuck like daggers in our feeble little hearts. After all, every kid that we knew assumed we were already black belts. So when they asked us we naturally said,

“Hell yeah I’m a black belt.”

Like all kids we may have exaggerated from time to time. That’s all kids can do at that age is exaggerate and curse. Still, we were eager to see what was new for us to learn in class. As class went on, Mr. Louis was happier and happier to see that we were able to imitate any movement that he asked us to do. He was also a man who had shown great dedication to the art. Maybe he saw himself in us. After we finished the first class, he asked us,

“Do you want to stick around for the advanced class?”

We both agreed immediately.

It was a much bigger class with lots of adults and colorful belts. The movements that they practiced were much trickier, faster and harder. Still it was only more exciting for us to see how we fit in with the rest of the group. After all, we were sick of fighting thugs and rednecks. It was time to spar, and my brother was paired up with a red belt at least twice his age.

“Take it easy on him,” Mr. Louis said softly.

To this day I am not sure who he was talking to. But I am sure the red belt thought he was being addressed. In a flash, my brother skipped across the floor like Bruce Lee and blasted the red belt with a kick to the chest.

“My chest! My chest!” He rolled around the ground rubbing himself.

Aaron looked at me and mouthed with out saying aloud “Is this guy joking?”

I shrugged my shoulders as I prepared to take on my opponent. He was also much older than me and his belt much more colorful. I remember thinking that I didn’t want to make this guy mad. I had better just tap him lightly in the stomach. As soon as he moved I snapped my leg into his abdomen. It was a light fast kick just the same as I would give to my brothers while sparring. He folded over and fell to the ground gasping for air. I was also confused as I looked up and saw Mr. Louis smiling at me.

“Let’s welcome the Arnold’s to the class.” he said as the dojo echoed with applause as they showed their admiration and respect.

“Wow, your fast” the man I kicked said while standing to his feet slowly. It was the first time I remember receiving a compliment for my martial arts. Was I fast? How long had I not been the ugly duckling? I didn’t know and I didn’t care. I only knew that I had finally found a place that I felt welcome and accepted. There was no race in the dojo. Only sweat, blood and boards.

Hailed from Perth, Rowbottom recalled that he fell in love with the self defence since five years ago when he was first introduced to Muhd Haneef Ali, the Silat Master for Pencak Silat Helang Putih Perkasa, one of the famous silat schools of thought.

He said he had started to discover his passion for the martial arts since 13 years of age and became the number one fan of it.

http://www.theborneopost.com/?p=36363

Bill Doheny, 51, is currently working to form a Binghamton chapter of Guardian Angels, an unarmed civilian defense group with chapters that patrol the street of cities in 14 countries worldwide.

“I’m doing this because I have a family and I know what it’s like to live in a neighborhood where all you can afford is to pay $275 a month for rent, and your neighborhood is now drug infested, and your kids can’t even go outside,” Doheny said.

http://www.pressconnects.com/article/20100606/NEWS01/6060344/1112/Martial-arts-instructor-looks-to-start-Guardian-Angels-chapter-in-Binghamton

The Capoeira and Brazilian Arts Festival was celebrated on June 2nd to June 6th at different venues around Calgary. The festivals main goal was to celebrate and educate people about the Brazilian culture. There were free workshops and demonstrations around various locations in Calgary that spectators and participants could have attended.

Capoeira is a Brazilian art form which, through the use of dance, music, martial arts, and story-telling, illustrates a history of oppression over many centuries. The art form was created by African slaves that were……

http://www.examiner.com/x-49473-Calgary-Racial-Issues-Examiner~y2010m6d9-Capoeira-and-Brazilian-Arts-Festival-in-Calgary

ALEXANDRIA, Minn.- When you think of breast cancer awareness, martial arts isn’t the first thing that jumps to mind.

However, the Schutz Martial Arts Association out of Alexandria did their part to raise breast cancer awareness.

“Breast cancer is one of those things that you’re kind of hard pressed to find someone who hasn’t been affected by it,” owner of Schutz Martial Arts Association Kevin Schutz explains.

The association set up outside of Pete’s County Market in Alexandria to host “Kick for the Cure”. Everything from boards, bricks, and even baseball bats were broken to raise donations along with thousands upon thousands of kicks were delivered……….

http://ksax.com/article/stories/S1602663.shtml?cat=10230

Even kung fu masters can enjoy a little eye candy (see the photo gallery below). In fact Qi is also used for increasing your sexual endurance. I’ve heard many masters compare it to a self sustaining viagra.

There are a lot of reasons that people may find themselves living in Taiwan. Some come to learn Chinese,  some come to learn martial arts and some just come to get a job. But all will tell you that the women are a big part of why they decided to stay.

Me myself I have a girl and I’m a changed man. Ronin however is in charge of the camera. Therefore there may be a lot more pictures of sexy young women than usual. Sorry for the inconvenience.

These women have been preparing for quite sometime for today’s competition. Dance classes, drilling and even a Bagua class that I taught to them about a month back. So they all call me Shi Fu which is kind of a nice way to be titled by honeys. I just tell them , “Call me if you have any problems getting in touch with your Qi”.

Today I am not really sure why I am here yet. They said something about doing a martial arts demonstration for this new Top Model TV competition in Taiwan. I have never heard of a kung fu demonstration at a model competition before, but you know I’m down.

I have been on a mission for a long time to create a real industry for martial artists. I’m not satisfied with the majority of ideas that people believe to be martial arts. I also am not a fan of the idea that real martial arts isn’t entertaining. If you can see the art in it’s real form there is nothing more beautiful. No need for wires, big egos or gimmicks.

I believe the traditional arts offer a form of entertainment that the world has yet to see. Movies haven’t even begun to scratch the surface about the possibilities of what can be done with kung fu.

So that is the dream. To bring to the world a true blend of martial arts and entertainment. Of course every dream involves a lot of patience, faith and discipline.

Though my goal is still far off in the distance every now and again you get those nice perks like teaching to a bunch of runway models.

I have been accused of a plot of using hot women to take  over the world with kung fu. If that were true, then I would be closer than ever.

Today the lesson is a little less “classy”. They tell me that they want me to teach them movements that are a little more”revealing”.

In my own dojo this would never happen. Then again I don’t have a dojo, which is why I agreed to help the women do some stretches.

I took my army of Taiwanese supermodels to the court yard outside where all of the horny media men could get their much desired photos.

I have told my friends a dozen times and I will say the same to you. If you are not doing anything important these days and you have always wanted to learn kung fu or a different language, if you are a single male or maybe planning on being single soon, you really should check out Taiwan.

It just might change your perspective a bit about life.

Now that the women are nice a warmed up, it’s time to get ready for the show which I am still uncertain about the details. Then they finally  break it down for me a bit. First I am going to grab my deer antlers, and tear across the stage with kung fu. Of course avoiding the women who would be walking on the runway but still interacting enough with them to make it look sexy. Also I would be lip sinking my new song about kung fu on a live television show aired across Asia. Which means if I made a mistake and killed one of these little girls on stage then the whole world would be witness. No pressure.

So I watch them get ready for the opening of the show. Like I said I have a girl and everything but some of these girls are pretty nice. But the biggest problem with dating a ninja assassin, if you get caught it’s over.  And I’m not just talking about a break up. I’m talking about getting broken up.

So I stay focused on my performance mostly and even though they are changing clothes all around me I can not let myself get distracted by the man in me.

But it was kind of funny watching everyone watch the girls. All people claiming to be sophisticated and professional were caught up in the hypnotic smiles of the models.

I step on to the stage to do a rehearsal. I’m feeling kind of like Samson from Big Trouble in Little China. That’s the only time I have seen deer antlers and hotties  in the same scene before.

So I figure the best way to utilize the stage is by doing a foot work exercise much like the 9 palaces drill that we use in Bagua. This way I can stay close to all of the women while weaving back and forth without chopping anyone.

The girls did a good job of not flinching while I was moving past them. All in all it created quite an interesting effect.

It was great to see every being wowed by the old tradition and culture of kung fu.

I didn’t have to compromise what master has taught me. No need to do anything fancy or showy. Just a good dose of real deal kung fu for everyone to see. I unleashed the fury on stage. Not for myself but for every martial artist in the world who has been looked past and underestimated because he wasn’t a baller. We’ll we will be ballers soon. The era of basketball is coming to an end.  A time is coming when girls will say, ”I’m sorry I only talk to guys who swing big swords.”

Anyway that was the end of the rehearsal and once again I stepped back stage with the dozens of hotties that were now aware that I have super powers. There were a few tests to see where my loyalty lies.

I even found a few girls interested in training  with me regularly. Say hello to some of the new Tianwudao recruits.

Every martial arts teacher wishes to have pretty women in their class. It puts a friendly face on all of the lethal aspects of the art.

As the show is getting ready to begin the camera and audience start to make their way in. They are all expecting to see a show of with beautiful women and short skirts. Little do they know there is an armed black man sitting in the back of the stage.

If you have never been to Taiwan before you may not know that they are a little intimidated by black men. But the younger generation due to hip hop and sports are much more intrigued. So this is my chance to represent as a black man, a martial artist and a soft stylist. So before I jump on stage a little prayer is in order.

Now it is show time. This is certainly the best part for Ronin as he can take pictures of every honey that sets foot on the stage.

Everyone puts all of their effort into the performance.  Fifteen winners will be selected to go to Beijing to compete. Actually seeing how much they had to rehearse and prepare gave me a lot more respect for runway models. I thought it was only walking, but they were walking like soldiers.

Then they called me and told me to get ready. It was time for the fox to emerge from the shadows.

I’m not too sure but I think this demonstration was the first of it’s kind. The director was revolutionary in creating his blend of the arts and runway. I think way may have created a new fad. The audience loved it.

I spun like a tornado through the women as they gazed right into my eyes. It was like the dance of death. Except thank God no body died.

I also had a chance to bust some flows from my new song. “Time and Effort” It was kind of strange rapping while holding the deer antlers in my hands but it didn’t feel awkward at all.

All in all it was a great performance. The best part is that the only thing I have to do to make my show better is to keep training.

Afterwards I took some pictures with some celebrities, important people and hotties. Which is all a part of the quest.

Thats about it for this episode of the Ronin and Fox Diaries. I learned a valuable lesson about kung fu on this day. You never need to chase after things like money, women, or even success. If you continue to believe in your ability and follow your true dream, then all of these things will naturally come to you. So just keep training baby!

Once again I could not do anything with out the support of Ronin and the rest of the TWD crew. One step closer to mastering our lives.

Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon

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Assassin

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Unleashed

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