Growing up I was obsessed with Ninjas. Every year for Halloween I insisted I dress up like some different form of a Ninja. Whenever someone asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, the answer was always Ninja. My grandma referred to my cousins and I as the “3 Ninjas” where being the youngest, and chubbiest, I naturally adopted the alter-ego of Tum-Tum.
Safe to say I was obsessed, often practicing my ninjutsu, (plastic) katana strikes, and sneak attacks on my poor childhood dog Ren. Imagine waking to a chunky 40-pound toddler, milk belly popping out from oddly tight ninja spandex, landing a dropkick to your head, and you would be in Rens shoes.
You see, Ren was an older dog by the time I met him, Ren knew in his mind that teaching the tiny human a lesson* was more work than he cared for. Thus, Ren opted to groan, walk away and find somewhere else to avoid the tormenting toddler. As I aged, I accepted that my dream occupation of ninja was a pipe dream at best, but this only made space for the next obvious answer…
Becoming a Badass
I believe that a universal trait every young child has, is to choose their idols. While most my age chose famous athletes, musical artists, or movie stars of the time, I was raised by a total nerd. A nerd who happened to be a black belt in Ken Po. Therefore, I had all the classics at my fingertips, as long as I was patient enough to rewind the VHS that is.
As a growing boy, I watched, rewatched, and burnt-out multiple VHS tapes of Arnold Schwarzenegger, Jean Claude Van-Damme, and Sylvester Stallone. Force feeding myself masculinity at its finest led to a natural conclusion that I needed to become the biggest, buffest, badass-est dude there ever was.
Oh, and I had to get all the girls too!
That is until I saw The Dragon himself on my grainy RCA television set as I sat on my Spiderman bedspread watching The Way of the Dragon. I’ll never forget watching the entire HBO box set, practicing kicks, punches, and guttural “wha-taass!!” as I started redefining my definition of what badass meant.
You see, my parents gave me a lot of things, none of which was height or extreme physical capabilities, so the whole biggest and buffest thing was probably never going to happen. Yet, here was someone that while smaller than most, through discipline, training, and diligence, beat up everybody who crossed his path even Chuck Norris.
These conflicting definitions of badass led to the question that every young man must ask themselves at some point in their life…
What Kind of Man am I?
Look I’m not going to sit here and wax poetic on what kind of man you should be, nor will I delve into what society wants us to be (at least not on this post). I will, however, discuss what kind of man I wanted/want to be, and why. Not because I think I have all the answers, but because it’s important to me that people understand the type of person that I am, perhaps even inspiring a few people along the way.
I was tricked.
Not for any toxic rationale, but I was tricked into beginning my real journey into manhood. You see, when I was about 12 years old, I was a little bitch. No sugar coating it. I wasn’t the kid with a 6-pack, I wasn’t the fastest, I wasn’t the most athletic, hell I probably wasn’t even in the top 50. That being said, I was still an athlete, mainly a baseball player, and in the sixth grade, we had tryouts for the first time in my life. I can’t remember how much I stressed it, but it was important to me to make the team.
My dad saw my desire, he saw my 40+ pounds of baby fat, and a message about our middle school boys wrestling camp. In this, he saw a solution. Now my dad and I tell the story differently, but I can confidently say that I have rose colored glasses on when it comes to wrestling.
If you ask my old man, he’ll tell you that I hated it, every single bit, complaining night after night of my body aching, my legs sore, my face and knees raw from mat burn. If you ask me, I loved it. I mean I hated the sprints, the drills, the exercises, getting my ass beat, all that stuff, but I loved how it made me feel. I had never felt like Bruce Lee, or any of my other idols, that is until I started wrestling, because wrestling made me feel tough.
Now don’t get me wrong, I lost… A lot. For a long time. But I realized what was next for me.
I was going to be the best.
Not better than everyone around me, no, nothing in spite of others, rather I had to be best version of myself for myself. Meaning that everything I did, everything I do, is significant, for “whatever is worth doing, is worth doing well”. Over time, I have come to understand that all my actions, are reflections of myself, and to me, that matters.
When I was in high school, my definition of everything was minimal to say the least. My everything was ensuring I played my video games, looked good with my shirt off, wrestled tough, and of course, got all the ladies. I was young, naive, and stupid. Cute, but stupid.
Over the course of four years, I worked hard, really hard, and eventually I achieved some pretty special things. Wait for part two of the origin of Tum-Tum to learn just what I did, and what I had to do to get there.
A Little Extra
*- Luckily for me, I didn’t get put into my place until I met my second dog Fergus. Fergus, or Gus for short, was a rescue dog who had severe separation anxiety and an overwhelming amount of strength and stupidity. Think of him as a four-legged version of Lenny from Of Mice and Men. Fergus had drawn me through countless of my neighbors’ yards by my arm, given my father endless mental fits, and thousands of dollars of damage to my childhood home before I was 10. However, what Ren and Fergus had in common was their unwavering love and loyalty to their family, something that I aspire to bring in all my relationships to this day.
Both were good boys, both are missed
Fighting Through Life 
Leave a comment