Practice was invigorating as well. I had four teachers today: Kikukawa-kun, Murakami-kun(if you'll remember from one of my earlier blogs, he is the one whose hand always seems to return to his nether regions for a good scratch--blecch), Ryu-kun and Hinuzuka-kun.

They huddled to decide who should take the falls for me. Murakami was the reluctant pick, and the rest of the boys chatted idly while he stood in front of me grinning blankly. Finally, he asked me what I wanted to learn. I said, "I just started, you can teach me anything." So, after several minutes of Japanese 'umm's and 'hmm's, Murakami called the coach over. The coach was sitting on the mat, utterly involved in his own world. He was in a daze, rolling up and back and up and back. He could not be disturbed from his rolling.

Finally, and to the relief of Murakami, one of the other boys, Ryu-kun, took over.

Ryu-kun, a solid, calm, humble eighth-grader, is about the same height as me. He has a pleasantly average build. I noticed that he shaved his mustache fuzz today for the first time, which I presume to be something like the male equivalent to the women's onset of menstruation. It goes something like this: 'Ryu is thirteen years old; at home in his bathroom today, he became a man.' I silently congratulated him on his adulthood as he began bashing his chest into mine, going over the old drills.

I like Ryu-kun very much. His earnestness and at the same time, his humbleness on the mat, draws me in. His technique is accurate and relaxed, and despite his modest nature, he takes on the role of instructor easily. Ryu often looks me gently in the eyes, something the other boys don't do, and I don't wonder about it; I'm just thankful for it. After chest-bashing, we went over four other throws. After practice, I went to 7-11.