I push the door of the dojo, I think the word to express the wave of comic n lost in the moat. It is the day of grade parents are there, the kids on the mat online. Two by two the instructor called to start the race. I join my husband who I am sign I pass the other looked like in the movies. I sit quietly on the bench beside him he whispered "it will pass." Our boy passes. The monitor said "accepts the fall." He hits the ground after he fell. This must be done to accept it is not explained very well it shows, as an acknowledgment of the soil. I look at my son's eyes to the ceiling of the Japanese word search making it just made, hand monitor suspended above its rubric, that of the child to us in a cuckoo childish escapes the technique.
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