This Is What Rock Bottom Looks Like

Dear Hagen, 

The week before we left for Hawaii, Grandma Sue took you to Ninja School. You came home without your white belt. When I asked Grandma Sue about it, she said, "Oh, it kept falling off, so Master Corbin decided to keep it." Huh. Okay. 

A few weeks later, we got back from Hawaii, and I took you to your next class. I asked the assistant teacher, "Can I get Hagen's belt back? I think it kept falling off in class, so maybe it's behind the counter somewhere?" "No, " she told me, "Hagen had his belt taken away because he wasn't paying attention in class and he has to EARN it back." That's when I learned two important things:

1) There is something below a white belt in Tae Kwon Do. It's a no belt. 

2) Grandma Sue thinks you're the cutest/best thing ever - as is her job - and it makes her version of the story a little suspect. She is not a reliable witness. 

"Well, crap," I told the teacher. "That figures."

The next week, because so many families were away on vacation, you were the only student in class. While the assistant teacher led you through your exercises, Master Corbin sat next to me and said:

Him -"I'm really excited about Hagen." 

Me -"Hagen who?"

Him -"Hagen Hagen." 

Me -"Hagen 'No Belt' Burbach?" 

Him -"Yes."

He went on to explain that he thinks you're extremely coachable. And when he gives you an instruction, you sometimes look at him with a blank stare that could be misconstrued as confusion, but is actually the short period of time you use to process the information you've been given. "Hagen's mind seems to work like a Rolodex," Master Corbin explained. "He's got to filter through that brain of his for a second, and process what you're saying, but then he always executes whatever it is perfectly. I have other students that go go go like a rocket, but they only do the right movement half the time. Hagen always does the right movement, but it takes him a beat to lock into the idea. That's always the kind of kid you prefer as a coach."

I can tell you I almost cried as he was talking to me, because I've seen you do this very thing, and it felt great to have someone understand my kid, especially after that "Maybe he's on the spectrum" bullshit from your last school. And you earned your belt back. So we decided not to quit that week. 

But the NEXT week, we went back, and you got another time out, and had to sit against the wall, and when he asked you why you were in time out, you shrugged like "Don't know, man. Crazy things happen all the time." So you stayed against the wall, until the effort of sitting up got to be too much, and you decided to just lie down for the rest of class. Pictured above. 

You came to us at bedtime with a little speech you'd prepared that went something like, "I do not like ninja-ing, and I am not good at ninja-ing and I hate it and I don't want to ninja anymore ever please." Your dad and I talked about it that night, and decided that if you were bad at ninja-ing, but loved it, we would help you practice. Or if you were good at ninja-ing, but hated it, we would try to bring you around. But being bad at it while hating it and making your dad and I live through that emotional roller coaster twice a week was just too much. 

So we've retired from ninja school for the time being. 

Hi-ya.

Bye-ya. 

-Brooke