My Marley

My wife and I saw Marley and Me recently. It's not what I expected. After seeing the trailers, I got the impression that it was about a dog who got itself into a lot of trouble. After watching it, I realized that it's really about two people who love each other, trying to do life together through thick and thin, with a dog at their side all along the way...getting into trouble.

I was close.

We see them get married, we see him get a job, we see them buy a house.  We see them have a child.  We see him get promoted.  We see them have another child.  We see them turn 40.  We see them have a third child.  We see him get a new job.  We see them fight, we see them make up.  And the whole time, we see Marley slowly growing old.  And at the end, we see him die.  I say that not to spoil the movie, but rather to make this point: it's not until he's gone that you truly realize he was there all the time.  He was what kept them going at some times.  Other times, he was what almost tore them apart.  But he was always there, always part of the picture.

I've decided that our truck is my Marley.  So far, it's been there for the entire duration of our married lives.  Just as the movie is riddled with small antecdotes about the dog getting into this or that, so our lives are woven with stories of the truck.  Like the time we were stuck in the HOV lane and needed to exit, so we crossed the barrier at 50 miles an hour and busted the headlight.  Then, when I was working at the warehouse, while I was waiting for her to pick me up, I would always watch for the truck with one light.  Or the time the window fell into the door and we went for almost a year going through three rolls of duct tape, taping and re-taping it up until we finally had enough to get it fixed.  The countless times we've helped people move, or the loads upon loads of stuff we've brought to storage and back.  Sealing the gap in the windshield, the popped tire and the adventure that ensued thereafter.

Sometimes, that truck held us together, giving us something to laugh about.

Other times, it almost tore us apart.

But it's always been there, just like Marley.  She's the first vehicle in my family that doesn't have a name.  I've been considering Big Blue, but that just sounds...awkward.  So I think I'll go with Marley.

  The Buick was Buck because the "I" fell off the back.

  The Bonneville was Bonnie for short.

  The Mustang is Sally for reasons obvious to those familiar with the pop music of the mid 1960's.

  The Geo Metro was Perla...no one actually knows why.

  And now, the truck is Marley.  May she live long and prosper.

I had to, I'm a nerd.  Get over it.

Falling and Fighting.

As the son of a black belt, I grew up around martial arts. It wasn't a self defense class for the fat kid who got beat up at school. It wasn't a flashy-kick class for the cool kids to impress their friends at school. It was about discipline. It was about knowing when not to fight. It was about self control and humility.

The two most important things we learned in my father's dojo was how to walk away from a fight before it happened, and how to fall when we got hit.

...how to fall.

I'd never thought there was a technique to falling. I always assumed that once you were hit to the ground, it was over, nothing else mattered. But falling is everything. When you're hit to the ground, 80 percent of the damage your body takes is from hitting the floor - if you don't know how to fall.

Knowing how to fall is the difference between lying there defeated and getting back up with a few scratches. Knowing how to fall is knowing how to be able to get up at all. We learned how to punch. We learned how to kick. We learned how to block. We learned how to dodge. We learned how to feel and react, we learned how to analyze and calculate. But most of all, we learned how to fall, we learned how to think.

...and the funny thing is,

I've never been in a fight.

But the principles I learned in that dojo on the second floor of an underused church building, I have used my entire life. I've learned how to block and dodge the attacks that life throws my way. I have learned when to walk away and when to stand and fight.

I have learned how to fall.

And I've learned how to get up.

The road to success is paved with failure. You must know how to fall, to know how to rise. Martial arts for me was never a lesson in fighting. Fighting is a barbaric ritual reserved for the quick-tempered and un self-controlled. Martial arts for me was a catalyst through which my father taught me how to live.

Who taught you?