The Impossible Kick

As a child, I never understood the power determination had in defining a person .It was at the age of nine, I got my first glimpse into the significance of dedication, persistence, and more importantly, perseverance. It was on that day I learned that perseverance allows one to prevail above all obstacles.

This is how it happened.

I woke up early in the morning booming with excitement as I had my Taekwondo test that would earn me a blackbelt at the age of nine, one of the youngest the organization has ever seen. I rehearsed the entire sequence of forms while brushing my teeth.

“Left kick, turn right, two waist punches and three head punches, and then turn back around and repeat on the other side.”

I was as happy as a child can be. The test was not for hours, so I continued my day as usual. It was in the afternoon on a cold February day when all my cheerful emotions turned upside down.

Since I still had time before the test, I went outside to ride my bike. I felt the breeze rush through my helmet and into my hair. I felt the rush of joy as I was approaching one of the biggest milestones in my life in only a few hours. Whilst the air around me was filled with happiness, in that one specific moment, everything changed.

A speeding car caused me to jolt my bike and twist my ankle.

As I laid there on the cold asphalt, I could think of only two things: the brown color of the Toyota car, which almost hit me, was not a good color choice and what was I to do with my Taekwondo test in a few hours.

I saw my worried mother reaching down to comfort me. I saw my little sister standing, not knowing whether to laugh or to come help me. On top of everything, I felt the most excruciating pain in my right ankle.

I could neither get up nor walk.

With help from our neighbors, I managed to limp into the backseat of the car. With my father driving, my mother almost crying, and my sister at the verge of laughing, I sat in the car just staring out the car window, recalling every moment that led to that disastrous event.

We reached the hospital and I had multiple x-rays performed on me. I had broken my right ankle. The first thought that struck me was not the recovery time or the process, but how I was to break the wooden board in my Taekwondo test.

The doctor had told me not to do any physical activity for four weeks. My parents had told me five weeks. I told myself zero weeks.

It was at this moment I felt a sense of authority. I felt pride in my actions, the only problem was to convince my parents to feel the same way.

After much persuasion, which seemed more complex than deliberation in the United Nations, I convinced my parents to take me to the Taekwondo test center, but I was to only watch how others performed. This meant I had no chance for my black belt, and I would have to wait six months for the next opportunity.

I could not let that happen and I would not let it happen.

I agreed with my parents, but I secretly vowed to take the test. I had a broken ankle, a Taekwondo test, and I was about to deceive my parents. I felt like my life was a James Bond movie. As the crowd began to pile into the small Taekwondo studio, I sat on the mat waiting for my name to be called. Due to my broken ankle, my instructors were unaware of what I was going to do, so they put my name at the end of the list. After waiting for two hours, one instructor came to me and asked if I was going to take the test. And in that split second, I had my Taekwondo black belt and my parents’ trust balancing at the edge of a cliff.

I replied, “Yes.”

I walked up to the front as my parents saw me with a shock in their faces. They tried to catch the instructor’s attention but failed to do so.

I was free.

There were no obstacles in my way, except my broken ankle. I executed all the forms and weapons tests gracefully. The audience applauded me as I successfully completed every task. However, in a moment, the room dropped to a complete silence. It was the final component of the test. I had to break the board.

I could not use my dominant right foot, so I told the instructors I will be resorting to utilizing my left foot to break the board. Although it seemed to me that breaking the board with my left foot would be painless, it did not occur to me that I would have to balance on my broken, fragile right foot. The board was set up and I got ready to break the board.

The crowd were on their feet, everyone trying to get a look at the kid who was about to complete what was deemed impossible. I raised my left leg and kicked the board. It did not break. Disappointment fell upon the crowd. I decided to take my second chance. Once again, the crowd anxiously awaited as I kicked the board again. It did not break. I had one final chance. At this point, I heard laughter in the crowd, as they knew I was only here to make a fool of myself. I took a deep breath and with only perseverance rushing through my veins, I raised my leg and smashed the board with as much force as I could.

The board broke.

There was a moment of silence, as everyone stood with astonishment. And then came the applause. Everyone was on their feet as I stared down at the broken board. The same people that laughed were now bowing down to my perseverance. I was a regular nine-year-old kid from a small town in the Midwest who completed what everyone thought was impossible. The instructors gave me a special recognition token for my extraordinary perseverance.

I was awarded my black belt at the ceremony, and I went to find my parents. Their faces of shock turned to hearts of pride. I thought of myself as the most powerful kid in the world.

I realized there was nothing special to becoming powerful. I did not need superpowers to become anybody extraordinary. Power and determination came from within. With determination comes the perseverance to accomplish anything, even if it seems impossible.