Aikido Kid

My son bows deeply at the waist and his sensei returns his gesture of respect. They sit back down on the mat and face the rest of the class as his accomplishments are announced to the class. He now has a purple belt to replace the white that he began his training with. The class shares their appreciation of his confidence and skill. They marvel at his concentration, and his sensei speaks glowingly of his discipline and focus.
And then the daydream stops. We have only been sitting on the edge of the mat today. We didn't take off our shoes or do much but watch. We haven't even filled out the application yet. Still, in my mind, I have already seen my son as a student of Aikido. I have seen him progress from an insecure newcomer to a confident and assertive martial arts apprentice. Maybe it was the sound of the fountain in the background. Maybe it was the smell of bleach from the white mat. Whatever the spell was, it was intoxicating.
It's just too good a story. My son, who has become all too accustomed to making light of his size, and waiting for bigger kids to test him, would find inner peace from the philosophy and training from the East. It shouldn't end in tournaments and trophies. It should end in him living past the "midget" and "shrimp" and facing the world with an enlightened mind. He's not going to take on the kids from the evil dojo across town, I just want him to feel as proud of himself as I did while I was imagining during the class we observed.