Disclaimer
This article contains references to childhood sport, Taekwon-Do, cricket training, Korean terminology, parental observation, and the dangerous illusion that revising theory two days before an exam is a sustainable educational strategy. No NHS resources were harmed in the making of this blog entry, although the author’s Upper GI-trained nervous system did briefly interpret the grading atmosphere as a cross between a ward round, an MDT and a penalty shoot-out. Any resemblance to actual clinical governance is entirely coincidental, although the belt progression system does appear better structured than several NHS career pathways.
Despite the overwhelming sporting diet in the Richardt household consisting mainly of tennis balls, cricket balls, and occasionally the emotional damage caused by missing either, Martial Arts continues to maintain a surprisingly strong position in the domestic fixture list.
It may not yet have the logistical dominance of tennis, nor the pastoral charm of standing on a cricket boundary in weather conditions best described as “character-forming”, but Taekwon-Do is definitely not far behind. It sits there quietly in the background, waiting for its moment, before suddenly producing a grading, a new belt, some Korean terminology and the realisation that we have once again failed to read the theory sheet until approximately 48 hours before the exam.
Earlier this evening was our son’s delayed Martial Arts grading for his next Kup. For those not fluent in Taekwon-Do administration, the Kup system is the colour-belt ranking ladder before black belt. Slightly confusingly, it counts down rather than up, presumably because martial arts needed at least one feature that felt like NHS rota planning. Beginners start at the higher Kup numbers and work their way down towards 1st Kup, at which point the black belt starts appearing on the horizon like a very impressive but slightly terrifying invoice. After that, black belts move into Dan grades, because apparently one ranking system was not enough and martial arts quite rightly demands administrative sophistication.
Our son was up for his green belt with a white stripe in the middle. This is not merely a fashion statement, although admittedly it does look rather smart. Having now passed to green belt, he is most likely 6th Kup, although belt designs and stripe systems can vary slightly depending on the club or association. The important point is that he has progressed another step up the martial-arts ladder, or technically down the Kup ladder, because apparently even achievement needs a plot twist.
Each belt appears to come with a new pattern, which must be learned, remembered and performed with sufficient precision to suggest that the child has been training rather than simply copying someone else in the mirror for several weeks.
The pattern is only one part of the ordeal.
There is also theory.
This, naturally, involves learning various blocks, kicks, stances and other important Taekwon-Do vocabulary in both English and Korean. This prompted the obvious parental question: are we learning North Korean, South Korean, or simply the international language of children confidently mispronouncing things under exam pressure?
The answer is broadly: Korean Taekwon-Do terminology.
Taekwon-Do’s history is wonderfully complicated, because General Choi Hong Hi, who is widely associated with the development of the art, was born in the northern part of Korea before partition, later developed and promoted Taekwon-Do through the South Korean military and international organisations, before the art also became strongly associated with North Korea through later ITF history. So, in true martial-arts fashion, the answer is technically simple, historically complicated, and best not over-analysed two days before grading.
Either way, it is not enough to know how to block. You must also know what the block is called. In Korean. Under exam conditions. While being watched by adults who know the answer.
As educational systems go, this is actually quite robust.
The children are asked questions and need to achieve a certain percentage correct in order to pass the theory element. This means our son has to revise. In theory, revision should be done slowly, steadily and sensibly over several weeks, allowing the information to move gently from short-term memory into long-term understanding.
In practice, the Richardt household follows the much more traditional method of intense, last-minute intellectual panic.
The theory is usually learned two days before the actual exam. This is not because we endorse cramming as an educational philosophy. It is because our son has discovered that placing all required information into short-term memory immediately before the event has so far worked perfectly well, and as every elite athlete knows, one should never change a winning formula until it collapses spectacularly in public.
So yesterday and today were dedicated to learning the necessary terminology. Blocks were discussed. Kicks were named. Korean was attempted. Confidence was displayed in the way only an eight-year-old can display confidence: with absolutely no visible concern that the adults around him had no idea whether he was correct.
The actual grading had been scheduled for Sunday, but as previously explained, Sunday had already been consumed by ball-related sporting obligations. In our household, “available on Sunday” is a theoretical concept, much like a peaceful IKEA visit or a cricket match without weather-based negotiation.
Therefore, the delayed grading took place this evening, with around ten children of various belt levels all attempting to achieve their next stage of martial-arts enlightenment.
The setup at Evolution works well. The children sign in downstairs, then when the moment arrives they head upstairs for the grading while the parents remain downstairs. This is sensible. It prevents parental interference, nervous smiling, accidental coaching, and the inevitable whispered phrase, “Do the thing with your arm.”
Instead, the parents watch on the big monitor. This gives the whole event the feeling of a high-security martial-arts surveillance operation. Somewhere between an Olympic training centre and airport CCTV, but with more doboks.
On Sunday, I believe they usually livestream the grading, which is an excellent service for any relatives who wish to experience parental tension remotely. Nothing says modern childhood quite like having your child’s pattern, Korean terminology and general emotional stability assessed both in the room and possibly via broadband.
After about an hour of work, effort, concentration and controlled violence, the children reached the end of the grading. Watching our son on the big screen, I could see that he had managed to pass both the practical and theory elements.
Then came the ceremonial moment.
He was handed his new, shiny green belt.
Another sporting achievement ticked off the young bucket list. Another milestone reached. Another piece of evidence that the child is gradually becoming more disciplined, more confident and more capable of defending himself against hypothetical attackers, provided they ask him to translate the technique first.
Of course, the evening did come at a cost.
He missed Ilton cricket training.
In most households, this would be a minor scheduling detail. In ours, it was a meaningful sacrifice to the sporting gods. But sometimes one must choose between cricket and martial arts, between bowling practice and belt progression, between the sound of leather on willow and the dignified pursuit of Korean terminology memorised in a 48-hour academic sprint.
Tonight, Taekwon-Do won.
And to be fair, so did our son.
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