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Kickin’ it with Voodoo

Dealing with my personal version of John Kreese

I was raised on a steady diet of Prime Chuck. Chuck Norris that is. I spent the majority of my childhood mainlining violent action films including Jeanne Claude Van Damme, Bruce Lee, and the occasional Steven Seagal movie, but only if I could get an edited copy that removed adult content. None of that Cinemax stuff for me. The only butts I was allowed to watch were those getting kicked.

The opening scene of the movie, “The Perfect Weapon,” with Jeff Speakman became the soundtrack to my childhood.

Speak to me, Jeff

Between, “Rocky,” and, “The Best of the Best,” I legitimately thought life was about running into people that wanted to kick the crap out of you, fleeing, stumbling upon a mentor, pushing through a wicked montage to the soundtrack of Survivor, then exacting vengeance.

Boy was I surprised when that’s almost exactly how my life played out.

I was a latch-key kid. Both of my parents worked. So, it was up to me to navigate potential altercations with gangs, drug deals, and those girls in my sixth grade class that wanted to kiss behind the library. They were the most dangerous risk of all.

When I was ten, my older brother got jumped in a park near our house and he ended up spending the entire summer of his freshman year at home with his jaw wired shut. My grandparents didn’t want the same thing to happen to me so they enrolled me in Taekwondo. I have to admit, the instructor, let’s call him Mr. S, was a bit of meat head. He worked at the state penn and made casual remarks implying I should dye my hair black because I looked like “fresh meat.” He liked to wear those body builder tank tops and bright neon pants that M.C. Hammer sported in his videos or the Wayans brothers wore on, “In Living Color”.

Despite my instructor’s wardrobe distractions and snide comments, it wasn’t long before I was making rank and standing atop the podium in local tournaments. It didn’t matter who stood in my way, I was out to make a name for myself. When asked why I punched a girl in the face at one tournament and made her cry I had an easy answer, “Well, she forgot to block.” That’s equality, baby.

A legend in the making

When I turned twelve something profound happened: a new school opened down the road from my house. This dojo was like nothing I had ever seen. Almost every student was ranked at the national level. They even knew how to use weapons I had only seen on episodes of the Ninja Turtles. And unlike the cartoons, these guys (and girls of course) were actually good. And the girls knew how to block. And kick… really hard. The first thing they booted was my ego.

The new school, run by a man we’ll call Mr. D, offered me some free lessons. And I soon found myself training at separate dojos, developing my skills under two completely different instructors. At the time, this type of cross-training between martial arts schools was frowned upon and it wasn’t long before Mr. S found out about it.

“You’re my Top Gun, and this new school, whoever they are, sees that. And they want to take credit for my work. You’re MY student,” he said. No joke, he actually said that. “I better see you here on Wednesday.”

I’m not gonna lie, when I got in my Mom’s car that night, it was my turn to cry. I felt like I’d betrayed Mr. S. But, deep down, I also knew something was off. I needed to talk to Mr. D.

I remember sitting there across from Mr. D, with his fabulous blonde hair feathered across his forehead, and he said something to me I’ll never forget. “The only thing I want is what’s best for you. Whether that be here or with your other school. I have your back. As much as I’d love to have you stay, I’m here for my students, not the other way around.”

That settled it. I stayed. And it would take some time for me to realize the ramifications of those actions.

A year later, Mr. S’s school had run into financial problems, and the opportunity arose for one of our black belts to take up the lease and take over the school. At the same time, I happened to be attending a tournament in the South Valley of Albuquerque when I ran into one of the students from my old Taekwondo school. Being the gregarious and fun-loving guy that I am, I ran my mouth about how my new school is awesome and how we’re taking over the lease of Mr. S’s dojo.

Big mistake. Not only was my friend still training with Mr. S, but that old Meat Head was there, at the tournament, and about to judge MY division. I distinctly remember stepping up for the forms competition and seeing Mr. S sitting right in the middle of all the judges.

We made eye contact.

He leaned to the other judges and whispered something in their ears.

They nodded.

Ten minutes later, a form I did that won the state championships miraculously fails to place. And Mr. S’s student is in the top three. That’s equality, baby. Wait, no it’s not!

The sparring division was next. And, let’s be honest, that’s the only competition anyone really cares about. This time, my former instructor was sitting on the sidelines and my feet kicked their way right up to first place. The Meat Head was steaming. No, he was burning up. Well Done. Fried…. you get it.

Two days later, after all the students had left the school, Mr. S showed up to Mr. D’s dojo. Mr. D was alone. It was just the two of them. Mano a mano. Mr. Miyagi and John Kreese. It was about to go down.

Mr. S was more of a kickboxer than a Taekwondo martial artist. He had a wicked back side thrust kick. He also had warts in his arm pit. But those offered no benefit in a fight. Mr. D had a front snap kick that cracked like a whip. And he was a big fan of Rush, which meant he liked a good drummer. But, more than anything, Mr. D lived the martial arts he taught his students.

Mr. S proceeded to threaten Mr. D. “I’m gonna open a school next door and close you down. I’m gonna steal every last one of your students.”

Mr. D listened. Then he sat and listened. Mr. S wagged his finger, made threats, shouted.

Mr. D reached into the tiny fridge beside the bleachers and retrieved a Capri Sun. As Mr. S continued his rant, Mr. D, with his gorgeous blond locks, crossed his legs, and sipped his sugary drink through a tiny straw.

Mr. D refused to meet Mr. S on the same battlefield. He refused to confront the angry ball of meat head on. Instead, he deflated him by being the exact opposite of what he expected. And to his dismay, Mr. S soon found himself sitting on the bleachers as well, drinking a Capri Sun through a tiny straw. And before he knew it, Mr. S walked out the door. Neither was worse for ware. But it was clear who won the fight.

Mr. D. giving me a handful of humility

Mr. D went on to become the greatest mentor of my childhood. It’s people like him that inspired me to write The Hawk Enigma. Just before I published the book, I ran across my old instructor while on a work trip in Boston. I was honored to share with him work that he indirectly inspired. I want to say that elements of Voodoo are based on the life I lived, but, in reality, Voodoo is everything from Thursday night programming of Prime Chuck on TBS all the way to Mr. Kreese and his Hammer pants. The most important attribute I love about my main character Voodoo is that he has the same skill as Mr. D: he knows how to win a fight long before a punch is thrown. And I’d like to think that’s his greatest strength of all.

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J.L. Hancock
J.L. Hancock

Drawing from a graduate level education in national security studies, foreign language expertise, and experience as a technician embedded with special operations forces, J.L. Hancock writes fiction that reflects the complexities of the modern world. His eye for detail and authentic narrative is rooted in the many lives he has lived, the worlds he has seen, and the people who inspire him.