xXxXxXxXxXx
Lesson Three: Meeting Expectations
When my sons were very young I spent many hours hiding in the unseen nooks and crannies of the underground, listening to the conversations of humans as they traveled about their business. I considered it research and I picked up some intriguing opinions on how they lived their life. Some were not relevant to my family for we certainly did not drive a car nor have a mortgage, but some bits I took to heart. Not in the least were the words of an older woman speaking to her younger daughter about raising her grandchildren: 'Remember that just when you think you know everything children will surprise you.' she cautioned, chuckling. 'They are smarter than you give them credit for.'
I have never forgotten these words, and have found them to ring true over many years.
To their credit Michelangelo and Leonardo did fry up an impressive stack of pancakes, which delighted even the dourest of my sons into pleasant breakfast conversation. The lull of their voices engaged in planning big dreams and new projects was enough to quell my uneasy mind for the morning, and focus my thoughts for their training. When I look back on the day, I realize that the events that unfolded next were played like a virtuoso, as if scripted by a master playwright. I had not given enough credit to my sons' ability and intuition and certainly not enough credit to their willingness to work together to pull the wool over their father's eyes.
Training started with our basic routine: warm ups, flexibility exercises, strength training before they switched focus to true ninjitsu techniques. Each day I try to focus on different skills that play to each of my son's weaknesses and strengths, cycling the routine to test each one and force them to improve. As they grow I find that as one son is weak in a certain area one of his brothers will find strength in the same. I consider this a good thing for it prompts growth through challenge - each brother wishing to best his peers. But it can also lead to some heated emotions when one fails. Today we practice stealth, and I know this is a particular weakness of the most hotheaded of my sons- so I was prepared for a conflict. Perhaps I was even expecting it.
It is funny that they say you often get what you expect – for it is usually true.
The lesson is simple. To blindfold the center defender and make him listen to the movements of those around him. Each of my sons gets their turn in the center, listening, pinpointing and finally defending against the other three. Leonardo shines at this exercise, for long has he been practicing to cover his footfalls and yet hear the movements of others. Michelangelo shines at the former but his restlessness makes it difficult for him to hear the movements of his brothers until they are on top of him while Donatello is nearly the opposite. He struggles to keep his footfalls light but he has great focus to listen and pinpoint his brothers, which keeps them at bay. Raphael is strong and his balance is unchallenged, but his movements are heavy. He is slowly developing patience, but he too often jumps the gun and misjudges where his brothers are in the dark. These are always tough lessons for him, and I am sensitive to this.
It was Michelangelo who first brought up the idea of a challenge, playfully saying that he could 'tag Leo more times than anybody else.' While Donatello seems overall immune to these taunts, Raphael thrives on challenging himself – particularly against his brothers. I was not surprised to hear a call of 'you're on' from him. I sighed a bit, inwardly fearing an argument down the road. And that, truly, was my downfall. I had not counted on my sons to be able to so readily read my worries. I thought I kept myself implacable and serene. I watched as Michelangelo made a comical show of sneaking up on Leonardo with exaggerated movements straight from Saturday morning cartoons, and yet breaking into his buoyant ninjitsu moves when necessary to confuse his older brother. Darting backwards and forwards until he was upon Leonardo, finally planting a light hit on his brother's shoulders and another to his shins before the elder had a chance to fully recover. I heard Raphael groan, knowing that his own attack had left him on the ground at the mercy of Leonardo's wooden bokken.
The rest of the training had a similar thread, finally ending in a light quarrel as Michelangelo planted a hit on the back of Raphael's head and he turned swiping out to blindly catch air time and time again as my youngest nimbly dodged the blows. Finally his brother ripped off his blindfold and yelled in frustration, starting towards Michelangelo in a rage, only to be held back by Leonardo. This was the farthest the quarrel got before I called out and stepped in to settle them. I sighed, understanding the frustration my son was feeling, but also knowing that discipline must be held. I bid Raphael to stay after, practicing his footwork for stealth an extra ten minutes and afterwards I wished to speak with him. I hoped this would be enough to calm his mind and not to dwell on his failures. His brothers shuffled out to tend to their chores and I waited outside of the dojo, carefully counting the minutes.
Usually when Raphael trains I can hear him breathing very heavily. He puts his heart and soul into his training - exerting himself past the limits his brothers push themselves to, particularly when he is frustrated. Yet this day his breathing was difficult to discern. The heavy panting after exercise faded to a lull of calm. I could hear his footsteps, still not as light as his brothers, but fading. I sighed, thinking that if he could release his anger and approach training calmly he would excel at so many aspects he struggles with. I could hear his improvement even as I waited. As the time came due, I stepped inside and called his name.
"Raphael…" My brows went up as his body jumped slightly. His back was turned to me and as he moved to face me a frown etched across his face. He lowered his head.
"Sensei…"
I sighed a bit, seeing frustration still well within his eyes. His voice was heavy and yet if I had followed my ears I would have noticed that still his breathing did not match his expression. But I was too caught up in counseling my son, resolving the argument I had prepared for. "I listened to your training just now. You show a marked improvement when you repeated the movements." I smiled lightly, encouragingly.
He scuffed at the floor of the dojo lightly. "Don't matter if you still get hit, does it sensei?"
"Ah, but if you can practice against others with the same clarity you have while training alone you will succeed in your goals." I replied, moving over towards him.
Raphael's face seems to be in a sea of conflict, as if he had an answer for me but was pondering another. The tempest of teenage emotions rolled through his eyes and he put his hands on his hips, shaking his head. "The lesson is stupid. Mike treats it like a game and we always have the same outcome."
I tried very hard to not let the frown I felt display on my face. "There are lessons in every activity – even games, my son."
There was an odd tinge in his eyes – a gaze I realized only later was apologetic. He shook his head at me and asked to be dismissed, and I allowed him to go and think on my words. At the time I remember clearly thinking that teenagers were frustratingly unpredictable, and hoped that his anger covered an understanding of the problem. Now I understand that my son is far more perceptive than I gave him credit for and had banked on my expectations of his actions. I fell for this ruse hook, line and sinker.
xXx
It was early evening, just after supper when chores and training were done. This is when my sons are allowed their free time, and I usually spend my night roving through the lair, making sure that their free time means they are not destroying anything. I had stopped in the kitchen, speaking for a short while with Donatello while I made my evening cup of tea. He was telling me about a radio he was fixing and I smiled, allowing him to go to his workshop and continue repairing it.
In the main room I could hear Raphael and Michelangelo arguing about what superhero was the coolest, and I stifle a chuckle. My boys are sometimes so much like any other child – even down to squabbling over who could take out more badguys: Wolverine or Superman. And while I chuckled I also stood and hurried over. A squabble at this time of night usually accompanied a fight over the remote. It did not matter that we had one small television salvaged from a curbside that only picked up four snowy channels down here. The choice of what channel to watch was always a problem.
"Come on, dude, he's the man of steel!" I heard my youngest protest, and turned the corner to watch him wave the remote above his head.
Raphael was shaking his head, looking for a good opportunity to strike. "One word, Mikey: Kryptonite. Besides, Wolvie's got adamantium claws."
"Adamantium, shmadamantium." I knew this game, watching my youngest as he played it. The verbal sparring was calculated misdirection, each brother trying to get the other one off balance mentally or physically. "Supes can fly, bro!" He shook his head a bit, "besides we already saw the X-Men movie and channel 26 always gets snowy."
I could almost hear Raphael roll his eyes, without seeing it I can imagine the expression as I heard him groan, "all right, Mike." I heard his body flop down into the couch and add in a warning tone, "But no channel surfing during the commercials."
"Alright, deal!" I smiled. My youngest boy's grin practically shone across the room as the debate was settled and peace floated over the main room. I took in a long breath and felt my old joints relax. It was a perfect time to take a stroll through the lair. I smelled the scent of incense as I passed Leonardo's room. Watching him practice his meditative techniques brings a smile to my muzzle, he reminds me of myself when I was young.
Continuing on I felt the floor grow cool under the pads of my feet and I poked my head into Donatello's workshop. He has his tongue stuck out in concentration, focused deeply in the inner workings of a radio. I waited until he paused in his work to call out his name and he turned brightly to me. "Hello Father!" he called, waving me over. "Come see… I think I can get this to work!"
His excitement brought a faint dew to my eyes which I blinked away to come see what he was up to. He had stripped several wires to show shining copper beneath and was in the process of labeling all of them. "What was wrong with it?" I queried, allowing him to explain.
"Well, see here, Father? This wire has been wrapped around this metal piece." He gestured to the inner workings, "and it was almost cut through, so power wasn't getting to the transistors. But I cut the bad part off and I think I can rewire it!"
"That is very clever, my son." I let a proud grin slide into my expression. "Did the books April brought you help?"
He gave an enthusiastic nod. "I just wish she could bring newer ones. The books the library has on discard are pretty outdated."
"She will be coming later in the week. We can speak with her then." I assured. April has been very kind in bringing our family things from the outside world. Stacks of discarded library books were one of the first glimpses I could give my sons of the outside world.
Donatello's expression brightened. "April's coming? That's…" his thought was cut short but the sound of a muted crash and then Raphael's angry shout of 'MIKEY!'
I could see concern filter through Donatello's face. As I stood I placed a paw on his shoulder. "Do not worry, my son. I will tend to them. You can continue work on your radio."
"Thank you, Father." I could hear him murmur as I hurried back to the main room. The closer I got, the more I could hear and the faster I pushed my legs to carry me.
"What's going on?" Leonardo's voice called sharply.
"Oh, I don't know… Not like Mikey thought it would be funny to sneak up on me." Raphael's voice was hot and sharp.
"I didn't think you would freak!" My youngest protested, his voice ringing with a high-pitched innocence.
"You wanna see freak? I'll show you freak." It was Raphael's threat that made me break into a run.
I could hear Michelangelo yelp, And Leonardo's voice was piercing, "Raph, stop it!"
"YOU stop it, Leo. Get your hands off me!"
As I entered the room I called Raphael and Leonardo's names in the most demanding tone I can muster, which brought both boys' attention directly to my face. Had I been on the scene a moment sooner I might have rethought that course of action because when I fully entered the scene I saw I caught them mid-fight, their hands wrapped around one another's arms in a stubborn grapple. The shift in their attention prevented blows, but knocked the both of them off balance and I watched as they both toppled towards the ground. Raphael fell first, taking out a side table with his shell as he fell, with Leonardo rolling after him and hitting the floor to his side. Michelangelo was off behind the couch frozen in a tense stance. I slowly took in a breath, walking forward past the splinters of shattered wood, and chunks of broken glass, towards my sons as they untangled themselves from the floor.
I took several deep breaths when they came to their feet, watching their eyes fall to the floor. "What happened?" I asked in the most even tone I could muster, despite knowing the basic shape of events.
"Sensei, I am sorry…" Leonardo started quickly.
"I thank you for your apology, Leonardo, but I asked for an explanation." I reminded him lightly. I watched red flush into his beak and he took a breath.
Surprisingly, Raphael – who usually keeps quiet until words are dragged out of him – spoke up. "Mike decided it would be smart to practice his ninja techniques by sneaking up and trying to toss water on me. And I actually heard him." He picked his chin up a bit defiantly.
My youngest turned to me with innocence pouring from his wide blue eyes. "I thought it would be funny." He sighed a bit and added in an undertone, "until Raph hit me."
"Not my fault you couldn't hold on to the glass!" My red-clad son snapped back.
"That was no reason to go after Mike!" Leonardo got his two cents in.
"And it was no reason to come after me!" Raphael turned towards his brother and I could see tension refill his muscles. I sighed and put a hand up.
"My sons!" I waited until they had all focused towards me. "First of all, are any of you hurt?" I was greeted with three negative shakes of their heads. "Now each one of you is as much a part of this as the others."
"Master!" Leonardo protested sharply, and then swiftly fell silent as my gaze fell upon them.
"Michelangelo." I watched as my youngest turned towards me. "You must learn what is humorous and what is hurtful. While a well-taken joke is always welcome, an unfunny joke creates anger and pain."
He sighed and bit his bottom lip. "I am sorry, Father."
Michelangelo is earnest, and I can see realization dawn in his eyes. But what is broken must be repaired. "You will clean up the glass, and you will help April with cleaning her store basement this weekend to pay off getting a new one."
"Yes Father." He dipped his head and hurried off to the kitchen to fetch a broom and dustpan, as my attention turned towards Raphael.
"Raphael." I watched his eyes rise to meet mine, and somewhere in the back of my mind I noted he had the same odd expression he had worn this morning in the training room. "Frustration is understandable, but why did you feel it necessary to retaliate against your brother."
He snapped his mouth open quickly to respond, but the words were slow and sluggish. "I… well…" he settled his arms over his plastron. "He deserved it." The words were harsh, but the tone betrayed a lack of commitment to the sentiment.
I felt my brow perk and I asked again, "do you really believe that?"
Raphael waffled a bit, and I saw him shift from foot to foot before finally conceding, "I dunno. I was just mad."
"Anger always causes need for repair, my son." I said quietly, and gestured to the broken chunks of wood that lay scattered on the floor. "I wish for you to gather the pieces of this table and reassemble them. As you do, I wish for you to meditate on the effects your actions cause. When you are done I want you to apologize to your brothers." I was faintly surprised when my son accepted this without argument. He gave an assent and dropped to his knees, collecting the broken pieces.
Lastly I turned to my elder who was standing before me in an unusually defiant pose. "Leonardo, why did you enter this argument?"
I watched him take in a breath, "I was going to stop Raph…"
I held up a hand and cut him off. "Adding to an argument does not improve it."
"But he and Mike were fighting!" His words were clipped and impudent, as if he did not want to admit to doing wrong.
"I understand this, Leonardo. But adding your voice to a cacophony does not make it any more harmonious."
"That's not fair, Master!" he retorted quickly and I felt my fur bristle.
"Leonardo!" I barked, puffing out my chest to assert my parental authority. "You will go to your room and calm down. I will speak with you when your head has cleared."
He gave me a look of annoyed insolence but kept his mouth shut. For Leonardo, growing pains have hit the hardest and he struggles with seeking a leadership voice and yet learning the finesse of being a leader. He does not tolerate failure in himself, and I can see this hit home as he turned and silently walked down the back hallway.
The main room was painfully quiet as Michelangelo cleaned the glass, Raphael cleaned up the pieces of his table and I slowly sunk down to sit on the couch.
xXx
The rest of the night slipped by. I watched Raphael head to get the wood glue and then slip back to his room to work. I sat by Michelangelo for quite some time, watching the end of the movie and comforting my youngest, giving him quiet advice. And finally I made my way back to my eldest room with a pot of tea to sit and have a long talk about leadership and decision-making. All three of my sons were unusually quiet, ranging from apologetic to almost sorrowful. As I headed back out into the main room to wash dishes I could hear them speaking quietly to one another in the back bedroom area. Sometimes I do not know what spirit possesses them to fight, for hours later they can return to being the best of friends. I returned to the back bedrooms to check on all three once again, finding Michelangelo deep in reading, Leonardo pacing and Raphael absorbing in puzzle piecing the side table together. I sighed, enjoying the slow silence that was washing over our home.
xXx
"Donatello?" My whiskers quivered, hearing the motions in the main room as I headed back there. The scrambling of feet and hands punctuated the lack of response, which was only called back when I started to enter the room.
"Goodevening Master Splinter." He dipped his head to me as I approached, hands folded neatly behind his back. He was standing by the closet and coat rack, slowly working his way downwards towards the center of the room.
I paused and observed his movements for some moments, noting the quiet shuffle and downcast eyes. "Is everything all right my son?" I gently asked, moving towards him.
He shook his head slightly. "No, Father. I simply wanted to apologize for working late. I hope you did not worry."
Smiling I met him in the center of the room, laying a hand upon his shoulder. "Do not worry, Donatello. I should have stopped in to check on you. How is your radio progressing?" I felt my fur shiver slightly as I touched him for his skin was quite cold.
He looked up to face me and a smile dawned through his eyes. "I think I might be able to get it working!"
"I am glad, my son." I paused and took a step back from him, checking across his form for any signs of illness. "Donatello?" I called his attention back to me "is it warm enough in your workshop?"
He turned his attention form the back hallway to me again, blinking and swallowing. "There is a draft, Father. I think I can patch it tomorrow if I have Raphael's help."
I gave this a small nod, and a slight smile. I encouraged Donatello to start working with his brothers on his projects several years ago. At first he constantly chose Leonardo because his elder brother has patience and a careful hand. But Raphael is the most curious when it comes to mechanics. At first this created an intense rivalry between the two brothers for Donatello enjoys building and creating while Raphael wishes to tear things apart to figure out how they work – which meant everything Donatello built Raphael wanted to destroy. Yet as they grow Raphael is learning to fix, and Donatello is learning to explore meaning that their roles are slowly reversing. I encourage this mechanical impulse in Raphael as an outlet for his anger.
"I will speak with him about it in the morning." Smiling, I started to stroll with him towards the back hallway. "Goodnight and sleep well my son."
He leaned over and gave me a light hug and a smile. "Thank you, Father and goodnight!" I could hear his weary steps head back towards his bedroom.
As I heard his door shut, I slowly walked back to the main room making a slow meditative round about the lair. I was considering the events of the day and something hung upon my mind in worry. As I went over to the coat rack I lay my hands on Donatello's scarf and long jacket, and my fur bristled. I could feel the cold still radiate from the fibers. Touching the fabric I could feel the inner heat and outer radiating cold- far more than any draft. My whiskers quivered, realizing that Donatello had been outside of the lair.
I frowned, and swiftly headed back to the bedrooms to listen at the doors of my other sons. Snoring on all accounts. I shook my head, feeling slightly sick to my stomach. My sons have patterns that I have come to recognize. Despite the frequency in which they quarrel, arguments do not sit well upon the conscience of either Leonardo or Raphael. For the last few years I have listened to Raphael work out on the punching bag in his room, or scribble drawings in frustration far past his bedtime until the anger slowly bleeds out. Leonardo will meditate or read until his irritation at his transgression abates. Yet both were sleeping peacefully tonight as if nothing had happened. I walked back to the couch and sat, wondering if anything had actually happened. Tonight's fight was like so many other nights – an outburst of frustration and a reaction of being confined pushed to the breaking point and it had played out exactly as I had expected from the morning's training.
That was when I paused and realized something. Everything this night had played out how I expected it, as if it were scripted.
Exactly as I had expected.
I thought back to Raphael's reluctance to give an answer to my last question as if he was fighting to deliver his acidic verbal blows, Leonardo's staccato anger that covered his calm breathing. Had my sons been playing me? Was I so transparent that they could distract me with an engineered fight simply because it was an interaction I expected? I wrung my hands in worry. I trust Donatello, perhaps more so than my other sons, so while I usually check up on him a few times each night, I felt it was permissible to let him work while I tended the fight. I never expected a clandestine escape from him, particularly since he has taken to heart and understood the dangers of such escapades.
In the dark of the lair I could feel the chill of the winter air settle in. My fur bristled as my stomach turned. What was going on with my sons? Why could they not speak to me? I hated the idea of them hiding something from me, and I admit my curiosity burned brightly within me. I wanted to march to the back hallway and tear their rooms apart, searching for the evidence of what they were hiding from me. But I also knew that no good would come of such actions, only resentment and anger. I tried to tell myself that I had taught them well and they had taken my lessons to heart therefore they would not hide the truth from me long. At least that was what I hoped.
Perhaps it was selfish pride, but I wanted my sons to come clean and confess to me their troubles, their struggles and their secrets. I wanted to be the parent they always confided in. And I didn't want to admit that they were growing older – growing up. Even as I pushed them to master their ninjitsu training I still expected them to react as children in many ways. I know I cannot dote upon them forever, and that at some point I need to let them forge their own ways. But I look at them day by day and still see the babies I raised. At that moment I wanted to protect them, to safeguard them from both the outside world and themselves.
In retrospect, I realize now how shrewd my boys are. They read this old rat like a book and delivered a performance fit for the stage. I am proud of them for their cleverness and perception. Yet I now pay closer attention to their actions for the very same reasons.
For I have learned that when my sons are exactly meeting my expectations something is wrong.
