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Jane got me throwing stars, and I finally put up a target in my garage. I'd forgotten how much fun they were. I had them as a kid, and hid them in the tiny hollow under my nightstand. I had homemade nunchakus that I also had to hide from my parents. It was kinda hard to hide the bruises though. Never did get very good with those. Fortunately I had the foresight to make them out of hard rubber, so none of the injuries were traumatic. Just embarassing.
And of course the necessity of my owning a katana or any other sword was completely lost on my parents. They didn't even like the idea of me having a bokken. They viewed it as something else I could swing around in the house, at my brother, and invariably through a lamp or vase.
They had no compassion for my burning desire to grow up to be a ninja. My mom wouldn't even make me a ninja costume for Halloween 'cause she knew eventually one night she'd open the door to my room to find an empty bed, an open window and -- in her mind -- a twisted pile of costumed ten year old boy on the grass two stories below. Consequently, I blame her for all the crime in my hometown. How can I fight crime without a ninja costume? How do you stalk evildoers in corduroys and bright red Chuck Taylors? Who'd be intimidated by a ninja in a colorful rugby shirt? She would have the news on while making dinner and with every broadcast of a missing child or hijacking -- or especially a holdup -- I would mutter under my breath, "See what you've done, Mother?"
Looking back, it's pretty silly to have wanted to be a ninja when I grow up.
Spiderman's so much cooler.
