The children's class had just ended and there were two young ladies in the locker room changing out of their uniforms. I have taught both girls on occasion so I happened to know both of them. One of the girls even goes to school with my son and they are both in third grade.

She was watching me as I dropped my bag to the floor and dug out my uniform. I looked up and smiled figuring she was trying to remember my name.

"Is DJ your son?"

"I am," I said.

She waited a few moments and I thought that might be the end of our discussion, when suddenly she said,

"Man is he lucky."

Now, she had my curiosity peaked. My sons don't say much about what goes on at school. I think it's a guy thing. So I figured she knew some juicy tidbit that a mother would want to know.

"Why do you say he's lucky?" I asked her.

"He's lucky his mom is so strong."

I had to think for a second about what she said. This young lady had been at the black belt test where I was allowed to test for 3rd degree. I remember her family cheering when I broke two concrete block pavers that were stacked on end like dominoes on a platform. It was a very satisfying thing especially because I had never practiced with real blocks before. I had been using kicking pads which are far lighter.

This young lady was at the test as a student earning her first degree black belt, an achievement gained by few, especially at her age. But for that short moment, she watched me like I had just walked on water.

And for just a moment I think I could have.

I don't think of myself as a hero. In fact, it makes me uncomfortable when my skills in martial arts are applauded. And yet, as I think upon my childhood, there were so few female competitors a girl could worship.

Girls need role models. So for that reason, I'm humbled but willing to suffer a little hero worship