Before his death, Bruce Lee was working on a technique called “The Unstoppable Punch.”
He’d tell his partner, “I’m going to punch you in the face. Don’t let me.” and would then proceed to punch them in the face. And these partners weren’t schlubs off the street – they were black belts of one sort or another. Guys who knew how to stop an unwanted punch.
But punch them he did. And I don’t think it was a trick of speed, even though Mr. Lee was faster than a slippery Flash on meth in a atime machine. No, it’s my understanding there was something more to it. Even knowing it was coming a person was powerless to stop it.
It could all be a myth. Those sorts of things do spring up whenever exceptional people die young. Like Tupac, or the Big Bopper.
I only bring this up because my son seems to have developed this technique independent of the teachings of Jeet Kune Do. Even though I know it’s coming, even if I have both hands in defensive positions and my hips are spring loaded to fade back and avoid it, no matter what I do when we’re in bed getting ready for sleep the little man will unfailingly kick me in the nuts.
Doesn’t matter which way he’s facing, he could be cuddling his mama or sitting up having a drink of water. He could be across the damn bed from me, even, and yet sooner or later five little toes on an adorable foot will shoot out unerringly for my junk.
I swear, I’ve been asleep in another room and he’s still managed to whomp me in the crotch.
I keep hoping he’ll grow out of it, but if this keeps up I may have to wear protective gear to bed. As it is I flinch every time I hear Harold and the Purple Crayon