Page 11 of A Kickin' Karate Christmas
He sounded genuinely interested, so I told him a little more about the work I did at night while I pulled up the spreadsheet. He was right. There was already a small list of donations, and while I watched, another one populated. My jaw dropped as I read what was being offered. “Holy shit. Look at what Brendan’s dad just donated.”
Mat was quiet for a moment and then I heard him gasp. “Did you know Jack was a travel agent?”
“No.” I looked at the line on the spreadsheet again. A weekend trip to a little tourist town an hour away, complete with hotel stay and a complimentary dinner at one of the nicer restaurantsin the small beach front town. “That’s going to pull in some good money. I already know Becca’s going to bid on it.”
“Becca?” Mat questioned. I swore there was an edge to the way he said her name.
Maybe it was just wishful thinking.
“Emerson’s mom. She and her boyfriend go down there a few times a year. She loves the antique stores.”
“Then I hope they win.” His voice sounded a little more upbeat. “I can’t believe Jack donated that. I can’t believe some of the things people are already donating. A tablet?”
It was pretty amazing. “People love your dojo; their kids love it. Of course they’re going to help, Mat.”
He let out a small hum of happiness, and we talked a little longer. My computer sat abandoned on the table as I leaned back into the couch. By the time we hung up, my cheeks hurt from how much I was smiling.
I wasn’t just slipping and sliding down the slope. I was skiing toward the edge.
Chapter six
Mateo
Icheckedthedonationlist Jake had set up multiple times over the course of the next few days. I found myself pulling it up on my phone while in line at the grocery store or waiting for my students to arrive. The amount of donations we were pulling in was astounding. I hadn’t expected that kind of support. It didn’t feel real.
I also got a lot of messages from parents who had read the newsletter.
Some of them had ideas for other events. Some of them wanted to know if they could make monetary donations to help the dojo. Taking money for nothing felt wrong, so I encouraged them to save that money and bid on things at the silent auction. Which was going to be Christmas themed, after a few parents all made the same suggestion. I thought a dojo Christmas party sounded fun, and Jake agreed.
Someone donated an old tree and a few decorations to the dojo before the next class. Sophia and I stayed late putting it up. Shespent most of the night laughing at my disbelief that so many people cared about the little dojo I’d built up.
I wondered if my sensei had ever felt the same way. I’d bought this place from him. Had he struggled with keeping it afloat too? Had he faced the same concerns that I was dealing with now? He’d always made it look so effortless.
The realization made me want to bang my head on my desk. I’d spent so long trying to get ideas on how to make this place successful but never once thought to ask the man I’d bought it from. He’d run the dojo for over twenty years. If anyone knew how to successfully run a dojo and make it through the hard times, it would be him.
What the hell was I thinking?
I called him Friday night when I got home, and we made plans to meet for lunch the next day.
I’d planned on taking him out, a preemptive thank you for taking the time out of his retirement to meet with me and discuss ways to help my business. He insisted we meet at his house.
I’d been to his house a thousand times in my life. As a teenager, I’d bonded with him more as a person and less as my sensei. He was the man I’d gone to for advice, because my own father had always been too busy with work to ask all the questions I had about being a man. My sensei had opened his door to me. He’d listened to me talk about my problems and offered advice. I’d been more worried about coming out to him than my actual parents, but it had been a lot of worry for nothing. He’d accepted me immediately.
My own father had taken a little longer to come around, but then his brand of masculinity had always been different from Sensei David’s.
David was waiting for me on the porch when I arrived, holding a bottle of beer with another one sitting beside theempty chair that I’d claimed as mine years before. We’d had so many discussions right there. I remembered talking to him about my worries before I first competed on a national stage, fears that I wouldn’t be good enough and that I’d let him down. I remembered talking to him after my first heartbreak. I even remembered stumbling over that chair when I’d showed up at his house, drunk and a little too afraid to go home and face my own dad for drinking underage.
“What’s the reason for the house call?” he questioned after I was settled and had my beer open.
“Technically, I asked for lunch,” I pointed out. “You’re the one that suggested I come here instead.”
David tilted his head, conceding to my point, before he took another sip of his beer. His sharp green eyes were still fixed on me, questioning my motives without a single word.
“How did you do it?” I finally asked. His raised eyebrow urged me to clarify. “Run the dojo, I mean. Without going completely broke.”
“Different times, Mat.” It was my turn to look at him, to urge him to continue and give something more than justdifferent times. “I started the dojo before there were so many distractions for kids. The cost of running a dojo was a lot less then, too. Rents weren’t as expensive, gear, insurance, all of that.” That made sense. “But even with all of that, there were so many times that it got tight. Nancy hated it sometimes, because all her friends in the neighborhood talked about husband’s getting Christmas bonuses and going on vacations, and she knew that her husband was never going to have that.”
Because he ran the business. It was something I’d accepted I’d never have either. Granted, none of my friends got Christmas bonuses either. Most of my friends weren’t taking annual vacations either. Like he said: different times.
