TMNT are the property of Mirage. Perhaps if I threw a pillow at them...

Two

Now, the next morning I was up early as usual. I meditated, then began the mornings ritual of going into the dojo to get in some practice before it was time to prepare breakfast and get my sons ready for the day.

After showing respect to the dojo (to this day, I recall with such clarity that last time Yoshi entered the dojo, with me in my cage. That was the last time he ever...), I did some warm-ups, and then began my basic katas. I had learned to improvise with some of them due to my tail. I still had to work on integrating this body part into the routines. I did not want it to become a liability in a fight.

"Mornin'!" Michelangelo's cheerful voice greeted me loudly, almost startling me. Usually I know when they are there, but he had managed to take me by surprise!

Imagine! The noisiest of the four, catching me unawares!

I turned to address him when I caught sight of him. I had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing out loud. He had raided the drawers where I keep clothing for them to protect them from the cold, and had managed to dress himself in some large black pants that were too big for him. They trailed the floor and were being held up by both his little hands. As he moved, his little feet peeked out from under the mass of material, and I could see that he had put on some black socks- also too large, but very warm for cold turtle toes.

He was also wearing a dark blue sweater (again, too large- but I had been glad to find it, and they would eventually grow into it) backwards and inside out, with the sleeves bunched up over his little wrists. But the crowning achievement had to be the flowery scarf on his head, which he had put there for his "bananda" as he called it.

It took me a full minute before I could trust myself to speak normally to him. I did not want to laugh and hurt his feelings.

"Why are you dressed so, my son?"

"I's gonna be a ninja! Ninjas wears clothes!"

Another minute went by, as I struggle to make sure that I did not laugh. It was hard, however. I wanted to get the camera and take his picture, he was so cute- but I refrained.

"Yes, they do," I agreed solemnly. "But for training I think you should not wear the- the outfit just yet. We must save it for later."

He looked a bit crestfallen, then smiled anyway.

" 'kay!" he agreed, immediately shedding his finery- except, of course, his "bananda- Ninjas gots to wear their banandas!"

"Yes, the bandana may stay," I replied, resigned to the fact that I would be "training" him this morning.

Fortunately, I had found some advice for training the very young in one of the books I had "borrowed". Making it a game seemed to be the general theme. Some of the suggestions I would not be able to use due to lack of available items, but I believed that I had enough things that would entertain him for today.

I was still convinced that he would soon forget about doing this. After all, I had noticed that they all seemed to have short attention spans, which (according to what I had read as well as observed daily) was natural for their "ages".

But I had prepared. So after gathering his ninja outfit from the floor, I took his hand and began our training.

"First, my son, you must show respect to the dojo when entering," I said, but before I could go further, he nodded vigorously.

"Yeah, we bow! I knowed! I seen you bowed!" And he, still holding my hand, bowed. Still in that position, he looked up at me sideways. "You's supposed to bow, father!"

What could I do? Once again I showed respect, and bowed with my son. Then the "training" began.

I decided to do the basic moves after I showed him how to stretch. Once again, he already seemed to know the routine! I wondered just how long he had been observing me! As I watched him immediately launch into the most basic of katas, involving mainly the movement of his feet, I marveled at his powers of observation.

All this time, I knew that he was NOT watching- none of them were. Every time I was in the dojo, they played right near the door, engrossed with their cars and blocks and, in Michelangelo's case, Mr. Growly the stuffed bear.

And yet, he had observed enough to be able to follow me through every one of the basic exercises, and could show me a bit of some of the ones I had been trying to adapt the use of my tail to.

That was the cutest! His tail, so very short, could not move the same way, and the look of concentration on his face was as comical as it was determined. His little tongue peeking from between his lips, eyes narrowed in persistence, he mimicked my one move, swinging his own hips in an exaggerated way, as if lashing his tail against the heavy bag that I had hung from the ceiling.

"I's needs a longer tail," he finally panted, coming to the conclusion that this was one thing he could not do. "OH! I know!" And he ran from the room, returning momentarily with a long orange sash that had come attached to a rather gaudy silk robe I had found in a bag of "donated" clothing. He held it up to me expectantly.

"What do you wish me to do, my son?"

"Tie it on my tail! Then I's have a longer tail!"

I managed to convince him that this would not be a good idea.

"Now, my son, you must practice some punches," I said, and the tail was forgotten as he watched me gather up some pillows, a few socks bundled up into ball-shapes, and a long cylinder that I had found in the dumpster at the sporting goods store. It had been roughly broken in two, and the texture was odd to me- a type of hard "foam", solid mostly but a small hollow space down the middle. Part of the packaging that had remained informed me that this was a "Pool Noodle", evidently some sort of floatation device. I had taken it because one never knew what might come in handy, and I had thought that, once summer was in full swing, I might try taking the children to the turtle pond in the park some moonlit night, when being seen was not a problem, so they could learn to swim.

"Now, first, let us practice some punches-" I was not allowed to finish. He immediately took up a stance at the heavy bag and began to land some blows, that look of determination on his face again as he accurately mimicked what he had evidently seen me do.

I could see that this was going to be harder than I thought.

"Michelangelo," I said, taking him by one hand and stopping his movements. "If I am to train you, you must wait for me to do so. After all, I am the Sensei."

"Oh. Sorry, Sensei," he said, bowing. "What do I do?"

I think my mouth hung open a few seconds; HOW did he know to do that? Then I shook my head.

"Let us stand side by side, and I will teach you a few of the things I want you to learn," I said, positioning him. "Then we will practice them together."

He was a quick learner! I knew more than ever that he was amazingly observant- what he had not already learned by watching me do them on my own, he picked up quickly after my only showing him a few times.

He was very good! Small, still a toddler, sometimes not quite coordinated, he was able to do most of what I showed him with little trouble!

Right foot forward, straight right punch-seiken oitsuki.

Right foot forward, right uppercut-jodan oitsuki.

Left foot forward, straight right punch-seiken giyakutsuki.

Left foot forward, right uppercut-jodan giyakutsuki.

Right foot back, left hand leg block, straight right punch

-gedanbarai seiken tsuki.

We went on like this for some time. I was amazed that he did not tire or become bored! He even started using some of the Japanese names, repeating them after me (I had a habit of speaking out the moves as well as their names when first training- it helped me to concentrate).

We did a few more, and then I judged it was time to move on.

"Now, my son, let us put to use what you have learned," I said, as he stood there, sort of panting and grinning at his success. I picked up a pillow and moved away from him. "I am going to throw this pillow at you, my son. You must hit it and not let it hit you. Do you understand?"

He thought about this new turn of events, even frowning.

"Yes. I unnerstand. But," he asked, face all twisted in thought, "are Ninjas ever attacked by pillows?"

"No, my son. This is just a practice. The pillows are pretend ninja. They are going to jump out at you to attack you! You must block them and punch them!"

He thought about this some more. Then he grinned.

" 'kay, Sensei! I's ready!" And he got into his "fighting stance".

Again I wished I could run for the camera!

I threw the pillow, and he was knocked on his tail.

"Oh, my son!" I could not help saying- I had not meant to hurt him. But before I could get to him, he was back on his feet, in his "fighting stance" once again.

"I's okay! That Ninja was lucky! I's ready!" he insisted, watching me.

What could I do? I picked up another pillow and threw it.

This time he launched out with a block and a punch, knocking the pillow away.

"Well done," I praised him, and he briefly smiled, still in his "fighting stance".

I threw another pillow, and he successfully hit it away as well. This went on for several minutes, and I had to admit, he was becoming quite good at blocking and punching- he even kicked one once, though it unbalanced him and he landed on his shell. But he rebounded again, and was ready for more!

And I think the thing that surprised me the most was that he treated it all so seriously. Not once did he laugh or squeal or ask if he could throw the pillows at me. I could not figure out this development. I was sure that he would soon tire of this "game" as it were, but he seemed determined to keep going.

I looked at the "pool noodle", a thought forming in my head.

"Now, my son, I will be the Ninja," I said, picking up one and kneeling before him, well within striking distance. "I am going to try to hit you with this 'sword'." I lightly hit him on the head with it, and he giggled for the first time since our "training" had begun. I let him feel it as I continued. "I will try to hit you, and you must block the attacks."

" 'kay, Sensei," he giggled, then his face became serious, and he got into his stance.

I swung the 'sword' downwards, and his right arm came up and out, blocking and knocking the blow to the side.

"Well done!" I said, and I truly meant it. "Again!"

I tried several times to hit him with the foam tube. Once in a while I got through and hit him, but many times he blocked the attack.

Indeed, this portion of our lesson became rather heated. He was getting so good, that he got daring. I tried several rapid strikes with the "noodle", but evidently I left myself wide open at one point. He blocked the blows, then suddenly leaped forward and aimed a kick right at me! Fortunately, his aim was off and I was spared his foot in my stomach.

Unfortunately, his aim was off- very off- and very low- and very painful-

I crouched there, doubled over at the unexpected attack upon a rather sensitive area, squeezing my eyes shut to keep tears from falling.

"Is you okay, Sensei?" he asked. It took me a minute before I could reply in a relatively normal voice.

"Yes, my son. I am. And I believe that it is time to put the equipment away and prepare breakfast."

" 'kay!" he cheerfully replied, and I watched as he gathered up the pillows and carried them to the side where I had first kept them. Then he returned and stood before me, expectantly.

I stood up, and took his hand. Then we bowed to the dojo and turned to leave- and I saw three turtles seated in the opening, eyes wide.

"How long have you three been sitting there?" I asked, as Michelangelo removed his "bananda, cause training is over."

"Alla time," Raphael grinned, and Donatello nodded in agreement. "Alla time since you throwed the pillows. Will you throw the pillows at me? Please? I wanna fight the pillows too!"

"Me, too!" Donatello echoed, bouncing in his sitting position. "I wanna fight the pillows and that sword. What is that sword made of? Can I touch it? Does it hurt? Can I hit Mikey wif the sword?"

"I wanna be a ninja too, father!" Raphael said, getting up and pulling on my free hand. "Can I be a ninja too like Mikey? Can I pretty please? Can I can I can I?"

"Me, too! Me, too!" Donatello was now on his feet, trying to pull the same hand.

Only Leonardo remained quiet. He stood with the others and followed us into the kitchen. He did not seem to share the enthusiasm of the others- Michelangelo was busy explaining to the other two how hard he had trained today and how soon he could fight the ninja and "safe the day", and they were peppering him with questions and trying to hit him to see if he could block them- which he could!

"No training outside of the dojo!" I said sharply, and the three immediately stopped. "You know that I do not like you to hit each other. You may only do that in the dojo."

I fixed breakfast, listening as the three continued to chatter- and noticing that Leonardo did not join in.

As I set the food before them I felt his forehead.

"Are you feeling all right, my son?"

"Yes, Father," he nodded. "Can I train with you too?"

I smiled.

"Yes. All four of you may train with me this afternoon. How is that?"

Three Turtles cheered. But Leonardo merely nodded, and ate his breakfast.

I wondered what the problem was, but then I became distracted by the usual breakfast emergencies of spilled milk or dropped forks, and I thought no more of it at the moment.

My thoughts turned to the afternoon. I wondered how long it would be before they all became bored and wanted to quit. After all, they were only three. Despite the determination Michelangelo had shown this morning, I was confident that soon it would wear off, and that they would eventually want to do something else. I would not force them into it at this early age.

Potty training had been one thing; learning self-defense was something that could wait until they were a bit older.