TMNT are not mine. They are NOT mine! They are NOT MINE!

Three

The morning passed, and we played a few games (educational, by the way). Raphael, Michelangelo, and Donatello were very chatty and active, but I noticed that for once Leonardo was not joining in. He would play or respond when invited or addressed, but other than that, he sat on the floor by the couch, staring every now and then in the direction of the dojo, seemingly lost in thought.

Considering that he, like his brothers, was approximately three years old, I was certain that the "lost in thought" explanation could NOT be the case. He must not be feeling well.

Before lunch time, I deemed it the time to begin the next "training session. Summoning the four from their various activities, I led them into the dojo- Michelangelo immediately at the front, holding onto my hand, his "bananda" back in place.

"Does we need banandas, too?" Donatello asked, puzzled (and just a little bit envious, I believe, judging from the way he stared at Michelangelo).

"Well," I said, thinking. "I suppose that if Michelangelo is wearing a bandana, then you three might wish to wear them as well."

Before I could make a move to go in search of something, the three of them had vanished into their room. I could hear a bit of scuffling, one or two protests of "I wanna wear that one!" and then they reappeared.

Once again I was forced to bite my tongue- hard- to keep from laughing at the sight.

Leonardo had tied what appeared to be a long stocking around his head (again, something found in the bag of "donated" clothing- I take what I can get, and worry about what we can use later). Donatello had found a man's tie, a bright green one that had what appeared to be some cartoon character on the wide part.

But Raphael topped them all. Not merely content with wearing something around his head, he had found a pink ski mask with tassels hanging off the top. It was a cap obviously designed for a small girl, but at this time my sons were blissfully unaware of such differences. All Raphael knew was it covered his face "like inna pichure," he informed me proudly, pointing to Michelangelo's favorite comic, and it had flowing stuff hanging off of it- again just like in the picture.

"Well, now that you are all ready, let us begin," I said, and we bowed to the dojo to show respect.

I showed the other three how to do warm up stretches, and then stood them in a line.

"When we are in the dojo, you must address me as 'Sensei'," I instructed them.

"Yes, Sensei!" Michelangelo immediately piped up, and the other three echoed him quickly.

"Now, we will begin with a few of the things that Michelangelo learned this morning," and the lesson- the first real lesson with all four- began.

I was once again impressed with Michelangelo's ability to quickly pick up the basic moves. The other three were also quick to learn- it was not very many minutes before they were all doing a few of the things that I had shown Michelangelo this morning.

Indeed, Michelangelo started correcting Leonardo's stance and moves.

"Like this, Le'nardo," he said, putting his hands on his brother and posing him, putting his arms in the correct position. "And go slow like this," and he demonstrated a very basic kata, all the time encouraging his older brother to do it "just like this!"

Then it was time to learn some punches and blocks. Again, the other three learned quickly, while Michelangelo did the moves very smoothly for a small child who was only doing it for his second lesson of the day. Once again, he took it upon himself to be the assistant Sensei as it were- and I do not think that Leonardo was quite pleased at all with his brother's attentions and instructions.

The pillow-ninja was the highlight of the lesson. There was much giggling this time, and much cheering of each other as one by one they fought off the "attacks". Raphael was the only one I did not knock down in the beginning. I suspect that, being the last one to go, he had observed the sudden upset of all three brothers and had prepared himself to not end up on his tail as they had.

I think that Michelangelo let himself be knocked down. He had followed Leonardo, and he had immediately helped his brother up off of the mat with the comforting words of "yeah, them ninjas get lucky at first! They knocked me down the first time, too!"

Finally, the "sword" came out. I was prepared.

"No kicking," I said to all four. "Punches and blocks only."

Donatello was highly fascinated with the "sword", wanting to know what it was made of, and how it was made, and what was a pool noodle for, and could he put it in the bathtub to see it work, and so on and so on.

Inspiration came to me. The thing was in two pieces- about the same size, though a bit ragged at the ends.

"Michelangelo, here is the 'sword'," I said, and I took the other one, getting back to my knees again. "Let us see if you can hit father with your weapon!"

The grin on that face was mirrored by two of the other three- only Leonardo seemed to not like this.

It was not real sword play, but it was fun- and Michelangelo actually managed to score a few hits against me! Then it was Raphael's turn. He spent most of his time trying to "chop your head off" but failing to do so, yet his determination was soon swallowed up in his joyous laughter as I repeatedly blocked his attempts and hit him with the foam device.

Donatello showed some promise; perhaps he would not be a swordsman- or swordsturtle- but he seemed to be thinking the entire time, and he used the noodle in ways that alerted me to the fact that perhaps some sort of striking weapon would be his best choice. He managed to hit me a few times, but once again, skill gave way to laughter, and soon it was just another fun game!

Now came Leonardo- such a look on his face! Such a look of determination, of seriousness! He looked even more set to do this than Michelangelo had that morning, when he had first took his "fighting stance" with the ninja pillows.

"Begin," I said, and he knocked the "sword" from my hands before I could blink!

"Well done!" I said, as Michelangelo so helpfully retrieved my weapon for me. Still he did not smile. "Let us try again!"

This time I was better prepared, and we "battled". He was doing fairly well- again, this was not true swords play, but he was very serious about his efforts, to the point that not once did he so much as smile during the bout. The others had eventually fallen to the floor in helpless laughter, but Leonardo behaved as if this were- well, the most important thing in his young life!

Finally I called a halt to the lessons.

"You have all done well," I commended them, and we bowed and left the dojo (after cleaning up- they were so eager back then to help put away the equipment; now, however...).

I paid little heed to the chattering as they skipped out of the room, removing their "ban-DAN-as, Mikey, NOT 'ban-nan-das! Say it right!" as they went. It was time to start preparing lunch, and I went about my job, listening while not really paying attention.

Michelangelo was telling them how he had done two lessons today, and was ahead of them.

"You was good," he told them in a tone that was both flattering and yet just a touch smug. "Soon you will be as good as me, an' then maybe you can join me and Father's team!"

"What team, Mikey?" Donatello asked.

"You know- me and father is gonna-"

"ARE gonna," Leonardo corrected his brother.

"Yeah, ARE gonna be a team of Ninja and fight the bad guys and safe the day! Just me and him! Like Batman and Robin!"

"Batman and Robin ain't Ninja," Raphael pointed out.

"But they's a team! An' me and father is gonna-"

"ARE GONNA, dummy!"

Silence for a minute.

"Why'd you yell at me, Le'nardo?" I could recognize the weepy tone of voice. Michelangelo was sensitive to his brothers yelling at him at this age (funny how he outgrew that as he got older; or perhaps he just grew immune to it). Before I could go into the living room a teary-eyed Michelangelo was clinging to my robe.

"Leonardo," I said, placing a comforting hand on Michelangelo's head. It took him a few minutes, but my eldest dragged his feet into the kitchen, face looking like he, too, was about to cry. "Leonardo, you know that I do not like you to yell at your brothers, and I do NOT like you to call names."

(To this day I could not discover where they had learned that word- and "stupid" afterwards, unless it was something in one of the many comic books or story books I had brought home. I had never read all of them, and I suspect that Donatello, sharp and intelligent little Donatello, had managed to decode these words, and the others had figured out the context and the usage based on the pictures).

(You may wonder why I did not quit bringing such things into the house; well, the damage had been done, and I was careful to screen all future offerings, but there was no going back. I just tried my best to teach them to not hurt each other.)

"Yes, father," he said sadly, head hanging. "I'm sorry, Michelangelo," he added carefully, correctly using his brother's name- I felt a small pang at this, as it indicated that they were leaving babyhood behind.

"Now, I want you to go back into the living room and sit down until lunch is ready," I said, and Leonardo, trying not to sniffle, nodded his head, and with a woeful " 'kay" he dragged his feet back to his previous location.

I finished preparing lunch (Michelangelo still clinging to my robe with one hand, a thumb in his mouth), and after a time was able to call the other three in so we could eat.

Michelangelo did not wish to sit alone; apparently what his brother had said had hurt him deeply, but he needed to learn how to accept an apology. I therefore refused to hold him on my lap and feed him. This resulted in a few more sniffles and an attempt to use what later became known as his "puppy dog eyes", but after a few minutes of my ignoring him, he settled into eating, finishing first (as usual).

Cookies and milk for dessert. I had gotten lucky and had found enough money to spare for this unlooked for treat. As the last tiny crumb was gobbled up, Michelangelo was back to his chatty self, once again making plans on him and "father being Ninjas and safing the world".

In the living room, the other three began a game that involved making a lot of noise and knocking down things. Leonardo sat apart, next to the couch. Occasionally he would stare in the direction of the dojo, then back at the others, but he made no sound and did not seem interested in what they were doing.

I sat on the couch, picking him up from the floor and seating him on my lap, feeling his forehead again and looking into his eyes.

"My son, tell me where it hurts," I said, suspecting that he was ill.

"I'm not sick," he said, though he did lean into me for a cuddle. When I had sat down, he had acted as if nothing were wrong, but I could tell from the moment I picked him up that there was something going on. He had naturally curled up for comfort as soon as I had placed my hands on him; indeed, he seemed to restrain himself from latching onto me in a hug- something he usually did when he was not well or happy.

But this time?

I cradled him and watched the other three who were actively building towers and playing "Godzilla"- it was Donatello's turn to be the monster- (no, we did not have a television at the time. One of the comic books I had brought home to them was the source of their knowledge. I can not begin to tell you how many times I was forced to read that story...) and he was doing a good job of destroying "Toe-key-yo" or "Toek-yo", depending upon who was talking at the moment.

"What is the matter, Leonardo?" I asked again.

He leaned into me further, curling up tighter. His cheek pushed up against my chest, and one little hand buried itself in the folds of my robe, as if holding on for dear life.

"Nothin'."

"Leonardo, I do not like when you do not tell me the truth," I said carefully, as I held him a bit tighter. "Tell Father what is wrong."

For an answer he drew his legs up further, as if he wanted to withdraw into his shell, and a small sniffle escaped him.

"I wanna be a Ninja," he barely whispered. I frowned in puzzlement.

"My son, you will be. I am going to train you all."

Another sniffle.

"But I wanna be your team," he said a bit louder. "I wanna be your team and fight the bad guys and safe the day- you and me, a team."

I did not understand for a few seconds what he was referring to- and then I recalled Michelangelo's early assertions that "Father 'n me is gonna fight and be Ninja an' safe the day! We's gonna be a team!"

Ah. Jealousy. They were not strangers to it, but this was certainly something I had not expected.

"You do not want your brothers on our team?" I asked, watching as now Michelangelo took his turn as Godzilla and the other two moved the little figures that I had recently brought them (some toy soldiers, a bit battered and worn, but useful to them none the less) around the floor, screaming to each other to "RUN! Godzilla is coming!", while Michelangelo roared and kicked blocks and announced in a deep, growly voice "I's gonna eat you all up!"

Leonardo looked at his brothers- specifically, he looked at Michelangelo. Then he shook his head just a little.

"My son," I said carefully. "We are a family."

"I know."

"A family is like a team. A team is a group that works together. They help each other, and support each other, and they protect each other. There are very few teams with just two people."

"Batman and Robin are a team."

"Yes, but they are only a team in a book. In the real world, we are a team."

I hugged him to me, resting my chin on the top of his head, while watching Raphael take his turn as the terror of Tokyo.

"We are all we have, my son. I know you are probably too young to understand this, but we are all we have. We are a team, and we must always work together.

"Whether I fight alone or someday with all four of you at my side, we are a team. When father goes out to find food, he depends on all of you to keep each other safe, does he not?"

I could feel his head nod. I wondered how much he really understood? I was probably just talking to hear myself talk, but I felt that I needed to talk to this one in this manner. He had taken this entire thing so seriously, I felt some need to be just as serious back. Hopefully, young as he was, he could understand some of it.

"And you four depend upon father to go out and get the food. That is teamwork. And someday, when you are older, you will help me with that job, and we will be even stronger."

I pulled away and lifted his face up so I could look him in the eyes.

"We are more than a team; we are a family. And nothing will change that."

Silence for a few minutes, as I watched the other three play.

"But- can you and me be a team and fight the Ninjas and safe the day?"

I smiled. Well, it was worth trying. They were more advanced than many human three-year-olds. But they were still babies; my babies.

"Yes, you and I will be a team on Mondays. Michelangelo and I will be a team on Tuesdays, and Raphael will be with me on Wednesdays. Then Donatello and I will have Thursdays. That leaves three days when all five of us will be a team."

He smiled up at me; his world was back in order.

" 'Kay!" And he got down, demanding his turn to be Godzilla.

Little did I know that we would be a team very soon- that what little I had been teaching them would be needed, and needed so soon- and the thought of it still makes me shudder at what might have been...