Ninja Girls Need Love, Too

Okay, just had an 80s music nostalgia night... and have had that freakin' Samantha Fox song in my head EVER SINCE. At least I got a blog idea out of it...

My parents are terrific people (no, I'm not saying that sarcastically, or because I'm facebook friends with both of them, and they could conceivably read my posts). In fact, through high school, my parents and I only fought about one thing. We just fought about it A LOT. That one thing?

Boys. Actually, boys (read: aged 14-17) wouldn't have been a problem. If I had been able to stick to them, my teenage years would have been MUCH easier on all of us. Don't get me wrong: had lots of friends who were boys, but romantically, they either weren't into me, or weren't house trained. Alas...

"Girls? What's my weakness? MEN!" - (Shoop, Salt N Pepa)

It's no secret I grew up in a dojo. This had some interesting side effects...especially when you're the teacher's daughter:

1) no one's going to pick on you
2) it's easier to make friends
3) DEFINITELY learned how to deal with males of all ages
4) also learned how to get along with adults (their parents)
5) all of my civilian (non dojo) peers knew about my dad, the Karate Teacher
6) every single boy who I knew well enough to date knew that I had a black belt (in other words, I was a Dangerous Fucking Ninja)
7) between my dad and me, each of these boys feared that talking/flirting with me would bring his life to a swift, violent end

The first 4 side effects rocked; they saved my sanity in middle school and had ripple benefits I still reap now. Those last three, though...

When I changed cities between middle and high school, I decided that it was in my best interest to keep the karate a closely guarded, Edna Modes' hidden rifles booby trapped SECRET. This seemed wise. However.

For reasons too long to share, my father was invited to speak to my (tiny) high school's varsity and junior varsity football teams. I didn't know about the visit; he didn't know about the secret. What could possibly go wrong?

The poor man had no reason to know it was a bad idea to announce to the Entire. Football. World. At. My. High. School. that his daughter, Megan, was there as a freshman, was a black belt (there was more, but you get the idea). I vaguely remember flashing neon signs hooked up to my locker... In short, with regard to romantic prospects, I was fucked (or not, as the case may be, ha!).

As my life consisted of NOTHING but school and dojo, it is no surprise that I took another look at the guys from the latter. Of course, I've known most of them too long and too well for romance to kindle...but...

Oh. My. God. I discovered Army Men. As in, men who trained on a daily basis to keep fit and be dangerous. As in, plenty bad ass enough not to fear my father (especially since they had friendly, functional relationships with him anyway). As in, far from home and lonely. (I should add that my chances probably weren't hurt by the arrival of my grown up figure - let's just say I'll never drown...)

But most importantly: Army Men, I came to realize, had enough balls not to fear ME. (do you hear singing? I hear them. Angels. Angels with uniforms. Even my angels are bad ass. Fucking Awesome)

Of course, in order to be a soldier, chances are...brutha's over 18. As in, adult. As in, too old to date a 14 year old girl.

I could wrap my mind around my parents' "too young to date at 14" rule - and compensated as best I could.

I'd define compensated more fully - but the 5th Amendment now comes into play.

Um, so, for some inexplicable reason, right as I turned 17, I was sad. Melodramatic, teenage girl sad. Just can't remember why... Eh hem.

As the oldest of four, I didn't mind the responsibility, being the guinea pig, or playing a large part in raising my siblings. Sometimes, though, it's lonely to have a role that's not really parent, but not really child. Therefore, it was wonderful to have my older brothers - dojo brothers, but brothers nonetheless. Of all of the men who helped raise me, no one was more supportive, attentive or invested as Scott. Scott took the time, always, to check on me, to listen to my woes, to help me whenever I needed him and always to the best of his ability. He was my rock. We may not be linked by blood, but he is the big brother I never had and I love him as though we are.

So like I said. Was randomly devastated and pouring my heart out as Scott took his cigarette break. When I (finally) paused for breath, he took a long drag, blew out, and gave me a long, hard stare.

ME: "What?"
SCOTT: "You know what you need?"
ME: (some whiny, morose comment about nothing will help)
SCOTT: (understandably ignoring my mumbling) "You need a new man."
ME: "Please. The last thing I need is a..."
SCOTT: "So whaddya like?"
ME: "Huh?"
SCOTT: "Whaddya like? Blond hair? Brown? Blue eyes? Tall, short, skinny, buff? Whaddya like?"
ME: "What the hell are you talking about?"
SCOTT: "I work with 50,ooo men. Whaddya like?"
ME: "Okay, Scott, Ft. Benning is not some elaborate, mail order, personal delivery dating service. That's not how it works."
SCOTT: "Um, that's exactly what it is and how it works. WHADDYA LIKE?"

I continued to argue, so he tuned me out...started talking more to himself.

SCOTT: "Sundance. I'm gonna' bring you Sundance. Everybody likes Sundance."
ME: "Okay, whatever..." rolling my eyes at the insanity of this concept.

And that's just what he did. Sundance went on to become not only my first boyfriend, but my first true love. While the relationship that ensued was the subject of almost every single fight I had with my parents, it was the best gift a little sister ever got from a big brother.