As I watched her, I noticed she was more confident in herself. Instead of having her head down, she would hold it up high and smiling. Her attitude has changed for the better. She also had trouble with school, but now her grades have improved tremendously since joining TKD. She is now a blue stripe. The Kights' are very nice people. For those who are thinking about joining, do it! Best thing me and my husband did for our kids. We love that they have confidence and are not afraid to take chances and succeed.
Hands down, it is the best school to join. Master Kight pushed them hard because he knows they have a lot of potential to be the best. Kight is very nice and will help you with any problems.
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They also have sleepovers for the boys and one for the girls. They have a campout in the summer for parents and kids. The Halloween and Christmas Parties are the best. My kids always tell me how much they love Tae Kwon Do and what it has done for them. The Kights offer the first three classes free so your child can see if they like Tae Kwon Do. Sincerely, Cecilia and Claudio Lozano March 13, My son, Ross, has been a member of this school for about two and half years. His mother and I have nothing but praise for Mr.
Kight and the school. The amount of personal growth exhibited by my son has been tremendous in this past couple of years. Not only has he grown physically, but his mental endurance and toughness have increased exponentially. My wife and I have consistently observed during each class approximately 3 times a week the professionalism, kindness, and consistency that Mr. Kight provides. He has never stopped short of helping all students continue to strive for excellence. He treats all students with respect and has very high expectations for each and every student.
Our son has participated in nine gradings and in a couple of weeks will participate in his tenth grading to become a black belt candidate. We look forward to many gradings that will take place at one of our Hillsboro ISD schools. Kight in the lead and Mrs. Kight by his side!
The Spirit of Courage
Thanks so much for allowing Hillsboro to have such a man of character leading the students in your school. I looked for a while for a martial arts school for my son Nick after his karate school went out of business. He was in karate for two years and wanted to keep training in martial arts. Many of the other schools had lots to offer, but none seemed to be just right for my son.
I observed instructors do many things I did not like. One of the things that made me not choose the other schools is their lack of personal integrity. Many would single out students and belittle them in front of other students and parents. I observed a couple of instructors use profanity toward students that were six to ten years old.
Many would yell at them at the top of their lungs, making many cry. One made a student perform a pattern many times before another instructor showed the girl what she was doing wrong. When I spoke to Master Kight, he listened to me and answered all the questions my wife and I had that day. He gave Nick a chance to prove his ability and skills he learned from his previous karate school.
He let my son keep the yellow belt he had earned after he showed that he could pick up and learn a new style of martial arts. Master and Mrs. Kight keep an environment that is kid friendly. The other black belt instructors take time to help students one on one if they are having trouble learning patterns or sparring. Another thing that makes me glad I chose Hillsboro Unified Tae Kwon Do is the way they help children with physical handicaps.
They teach them how to overcome their handicaps by teaching them to work with it rather than work around it. Kight have many other activities for the students, such as sleepovers for the kids at the school and a big campout at their farm that is lots of fun. They also take a family approach at the school where they put the kids first in their lives. They want to be successful by making the students successful. The time that is put into making the students successful to me is time well spent. My nephew came along to watch my son Nick and he joined.
He has a lot of fun learning and has told me he will keep going because he wants to become a black belt. Our TKD story begins in Our son, Thomas, has an extra Y chromosome.
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To varying degrees, this chromosomal abnormality has caused speech delay, impulse control problems, sensory integration issues i. Because Thomas did not do well in team sports, we decided to try martial arts. Our daughter, Katherine, who is extremely gifted at anything she tries, also wanted to join.
Mostly because Thomas simply would not participate in the beginning unless I was with him, my husband and I also decided to begin TKD. Fast forward two years: Our entire family is very committed to earning black belts together. Kat, who is often overlooked because Thomas gets much of the attention, has come into her own.
She recently won first place at UIL storytelling competition. I asked if she was nervous at all. Their poise, confidence, and self-control are tremendously improved, and all because of TKD. But not just any TKD, let me say a few words about the Kights. Master Kight focuses on mental discipline which is why the skills my kids are learning carries over so thoroughly into other aspects of their life.
You force yourself to prepare even more, and then because you are a student of Hillsboro TKD! I love that I can exercise several times a week with my family. No gym gives me that! At eight years of age, my grandson was diagnosed with ADHD. His physician recommended that I place him in some kind of organized sports, indicating that all boys in general, and ADHD boys in specific, benefit greatly from concentrated physical exercise. The doctor immediately concurred, telling me that of all sports so long as the child had an interest in it, of course , martial arts was the activity he would most recommend because it promoted so much that children need — physical activity, discipline, concentration, focus, individual attention and team effort.
Coincidentally, we were invited by friends to visit Hillsboro TKD around this same time. Karate gives Michael a healthy self-image, it allows him much-needed practice in focusing as he learns the formal and sparring pattern movements, and it promotes social well-being as he interacts with others of all ages in Hillsboro TKD.
I have appreciated both the myriad higher belts willing to take the time to show him proper movements as he practices during his twice-weekly formal sessions, and the encouragement he receives from his instructors and peers. He can see the results of his hard work by his steady progression up in belt rank, which serves to spur him on to further practice. For me, concerned about my child and his well-being, it is a win-win situation and I appreciate everything Hillsboro TKD has done for us.
It was the beginning of summer after my 6th-grade year. I grew slimmer, harder. After I got my yellow belt, I started competing in small local events. I won a trophy, then another. My thighs became dangerous, like the sporty girls I had admired. About a year after I started competing, Kerry invited me to join the demo team, a group that performed choreographed fight routines with actual bo staffs like Donatello in Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles during basketball halftime shows and insurance company Christmas parties.
We did this unironically, to a fog machine and songs like Total Eclipse of the Heart. I won more tournaments and advanced to a higher belt. Once or twice, I had my nose bloodied. On weekends, we ran laps at a local track.
I learned to break boards. Kerry showed me how to put together a board-breaking routine that would win medals at tournaments: girls, he told me, hardly ever compete in board-breaking. This was a real chance to clean up. Then knife-hand right into the second board. Then side kick. Axe kick. That routine got me a box full of gold medals. I wrote their names on my resume, a scrap of handwritten paper that I kept in my backpack to type out later. After a while, Kerry started offering me other tips. Lift your feet! When I was 15, Kerry invited me to compete at state, the Oklahoma-wide competition to qualify for nationals.
Every day after school, I kicked until my soles bled, until the balls of my feet were shredded. Faster, he yelled, holding a stopwatch. We had a motto that we chanted at the beginning and end of each practice session: Kick first, kick hard, kick fast, kick last! She snorted. You get in. Please eat something. I loved winning at a male sport. I was still angry about so many things — hijab, the Islamic Republic, the fat old church men who made high-school football players feel like gods while they shamed women who dared to want too much.
I survived on egg whites and water-packed tuna doused in vinegar and mustard, salted baked potatoes and watery fruit. I became a block of muscle. My thighs stopped touching, my breasts disappeared and I stopped menstruating. Rahim chided me for my diet. He was either marinating meat, chain smoking or in the garage at 2am, fixing his car.
Real taekwondo masters eat enough food. They eat meat and vegetables, not egg whites. At night I tightened a back brace under my clothes to soothe the ache of my empty stomach and did homework until early morning. I caught up with American history, calculus, chemistry. After my daily five or six hours in the studio, I struggled to keep up straight As, but there was no question of letting the grades drop. Perfect scores were the minimum for Harvard. They want to know you can suffer, I guess. A t 15, after winning two medals at state, I decided it was time to compete in nationals in San Antonio — it was in summer and I would be 16 by then.
If I won, I would have my trophy and I could move on to becoming someone, somewhere far from this hot, inhospitable place my family had landed. Six months before nationals, I pinched a spinal nerve. I could hardly walk, and twisting or lifting a leg sent a sharp pain through my body. I signed up for the tournament anyway — I had to. This medal was already a part of my future identity. I would be the girl who kicked serious ass at a national championship. I stopped practising, but swam every day. At night, my mother held my feet in her lap as I strengthened my core.
I barely ate. My lips turned blue. When I returned to the studio, the pain was bearable. At the weigh-ins for the nationals in San Antonio, I stripped down to my underwear. Getting into the featherweight category was, in my twisted mind, pretty much a determining factor for Harvard. If I was the lightest in a weight category, no matter how few girls had signed up, I would lose.
I shaved my body and had laxatives tucked in my gym bag, just in case. I made it into the lower weight class by 0. Daniel had signed up, too. For a year-old boy, winning the nationals was a much tougher prospect — every rich boy in Oklahoma did martial arts. And he had nothing at stake. He ate normal foods, practised an hour or two a day, had friendships and hobbies.
At nationals, he completed his fights and waited around with his friends.
But when I stumbled away from my last fight, having just beaten a fast, angry girl by a single point to secure the gold medal, Daniel rushed to my side with an ice-cream bar — Dove, the most expensive kind. I was bleary with hunger and joy and disbelief. I had done it. I had won an actual gold medal at nationals, the very thing the admissions books said I needed. He had spent his own money, and although it looked like poison, I ate it for his sake.
Having accomplished my goal, I quit taekwondo and returned to eating normally. Kerry was dumbstruck — had I lost my passion for the sport? T here are people who never question their place in the world. They feel part of their homeland, while newcomers struggle to remake themselves, putting on a mask until they learn. But in that crucial moment, just as I was trying to shed my Iranian-ness, when I might have started to bow down or posture, I was accidentally immersed in Korean culture instead.
Somehow, this practice made it easier to become American. Like my classmates, I now had a sport. My body became something familiar to them — toned, sleek. I gained the confidence to get a lifeguard license and a job at a local pool. I found the courage to make friends, to say no to hairbrush borrowers. By ignoring American culture in favour of another during my formative years, I became too occupied elsewhere to care that I was different. Taekwondo made me a fully realised person, with a passion and skill entirely separate from my Iranian roots.
And that was vital, not for assimilating, but for becoming who I am, regardless of where I go, or who lives next door.
For years, before and after I quit taekwondo, I toiled in advanced courses. To round out my resume, I volunteered at the food bank, bagging crunchy peanut butter for the poor. I organised a citywide tutoring programme. I worked several jobs. I hardly slept. On quiet Saturdays, I watched Rudy, a movie about a boy with zero chance of playing football for Notre Dame, who nevertheless does. The movies were clear: Harvard was for pretty white boys with money. But of the many things taekwondo taught me, the most vital was that every habit becomes easy with time.
Kerry always said that it takes three weeks of hard work to begin transforming into anything you are pretending to be. And if you throw yourself into the practice of it, no one will call you a fraud. We followed the rules. No family of four logged fewer hours of sleep: a typical midnight found my mother reading health policy textbooks, me doing calculus, Daniel writing poems, Rahim taking out an engine or marinating more bulgogi.
That one day I would have time to care for my body, to mend my bloody feet, to let the calluses on my fingers heal. Twenty years later, I moved to London and had a daughter of my own. Last Christmas, my partner gave me a strange gift: an hour of practice with a world champion taekwondo coach. Two decades after I had last set foot in a dojang, I was no longer the skinny block of muscle I had been. I now had breasts that bounced, thighs that touched, an authentic Iranian ass that no wall could flatten. I was afraid to try it again. I had been so disciplined in my younger days, but my eyes had been on a different goal.
The joys returned one by one: the sweat, the way I instinctively shouted and grunted with each kick, the popping of my foot against the clap-pad, the satisfying give of the kick-bag. I had spent months fighting stress and tension, the many anxieties of starting again in a new country and of becoming a mother.
Three years in this new life and I was still battling. But, in one hour, my body relented and I was 16 again, a displaced oddball trying to remember Korean numbers. It was such a simple and powerful remedy. I got into Princeton instead.