Keenan Zemorra was no Goliath; in fact, he was a small, hell-bent child who plagued my lunchtimes with everlasting torture comparable to that endured by Prometheus. Standing in line, I felt a foot land in the back of my calf, and I was forced to the ground by an unseen hand. As I looked up, I knew exactly who to expect. I sat in pain, blood flowing from my open wound, and tried reasoning with him.“Keenan, stop, it hurts,” I squeaked.“Don’t get in my way next time, punk,” he sneered. I hoped for vindication as Mrs. Marshal approached, but instead of marching him to the principal’s office she merely smiled, took me to the office, and asked that I “give him another chance”.One day I’d had enough; it was time to rise up against his tyranny. So I asked my mom to enroll me in a karate studio. I was no Karate Kid. It took me three years to learn the mechanics of fighting. But more than that, I learned that the most important thing to do in a fight is to remain level-headed; once fear or anger take over, the fight is lost. I fought opponents much stronger than my tormentor. On the first day of fourth grade, I was ready. I went to school, head held high, ready to defend myself. But it was not to be. Keenan Zemorra had left my school.Kennan Zemorra motivated me to start karate in the first grade, but it took years for me to realize how much it had changed me. Karate has influenced my approach to many experiences, ranging from something as practical as my methodical preparation for a test to enabling me to defend my beliefs. Karate helps me to overcome fear, and by conquering it I gain confidence and composure. Every day I become more able to cope with difficulties in life; whether they are with tests, friends, or enemies, I can handle them. I am a Karateka; and for this I tip my hat to Keenan Zemorra, my first adversary.
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