We’ve recently had through a testimonial from one of our members that we wanted to share below.
He titled it SBG Bozeman and My Boy:
When my son walked onto the mats for the first time, I think I was more nervous than he was. I sat in the lobby—back then there was a giant glass window to see into the mat spaces—and tried to look composed watching him roll, fall, and wrestle with kids far bigger than he. During his first forward roll he landed on his neck. He practically tripped standing still. I was so embarrassed for him that I probably should have left the gym. But after an hour, my boy came out of the gym with an ear-to-ear grin and sweaty black hair, and he bounded up to me like never before.
“So, what did you think?” I asked him nervously.
“It was awesome. When can I get a gi?” he practically shouted.
That was just over two years ago. I wouldn’t recognize that boy today.
My son has Autism Spectrum Disorder. It’s trite to say this presents challenges for him, but those challenges come to be how I thought of my boy at the time.
On a random Friday night, he meekly asked, completely out of the blue, if he could try karate. Mind you, the boy I knew could barely walk down the stairs without tripping, cried when things got too hard, and didn’t really like to play with other kids. I wasn’t sure what to say, so the only response I could think of was “Let’s talk about it.”
And then I started thinking. I debated with myself long into the night. I imagined the worst case scenario, and the best case scenarios. I thought back to my military martial arts days. I even watched Youtube videos of MMA fights, and caught a few episodes of Cobra Kai. Finally, I was ready to talk.
“Okay, so you want to do karate?” I asked
“Yes.”
“If you’re going to learn to fight, I want you to know how to defend yourself. What if we try Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu instead?” I nervously asked. I thought through all my arguments, prepared to parry any defense he had. I studied his face to see which maneuver to use to convince him. But he sat, stone faced, for about three seconds.
And then: “Cool. Let’s try it.”
Which is what brought us to SBG Bozeman. I came to the initial consult already nervous. We had therapy and challenges I didn’t know if they would accommodate. The schedule for his age didn’t work. He struggled with loud noises and too many people. Oh yeah, and he was not the most coordinated child in the world. But with every concern I brought up, they surprised me. CeCe and Ricky listened to me. They asked questions about my boy. They admitted they didn’t have experience with his learning type, but they offered to try. They genuinely offered to partner with us.
That meant putting him in an older kids’ class. “If we do this right, I hope they’ll all look at him like a little brother,” CeCe offered. And boy, was she right. Ricky threw him into the lion’s den, but he also supported him. He set a culture where no teammate took it easy on him, but they also didn’t look at him differently. From that first awkward trial, my son loved coming to class. He got his first gi and threw himself headfirst into it. Before long, warmups went well and he knew a few moves. A few months in, he had earned a spot in the leadership class. I’ll never forget the beaming pride he showed when he got that blue gi. For months he would ask to draw the picture I took of him all dressed up.
Before long, he wanted to compete. His first competition was horrible — for me. I watched my boy get taken down and choked out twice in two matches. He thought it was great. He couldn’t wait to compete again. Twice a week, he came to class wanting to work. Suddenly he developed a wicked Osoto Gari and got really good at taking other kids down. Then he learned how to do an Americana and a rear naked choke. At his next tournament, he won silver.
Since that first tournament, he’s been invited onto the competition team. Every Friday he does matches with other kids. He wins some and loses some. I’m not sure which he does more; he only tells me about his wins. He’s developed friendships with the other boys in class. He’s even learned how to talk trash — a skill that was lost on him for years.
More than that, he’s grown up in the last two years. He loves showing off a new move at home. He convinced his mom, his sister, and I all to join. He walks taller into the gym, like he belongs there. At home, he and I wrestle and slapbox with each other. We get to be men in a world that doesn’t offer a lot of that. I love that he has male role models beyond me — Ricky and Aaron and Gus are outstanding models for my boy. He wants to get his black belt and maybe even train in Japan and Brazil. He’s clearly hooked. But whether or not my son decides BJJ is a lifelong pursuit doesn’t matter. Yes, his confidence and his attention and his physicality have skyrocketed. Yes, he loves earning life skills stripes and we’ve gotten a lot of chores out of that. And yes, he knows how to defend himself and even attack if he ever needs it. But more than that, he’s learned what it means to be a part of a tribe. He’s found his people. The men and women who surround him have changed the way he experiences the world. They’ve made him better than he otherwise would be. They’ve taken my boy and helped me mold the man he will be. And I care about that far more than any colored belt.
