FAITH, AND MARTIAL ARTS OVERCOME VIOLENT ABUSE

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BY DREW “Thunder Wolf” Arthur

 SMAC, MSS, SPN, Bsc

 As a small child my first memories involves two subject matters. The first is looking up at a picture of an angel helping to escort a small little boy, and his small, older sister across a wooden swing bridge at night. I realized that that bridge had planks missing. I would see this picture on my bedroom wall upon opening my small eyelids, after saying the prayer “Now I lay me down to sleep, if I should die before I wake, I pray the lord, my soul to take”.”

 The other memories were images of my father’s heavy hands. As I grew older I realized that those hands became heavy closed fist. Most of my friends at school would love for Friday afternoon to come. This met the weekend. But, for me it was a time of dread, and anticipation of experiencing extreme. 

My father was a house painter. He would go to the local bars in a rough part of the city. He would experience failure in his social life, over and over. A bigger, meaner rough neck would beat him down, or make him look little in front of other bar patrons. This was too much for my father. He would come home and prove to my mom and me that he was the man. He would beat my mother unmerciful. I would stay in my room and pray that he would get his anger out on my mother and not come after me. Sometimes this was the case, but often times it was not.

  My father was in jail most of the time for fighting Police Officers. I was told that there were no good cops, and no good Marines. My father was jailed for shooting a man's hat off his head in a phone booth. As I was told, my father was not intending to shoot his hat off his head, but to shoot the man. He was tried for attempted murder. My father would call me out front, take a swig of whiskey, and say watch this. As two officers approached the porch, my father would tackle them, and the fight was on. I remember a neighbor, who came to my house with his kids, and wife. He called my father out. My father was sober. He cowered down, in front of me. Later, after many drinks of whiskey, he told me to follow him. He went to the mans house, kicked in the front door, kicked in the bedroom door, and beat the man, and slugged the mans wife, in front of the neighbor’s kids. It just kept getting worse.

 I would see my door flying open, striking the wall and bouncing back to my father. This only succeeded in enraging him further. He would walk in my room, and call me a coward, a failure, and other names. He would blame me because a sandwich had mustard on it. I had nothing to do with the sandwich. But, in his mind he would see that I was a threat. He would grab me, and beat me in the face, and stomach until I would go unconscious. Most of the time after these episodes I would not make it to school, because of the marks, injuries, etc.

 Some of the worse episodes on those Friday nights occurred when my father would bring skid road bums (real losers) home. He would wake me up, and tell me to get on the table and dance. He would tell me to hug, or kiss these men on the cheek. I would refuse, and be beaten, under the kitchen table.

 I would attempt to carry on a regular life with friends. One day my friend’s father called my friend to his front porch. I ran with my friend to see what was happening. My friend’s father said, “look at that man staggering in the street. Now son, that is a real drunk”. The man was my father. Another friend came up, and said that my father was a town drunk. All of the kids laughed. I beat that kid into submission. My anger was growing.

I had been attending every martial arts class I could. I was open minded, and would try anything, which worked. I found an escape in reading about heroes in martial arts magazines, such as Joe Lewis, and Joe Hess. I dreamed of following in their footsteps. I wanted to be a martial arts champ. I wanted to be a Marine, and study in different countries like Joe Lewis, and to be a super cop like Joe Hess. I would read every copy of martial arts magazines I could find. There would be articles about Chuck Norris, Bill Wallace, Howard Jackson, Joe Lewis, Bill Wallace, etc, etc. I wondered if I would live and die in the same small southern town I grew up in.  

My Christian faith had kept me going, during those violent beatings with fist, belts, tree branches, I routinely received from my father. I was ashamed. I grew up distant, and rebellious. My father and I would have as little to do with each other as possible. My father never even knew that I had played JV football. He did not know me. I only knew him during drunken rages, which started to occur several times a week.

 I cannot describe the fear I had waiting for him to return home. As an adult the closest fear like that was when I saw 911 on the news.

 At 15 I heard my father beating my mother. I front kicked him. He fell to the floor. He stood up, wiped the blood away from his lip and said;” I was wondering when all this Karate crap would kick in”. He attempted to pull a knife on me. I kept fighting. He was much bigger than I was. One of his workers put me in a full Nelson. I escaped, took him to the floor, got up and kept fighting my father.

 These types of events would happen, over, and over again. Later, I would only wrestle; never strike back at my father. Then, I got to the point of just deflecting, or side stepping my fathers, punches, or kicks. I was caught in the limbo, of fighting back against one who hurt me so bad as a child, and continued to hurt me, and then realizing, this is my father. This would haunt me for many, many years.

 To this day, I find it hard to watch any TV show which starts to show brutality against a child. I start to cry, and will have to exit the room.

 No one from my family had ever finished high school. It was expected that I should drop out. My father went into the guidance counselor’s office and withdrew me from school. At first I found work at a car wash, and working construction. The guy at the construction company heard that I was part Native American. He stereotypically started me on the high work. The truth was that I hated heights. I had to deal with it. Later, my mother signed me into the custody (via a notarized statement) of an older female, who was my girlfriend. I left with the lady for Florida.

During that year I realized that I was heading nowhere fast. I came back home. I decided to start going back to high school, and attend summer school. If I did not fail any subject I could still graduate with my class, with bare min. credits. I was also motivated to do what I felt was right. I got over three hundred signatures on a petition, and ran for the Student Government President. I received all of the votes, with the exception of just a few. I had not cut my hair since Jr. High school. It was long, and touched my waist. My faith, and courage gave me strength to give a speech against an archaic dress code used by the school system. I did this during my time to speak when the Lt. Governor (future Governor) came to my school. I was put out of school with only a few weeks remaining. The ACLU defended me. I was re-instated and finished out the year. The dress code was changed.

 I graduated and 9 days later left my home to attend U. S. Marine Corps Boot Camp (a stricter dress code) at Parris Island, South Carolina. (I like to call it the University of Parris Island). This was to be the best secular education I had ever received. These 80 days put a lot of muscle on my thin frame, and helped shape my way of realistic thinking, and proper positive attitude for the rest of my life. I got to travel to many, many, countries on different military cruises. I was also lucky to train with many different folks, from different systems of unarmed combat. I was an Infantryman, but was sent to the Military Police on Temporary assigned Duties. I received on the job training, and would later love law enforcement.

 Later. I ended up in South Florida. I became A Loss Prevention Officer, a municipal Police Officer, and later a federal agent. I even became the first family member to finish the University, and receive a BSC. In: Liberal Arts.

 But, divorce, not being able to see my kids often, and the rigors of law enforcement helped me to rationalize that I needed self-medicating. I kept drinking, and drinking large volumes of beer, and wine. I looked to women to solve my problems. I kept searching. I could not find happiness. I felt old. I couldn’t even do Martial Arts any more.  

In March 1996 I met a MBA student from China. She was also going for her CPA. She would argue with me about the existence of God. I was surprised that I had remembered so much. After all it was my faith in Jesus, which kept me going as a kid. I would argue back that atheism was the religion by omission in P.R. C. CHINA. I attempted to drive her away.

 I had been working in San Francisco over one weekend. I had drunkenly told the girl, via phone, that I was no good. I wanted her to forget about me. The next morning (Sunday) I attempted to call her. I was sober. There was no answer. I kept trying, but the attempts all failed. I sat on the plane with a heavy quietness in my mind.

 I decided to say a silent prayer. I prayed that if she was still there, when I returned (to my condo in Hawaii) I would tell her that I wanted to marry her. When I returned home she was there. I passed the shoji screen door, in my tatami bedroom. The room was dark. I glimpsed an image. It was the girl. I asked her what she was doing. She advised praying. I said “Praying to whom, or to what?” She advised that she had been born again. She had been attending a church when I would leave on weekend trips. She attended to meet other friends for social reasons. But, this former atheist girl had become a Christian. I proposed marriage.

 That month I advised that I would quit drinking. Folks who knew me had bets on that I would fail. I started to train again, and went up in front of the church and acknowledged to all that I was back as a believer in Christ. Quitting drinking, and the other vices were easier than I could have believed with my faith, and martial arts practice.

 Who would have ever thought that a Chinese student who had been a lifetime skeptic, and devout atheist would lead a wayward cop back to his faith, and to the martial arts training that he dearly loved.

 Since that time, my love for the martial arts, and my faith and understanding in the lord has grown deeper, and deeper.

 I deserted God, and turned my back on the martial arts for a point in time, in my stressed out life. But, God never deserted me. And the martial arts were always there, to help, and physically protect me. I walk this two-fold path now. I am dedicated to martial arts in helping me in the day-to-day secular world. I also can never pay the debt that the lord has already done for me. I accept the gift of salvation.

 I could never think about getting dressed, strapping a gun, and going to work, without my faith and assurance in the lord, and my skills in the martial arts. I would rather drive a car blind folded in oncoming traffic.

 The old saying “That which dose not kill you, will make you only stronger” worked for me. I constantly hear that folks who underwent violent beatings (violent child abuse) by their parents would do the same to their kids. This victim mentality is a lie. We make choices. If you only believe in yourself, then you are as strong as yourself. I believe in Jesus, thus I ride on his strength, and wisdom in my life.

 About my father? He passed away. We finally got things straight six months before he died. I gave his eulogy at his funeral. Yes, I forgive him, and love him.

 I am not ashamed of being a martial artist (a Black Belt). And, I am not ashamed of being a Christian. I am not ashamed for being patriotic. Like the samurai of old, I too serve a master. My master bled out on a cross to pay a debt for me. I am still in study to become a Black Belt for Christ. When I retire in a few years I want to devote my life to Christian Martial Arts Ministry.

 Drew “Thunder Wolf” Arthur currently resides in the great state of Texas. He has served as a US Marine, Municipal Police Officer, and as a US Federal Agent. He is a lifetime martial artist. He holds a fourth Dan black belt in Jiu-Jitsu. He is a Christian.  He can be contacted at:

zenmasta@worldblackbelt.com