From my close friend, Whit McClendon:
When my son, Connor, was nine or ten years old, I took him to a local bowling alley so we could have some fun together. He’d never bowled before and although I’d spent a huge part of my childhood in a bowling alley, I wasn’t a terribly good bowler either, so I figured we were on pretty even footing. They saw how young my son was and asked if I wanted to have the bumpers put up in our lane. I said, ‘Heck yeah!’ That way, neither of us would suffer the indignity of gutter balls. We put on our colorful shoes, selected bowling balls, and found our lane.
Everything was going fine until Connor sent a ball down the lane without a whole lot of power behind it. It ambled out a little ways, rolled up against one of the bumpers, and wobbled to a stop. I said, “Here, I’ll just go get it,” and stepped out on the lane to retrieve the ball.
Here’s where you need to know a couple of things. Firstly, I’m a career martial arts instructor. I’ve been training in multiple martial arts for over forty years, so although I’m not a great bowler, I’m considered fairly coordinated. The second thing you need to know is something I only found out the moment I set foot on the wood in between the gutter bumpers: bowling lanes are S L I C K. I mean, crazy slippery. I knew they had to be, but wow, I’d vastly underestimated the true amount of slip-slidiness that I’d find underfoot if I stepped out there.
What followed was worthy of any Bugs Bunny cartoon as I flailed my arms, danced, jigged, slipped, and slid down that lane on my way to Connor’s bowling ball. It was literally all I could do to stay upright until I could get a foot on the solid ground outside the lane, and I was huffing, puffing, and sweating from the unexpectedly intense effort. I did get the ball, by the way…but it cost me.
Later, I recounted the episode to my dear friend, Brian Briscoe. I remember saying, “It took all the kung fu I had to keep from falling down out there.” He found that amusing, I think, and we found ourselves repeating that phrase over the years since whenever we were sorely tested by one thing or another. “Man, running that event took all the kung fu I had…”
We still say it on occasion. Feel free to use it if you like, and don’t worry—you don’t have to be a kung fu master.
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As amusing as “all the kung fu I had” is, it also describes what we do to cope. I don’t claim to have the answer. I won’t claim a therapy technique or book teaches a guaranteed method for stitching together the broken hearts in the estranged parent community.
Sometimes a person in session will report improvement that has nothing to do with psychology, counseling, peer support, etc. If someone says gardening, meditation, sudoku or anything else has helped them more than the cognitive behavioral therapy tools they’ve learned, fine. We’re doing our best to function, to live, and one day perhaps even thrive in this post-estrangement life. We must remain open-minded in our pursuit of healing.
It applies to me like anyone else: Some days take all the kung fu I have.
