At the Memorial Service

At Lake Montebello, summer mornings were enticing, and I took to practicing under a grove of trees at the western edge of the lake. It was a space so quiet that I came to call it the Sacred Ground. It is a rest stop for migratory birds making their long seasonal journeys. At the time that I began practicing under the trees, squirrels were plentiful, of course, and occasionally deer would wander that far into the park. Behind the grove there was a hill that led to the stream going under the bridge on Harford Road, where in the winter I took Kala, Martin, and Margaret to ride their sleds down the steep hill to the road that led to the long walking trails through Herring Run, a beautiful park that was part of the Baltimore that was overshadowed by the image of a crime-ridden city that lled the news. ese idyllic spaces existed in the city, and not just in the counties surrounding the city that gave Maryland its reputation as a place for horse lovers.

Tony moved his studio to the opposite side of Howard Street to save money on rent, and the building had a basement where his students who were training combat techniques such as the iron palm could pound the bean bags and make all sorts of extraordinary noise. e building was not attractive, to say the least. Tony was restless, as this was his livelihood. Chinese martial arts did not evolve according to the western business model. In Chinese culture, self-study and practice took years, and Americans were hungry for more and more knowledge, as well as validation along the way. When I nished learning the six sections, I wanted to learn more.

“You already know more than most Chinese people,” he said.

He went on to say, “ e teacher gives the student the outline of the dragon, and over his lifetime, the student must ll in the details.”

I thought I knew what he was talking about, but my unfolding understanding would take years. Practicing under the trees occasionally felt wonderful, and the art had given me the victory of establishing a boundary with my family, a precious freedom. ere were ve of us siblings. As I approached my fourth birthday, my rst sister, Mabel, was born, and as Mabel approached her third birthday, Melissa arrived. We were a trio when the twins arrived, in 1969, just four years before Kala was born. It was enough to keep my mother busy, so