The Art of the Empty Hand

My Uncle Jay, a driver for Safety Cabs in our rural Georgia town, ("Ride safely with Safety, dial 3545" went their radio jingle) gave me my first hand weapon: a sap made of a chunk of lead sitting atop a spring all neatly bound in leather and finished with a wrist loop. It was right after my dad deserted our family.

I suppose my being the oldest of the five kids singled me out for this honor. "You might need this," Uncle Jay said, showing me how to use it. I kept it under my pillow at night. My mom found out about it and took it from me. I think she is the only one who could have done that.

Maybe that is part of what prompted me later to learn the art of the empty hand (kara-te) on Okinawa: If you have nothing, nothing can be taken from you. Well, there you have it. Dad. No dad. Sap. No sap. The art of the empty hand. As they taught us in Sunday School: "The Lord gives and the Lord takes away. Blessed be the name of the Lord."