Ninjawesome

I asked J what he wanted me to write about tonight. Gentleman's pick. So, what did the gentleman pick? Childhood heroes. Hmmm. His childhood hero is Conan the Barbarian, so we're not too far apart, I guess, as my childhood hero was a ninja. He was a stealthy sort, and no one knew he was a ninja (thank God for stealth). I shouldn't even be talking about it now, but I think it'll be alright. He's in ninja heaven where rooftops never creak and aim is always true. You can't tell anyone else, though, okay?

His power was mighty, but quiet. He kept to himself mostly, for fear of discovery. He masqueraded as a high school counselor by day, but I knew better. On weekends, he would go out to the back field to "chop wood for the fire", but his Saturdays were chock full of knife play and blow gun practice. Oh sure, he'd come back with a trailer full of wood. Likely story.

When an ordinary citizen would talk to him, they would look into his eyes and only see a kindly southern teacher, but those who shared his secret knew those eyes were gauging his potential opponent's fall trajectory in the event he would have to pull a one-inch hit.

I used to hold his weathered, calloused hand that I thought was marked by years of farming and chores. How could I have known I was holding the deadly weapons of a genius assassin full of punches and fury? It wasn't until my oldest brother's high school graduation party when I was 7-years-old did I find out the family secret.

My brothers and I were in the garage with the snack table spread with the standard fare of dips, chips, ham rolls, and sweets when they decided it was time. They sat me down and told me that I needed to understand something very important. They asked me to picture John Peter McAllister, which wasn't hard because he was only the coolest badass on television at the time, played by Lee Van Cleef on "The Master". So there I was with the picture of this beacon of righteousness in my mind and then they told me...Dad was a ninja. No way! I was only seven, but I knew a good load of hooey when it was launched at my head. There was no way that my dad was a ninja. Or so I thought.

"Go ask him," they taunted. Whatever. Fine. I figured I'd go ask him, get it over with, and get back to my dip score. Off I went. I found him in the kitchen stirring a 7/7 for my mom.

"Daaaaad?"

"Eh?"

"Matt and Russ told me to come ask you if you're a ninja like The Master. So?"

"So what?"

"Are you a ninja?"

"Why do you wanna know?"

"I just wanna know so that I can tell them what you said. Are you a ninja?"

He kept stirring and looked at me out the side of his eye, one eyebrow raised. Then he said it:

"Yes. Don't tell your mother."

So, yeah. It turns out my childhood hero was a ninja.

And this, my fellow Americans, is a true story.

A. True. Fucking. Story.