Tae Kwon Do Quotes

I advise you not to mess with me. I know Karate, kung Fu, judo tae kwon do, jujitsu, and 100 other dangerous words.

I’m a black belt in judo, black belt in jujitsu and shotokan, and hold a third dan black belt in tae kwon do.

Well, I started Tae Kwon Do pretty early before moving into Muay Thai—” “What’s that?” “Muay Thai? It’s this Thai kickboxing style where you use your whole body to put force into kicks and strikes.” “Oh, like the way I eat pizza.

On our last mission - our "final exam" - we were airlifted to a remote region, and we parachuted directly into a hostile enclave. We had to subdue the enemy using hand-to-hand tactics like tae kwon do and pugil sticks, cut their hair in styles appropriate to their particular face shapes, and give them perms.

Mom perched on the edge of our sofa, her forehead etched with a line of concern I'd grown to know well. It was the same one she'd flashed at me when I pointed to the twisty slide, the same one she'd pulled out when I'd taken up Tae Kwon Do in third grade, and the same one that had frozen on her features all through driver's ed last spring. It was her SMother face.

A lumpy mass of American stereotypes was metastasizing inside me. It made me cringe when I heard Mr. Miyagi say "Wax on, wax off, Daniel San." It made me pretend to laugh when I saw Long Duk Dong in Sixteen Candles. It made me sign up for tae kwon do that year because that was what Asians did. It would be decades before I diagnosed the lump of alienation, dual consciousness, and self-hatred, but it was already growing quickly, bilious and caustic. I only saw myself as the piece that did not fit in the puzzle.

A Black Belt should be... ...a REFLECTION of what IS inside ...NOT the PROOF of it!

After that experience, I immediately enrolled Julie in tae kwon do class, despite her protests. I wanted to be sure that if she were ever attacked, her instincts would take over, and that her instincts would kick ass.

Tae kwon do required focus, strength, and endurance, but mostly it required the ability to deal with looking like an ass in public.

By the way, Tae Kwon Do does NOT clear up ‘obnoxiousness’.

I’ve got a black belt in tae kwon do.” When she lowered into a fighting stance, Callen could only wonder. “I took it all through college.” “And I have a mighty and fatally accurate bitch slap,” Jessica added.

I decided to join Svetlana’s tae kwon do class. First we ran around in circles barefoot. I had forgotten about my ankles and feet. The studio had a glass wall overlooking the pool, where a scuba lesson was in session. How did all those people know that they wanted to know how to scuba dive? A boy with a green belt stood with me in a corner and demonstrated the first “form”: a series of dancelike motions that supposedly defended you against some theoretical assailant. I didn’t understand how a dance like that could defend you, unless the attacker also knew the dance, but in that case why would he be using it to attack you?

The fact that she’s a girl requires, I believe, extra effort. Dada may have, at various times in his life, been a pig, but Dada surely does not want to ever look like a pig again. This can’t possibly be overstated. As the first of two boys, I can’t even imagine what it must be like for a little girl to see her dad leering at another of her sex. This creature will soon grow up to be a young woman and that’s something I consider every day. I figure, I’m going to spoil the shit out of this kid for a while, then pack her off to tae kwon do as soon as she’s four years old. Her first day of second grade and Little Timmy at the desk behind her tries to pull her hair? He’s getting an elbow to the thorax. My little girl may grow up with lots of problems: spoiled; with unrealistic expectations of the world; cultural identification confusion, perhaps (a product of much traveling in her early years); considering the food she’s exposed to, she shall surely have a jaded palate; and an aged and possibly infirm dad by the time she’s sixteen. But she ain’t gonna have any problems with self-esteem. Whatever else, she’s never going to look for validation from some predatory asshole. She can—and surely will—hang out with tons of assholes.

Pike stood again, and once more faced the crowd. “I qualified as a scout/sniper and served in Force Recon, mostly on long-range reconnaissance teams, hunter/killer teams, and priority target missions. I’m black belt qualified in tae kwon do, kung fu, wing chun, judo, and ubawazi. I like to run and work out. I like to read.

Most forms of martial arts have long histories of eastern religious influence. However, the tae kwon do philosophy was established in the 1950s by the South Korean army for self-defense and combat techniques. Tae kwon do includes “love and benevolence, magnanimity, sympathy and character as well as the five tenets of tae kwon do: courtesy, integrity, perseverance, self-control and an indomitable spirit.” The American missionary who came to my country felt that tae kwon do could be used as a suitable, effective way to model discipleship and promote Christianity. The Lord gives talents and gifts, and even sport can be used to advance His Kingdom.

Even after the civil war ended, my country was still a very lawless place. Walking in the dark to early morning prayer meetings and Friday night gatherings added to the danger for me. The nighttime streets were still empty of people and cars. No one left their homes after sunset because of the risk of being attacked. But I was in love with Jesus, and sometimes that love made me do things I wouldn’t otherwise have done. It made me brave. I was sixteen years old and had been studying tae kwon do for a couple of years. I had passed the tests to achieve first my yellow and then my green belts. Johnny’s schools had multiplied all over our country. Even though all the classes operated as mini-churches, hundreds of Muslims came to learn self-defense. Many stayed to meet and receive Jesus as Savior and Lord, despite the fact they would be persecuted by their families and suffer beatings. Others would receive death threats.

not only fought for my purity but for my life! I drove the heel of my hand up into his chin. Seizing his wrist, I wrenched his grip off me, then spun him around. I saw a startled look in his eyes. Stumbling, his feet slipped on the wet pavement as I shoved him away. In no time at all I freed myself from the man and then ran as fast as I could. I didn’t stop until I reached home. My tae kwon do outfit and New Testament were lost, but I was safe. I steadied myself before entering my home. I shook from the shock of the encounter but was afraid to tell my parents about my experience, fearing they would not let me go out at night anymore. I wanted to be able to come and go so I could get to our Friday night prayer session in a few hours. Every Friday the Muslims went to the mosque to pray, and that is why our church put on the weekly Friday nights of prayer—to intercede for our brothers and sisters who did not know Jesus. I was still planning to go with my sisters. We would wait until everyone in the apartment was asleep before sneaking out and heading there.

There was no police to call, no one to whom we could turn for help, except the Lord. I understood that we were engaged in a spiritual battle as well as a physical one. I began to pray in heavenly language in the Spirit. Avoiding eye contact, trying to walk forward, Iman flinched when the same boy pinched her, then grabbed her. She flailed at him, but I saw his face harden with lust. Under my breath I rebuked the demonic influence that had its hold on him. The other two men ringed us in, herding us together. They were trying to back us into an alley. Suddenly the same fire I experienced that night after the tae kwon do competition came over me again. Once more I felt supernatural strength. As the men closed in and started to attack us, I attacked them back. My legs swirled in perfectly executed kicks. My hands started fighting back all of them. My feet and hands were flying in all directions. A crowd of onlookers, who would not have lifted a finger to save us, gathered around to watch.

They shouted at us to come with them. I knew what they were going to do; we had heard enough stories of the brutal rapes and murders. Clutching each other’s hands, Munira and I tried to make a run for it, but it was too late. We were both grabbed by the men and dragged toward the waiting car, its engine still running. Again I cried out to God, and as I did, the Holy Spirit fell on me. I was praying in heavenly language as I hit and punched, using karate kicks and tae kwon do moves. In a few minutes I got free and thought Munira was, too. I started running, but as I looked back, I saw my friend, paralyzed by fear and unable to fight or run, being bundled into the car. “Munira,” I shouted, running back. I couldn’t leave her. With a supernatural strength that was not mine, I grabbed Munira and tried to pull her from their clutches. It was a real fight, but eventually we were both free, although bruised and bleeding. We ran as fast as we could out of the area. Later I realized that even though the men had guns, they hadn’t shot at us. I knew that this was God. He had again protected us.

The Lord says in Zechariah 4:6, “Not by might nor by power, but by my Spirit” (NIV). I had experienced that same power, and it had saved my friend and me from the clutches of evil men. Despite the very real danger on the streets, I never stopped going to church or tae kwon do. Faith never gives up! I would tell myself. My hunger for truth and fellowship was bigger than my fear.

The crescent kick is one of the most difficult kicks to master in Tae Kwon Do, but when executed properly, it is one of the most dangerous.  Detective Sergeant Jamie Johansson had been practising it for nearly six years, and despite being only five-foot-six, she could comfortably slam her heel into the ear of someone that was over six feet. And now she had it down to a science. She knew she couldn’t do enough damage with a punch to put someone down if she had to, but a well-executed crescent kick would do the job. Especially from her lightweight trail boots. Her partner made fun of her for wearing them — said that detectives shouldn’t be wearing hiking boots, especially not in the city, but they were tough and she was as fast in them as she was in her trainers. Which she thought made them a lot more suited to tracking down scumbags than Roper’s black leather Chelsea boots.  He disagreed. She didn’t really care.  Smoking thirty a day meant that he wasn’t going to be doing much running anyway. ‘Come on,’ Cake said, jerking the pad. ‘Again. Like you mean it.’ She flicked her head, throwing sweat onto the matt, wound up, lifted her leg, snapped her knee back, and then lashed out. Her shin smashed into the training pad with a dull thwap and she sank into her knees, panting.  Cake clapped them together and grinned with wide, crooked teeth. ‘Good job,’ he said. ‘You’re really getting some power into those, now. But make sure to ice that foot, yeah?’ She caught her breath quickly and stood up, nodding, strands of ash-blonde hair sticking to her forehead, the thick plait running between her lithe shoulders coming loose. ‘Sure,’ she said, measuring her trainer. Cake was six-two and twice her weight. He was Windrush, in his fifties, and ran a mixed martial arts gym just near Duckett’s Green. He was a retired boxer turned trainer that scored his nickname after winning a fight in the late nineties on his birthday. When the commentator asked what he was going to do to celebrate, he said that he was going to eat a birthday cake. Everyone thought that was funny, and it stuck. He had a pretty bad concussion at the time, which probably contributed to the answer. But there was no getting away from it now.  He pulled the pads off his forearms and rubbed his eyes. ‘Coffee?’ he asked, looking over at the clock on the wall. It was just before seven.  He yawned and stretched, cracking his spine. The gym wouldn’t open until midday to the public, but he lived upstairs in a tiny studio, and he and Jamie had an arrangement. It kept him fit and active, and she could train one-on-one. Just how she liked it. She paid her dues of course, slid him extra on top of the monthly for his time. But he said that

DIDN’T COME GET me until two in the morning, and she was still singing—in French.” Lydia yawned hugely, then sang, “Ne me quitte pas, blah-blah-blah-blah-blah. What am I going to do? Ben won’t let me into his room every night, no matter what Jeffrey says.” “Sleep in my room from now on,” said Alice. “You can have either the top or bottom bunk.” “Really?” What a relief to never again sleep in the mansion. “Actually, I do prefer the top bunk, so if you wouldn’t mind the bottom—” “No, I mean, do you really think I can stay with you? Wouldn’t your parents mind?” “They’ll like it. They’ve decided you’re a good influence on me.” Lydia thought that being a good influence made her sound as boring as being a person who liked everyone (except she didn’t). But if that was what she had to suffer to get out of the mansion, she’d accept it. Both girls were in their new ballet skirts, swishing along on their way to see Blossom. Alice was carrying the oats in a bag—the skirts were without pockets—and Lydia was carrying Natalie’s phone, plus two books, in another bag. Alice knew about only one of the books, Practical Magic, written by an Alice for grown-ups. The other, sneaked in by Lydia, was a copy of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking-Glass. She was hoping to convince both Alice and Blossom to love it. Unless—she stopped walking—that could be considered being a good influence. No, she decided, and started walking again, quickly, to catch up with Alice as she entered the field. They’d decided to begin the visit with a dance, the best way to show Blossom their new skirts. This was the first time the two of them had danced together seriously, and anyone other than sheep would have appreciated the vision—the beautiful skirts, the fusion of ballet and tae kwon do, the paean to freedom and friendship. But to Blossom, the oat carriers seemed to have gone crazy, spinning around like bugs trying to escape a water trough. She stopped halfway across the field, apparently planning to chomp on grass until they became less buglike. The dancing a failure, the girls moved on to the second part of the entertainment. Alice took out oats, Lydia took out Practical Magic, and Blossom came the rest of the way over, accepting the oats and ignoring the book.

but don’t you let him trick you into a fight in school. He’s, like, a black belt in Tae Kwon Do or something.

I could have been much less kind, trust me,” The dragon waved off my outburst. “Perhaps if you can give me a reason as to why I should bond with you…?” Despite my insistence, I couldn’t think of any reason at all why the dragon should accept my bond now that I was put on the spot. My hands clenched into fists, determined to sway him, however. “Because I am worthy of it!” I snapped, defending my pride and honor. The dragon rolled its eyes once more and looked me up and down as though I were on display to be judged. “Care to demonstrate, Martin?” I puffed out my chest and slammed my fist against it like Tarzan would. “I’m ready for whatever you’ve got.” The still-unnamed dragon seemed rather unimpressed with my declaration. He opened his mouth to offer some sort of witty comeback but closed it again. His forked tongue slithered over his teeth as he mulled over my challenge. And then we began the fastest lightning round of twenty questions I’d ever experienced. “Do you have any experience in fighting?” “I took tae kwon do after class in college for a semester and a half.” “How many languages are you fluent in?” “I can say ‘I only speak English’ in seven languages, not including English.” “At what level would you rate your intelligence?” “Well, I’m not stupid.” The dragon snorted, though whether it was in amusement or disbelief, I wasn’t clear. He continued all the same. “Any healing abilities?” “I can give mouth to mouth.” “Are you able to be stealthy? Deceptive?” “I trip over my own shadow and couldn’t lie to a rock.” “Your honesty might just be your redeeming quality, Martin,” the dragon joked.

I’m going to Master Kwon’s first,” Win said. Master Kwon was their tae kwon do instructor. Both of them were black belts—Myron a second degree, Win a sixth degree, one of the highest ranking Caucasians in the world. Win was the best martial artist Myron had ever seen. He studied several different arts including Brazilian jujitsu, animal kung fu, and Jeet Kun Do. Win the Contradiction. See Win and you think pampered, preppy pantywaist; in reality, he was a devastating fighter. See Win and you think normal, well-adjusted human being; in reality, he was anything but.

Have I mentioned that I grew up working in my much older brother’s dojo?” “Dojo?” Kerry repeated. “As in karate? Judo?” “Tae kwon do,” Maddy said. She shot a knowing grin Kerry’s way. “Ah,” Kerry said, understanding dawning. “And what color would your belt be, jongyeonghaneun yeosong?” Maddy laughed. “I don’t know if I’m an honorable woman,” she said, surprising Kerry by understanding her very rough Korean. “But my belt, it is black.” Maddy sketched a quick martial arts bow, making both women laugh. They glanced toward the back of the bar at the same time, only to find a grinning Hardy looking their way. “See? He’s the guy who assumes women are always talking about him,” Kerry said. “Well, we are,” Maddy replied. “He can’t know we’re discussing how best to dismantle his manhood if he so much as thinks about laying a finger on me.” She said all this with a serene smile. Hardy lifted his beer in a salute, presumably to Maddy, before downing the rest in a single gulp, as if beer consumption somehow proved his manly man prowess. “Poor Hardy,” Kerry said with a mock sigh. “But then, he never did seem big on wanting to have children. Just ask his ex-wife.” She ducked her chin as both women shared another laugh before continuing with their work. After that, the rest of the night didn’t seem all that arduous. Maddy was happy to return Kerry’s wingman favor, and between the two of them, they managed to distract, deflect, or defend much of the ribbing being thrown Kerry’s way and actually had a much better time doing it than Kerry would have imagined.

Charlotte McKenzie was present. No longer saddled with her fake role as a diplo, she was wearing black slacks, a dark blouse and a supple leather jacket. She was still grandmotherly—but she was a grandmother who might practice tae kwon do and enjoy white-water rafting, if not big-game hunting.

Holly hit her head against the shelving unit, and I grabbed her hair and helped her hit her head two more times. There was no tae kwon do name for that maneuver, but it felt great.

The dead end was considered a plus because we could play in the road without getting run over. Sometimes I envy the children today with all their tae kwon do, psychotherapy, and language immersion, but at the same time, I appreciate that back then being little meant you really didn’t have to do anything but stay alive and have fun.

(I vividly remember a fellow at my former TaeKwonDo club that must have been 6’9 and despite not being the most technically gifted opponent he simply stuck out a leg and it was automatically at my head height!).

Sometimes I envy the children today with all their tae kwon do, psychotherapy, and language immersion, but at the same time, I appreciate that back then being little meant you really didn’t have to do anything but stay alive and have fun.

Tae Kwon Do is a wonderful example of the Japanese concept, Kaizen, which I believe is a foundational practice for success in any and every aspect of life. Kaizen is the idea that small incremental improvements add up over time to yield big results. It’s simple, it’s powerful, and it works.

I did the Twelve Sun Salutations from the hatha yoga, rolled the last Sun Salute into a slow tae kwon do pattern, then a faster pattern mixed with Tiger and Crane poses, and a third, even faster, sprinkled with Wing Chun forms. I drove