SUCCYMHOORE

Every so often, someone starts a debate about whether Elon Musk simply renamed Twitter or destroyed its identity. We're very good at judging intentions by their outcomes, so perhaps we should ask the man himself for once. Hey @elonmusk, were you rebranding Twitter or just crossing it off your to-do list? And since I don't expect an answer, Plan B. Hey @grok, any idea what your dad was thinking?

@Jesus_D_Way, that wasn't a rhetorical question.

MY HUSBAND TAUGHT OUR SON KARATE. THE SCHOOL CALLED ME. There are certain phone calls you expect when you're raising four children. Someone is sick, someone forgot their homework, or someone has done something just flat out stupid. What I wasn't expecting was a phone call informing me that my ten year old son had punched a teacher. An actual teacher. My husband is a black belt who used to teach karate and self-defense back in the United States. Recently, he's been sharing his knowledge with our son, teaching him techniques, practicing punches, and introducing him to Bruce Lee's famous one-inch punch. Beautiful father son bonding. What could possibly go wrong? Well. Last week, while his regular teacher was briefly out of the classroom, my son approached another teacher and enthusiastically announced that his father had been teaching him self-defense. Then he asked if she'd like to see something. She said yes. He punched her. ... She was left struggling to catch her breath and feeling unwell, and I eventually received a phone call that, in my opinion, should have gone directly to the parent running the combat training program. Both teachers assured me that my son hadn't been aggressive or malicious. He was simply excited to demonstrate something he'd learned, and this is where I realized that my husband and I might have a slight misunderstanding about what our child has actually been taught. You see, when my husband practices with our son, he encourages him to throw real punches. He knows how to brace himself and prepare for the impact, so from our son's perspective, the process is fairly straightforward. My son punches Daddy. Daddy is fine. My son learns that he's doing it correctly. Wonderful. Except we've neglected to explain one tiny detail. Not everyone is Daddy. The average elementary school teacher does not come equipped with a black belt and 35 years of experience taking punches. And agreeing to watch a demonstration is not necessarily agreeing to participate in one. A distinction my son has now discovered through a practical experiment that I sincerely wish had remained theoretical. When he realized he'd hurt his teacher, he was devastated. He cried, felt terribly ashamed, and explained that he probably hadn't measured his strength properly. And I believe him completely. The teacher he struck was incredibly understanding, even reassuring him while she herself wasn't feeling well. I made sure to send her my apologies and my gratitude. But then the conversation took another turn. His regular teacher explained that he needed to understand the appropriate setting for practicing martial arts. Which is true. But I pointed out that the problem went beyond the setting. He'd learned to deliver a punch without understanding that the person receiving it needs to be willing, prepared, and capable of receiving it safely. And there's another interesting detail. After the incident, my son continued practicing his punches. Naturally, I was concerned. "On somebody?" "No, no. In the air." Oh. Well, at least we've moved on to opponents who cannot file complaints. I appreciate the improvement. Now, here's the part that makes this whole situation particularly interesting. His teacher told me that my son talks about his father constantly. How much he loves him, everything he teaches him, and how extraordinary he thinks his dad is. He practically idolizes the man. And she specifically asked that my husband be the one to explain the difference between learning martial arts and understanding when and how to use them responsibly. Which brings us to my husband's current predicament. You see, martial arts aren't simply something my husband picked up along the way. He started training at the YMCA when he was a little boy. By the age of six, he was already considered advanced enough to receive private lessons. At six. When most children are still developing an understanding of scissors, my future husband was being promoted to more specialized combat instruction. He went on to train at another school before eventually studying under Kevin O'Neill at Eastside Shotokan Karate Academy, where visiting instructors from other schools also contributed to his training. Over the years, he studied several martial arts disciplines, earned his black belt, and eventually became an instructor himself. And he grew up with a particular philosophy about fighting. "You don't throw the first punch. But you damn sure throw the last punch." He also has an exception. "The only time you throw the first punch is when there's only one punch to be thrown." He means those situations where you're so badly outmatched that waiting for the other person to strike could leave you without a chance to defend yourself. It's an old school philosophy. I'm not entirely convinced it belongs on an elementary school classroom poster. But there's an interesting problem here. My son has somehow managed to throw the first punch in a fight that wasn't even happening, and I suspect we've skipped a chapter. Anyway. I've now informed my husband. And somewhere, buried very deep beneath his responsible father instincts, I strongly suspect there's a tiny, terribly inappropriate feeling of pride. My husband described his reaction as a @teamfourstar Vegeta moment from Dragon Ball Z Abridged. For anyone unfamiliar with the reference, Vegeta is a man whose relationship with fatherhood, emotional expression, and the accomplishments of his offspring could generously be described as complicated. And my husband's first instinct was to ask: "Who won?" There was also a second thought trying to form, but he lost it when I started giving him a look. One I feel was entirely justified under the circumstances. To his credit, he understands what happened, and he knows exactly how serious it is. But I have now witnessed the internal conflict of a man who is simultaneously a responsible father and a martial arts instructor. One of those men needs to be very serious right now, the other one needs to remain absolutely silent. And somewhere between those two identities is a question about who won that should never have made it out of his head. Not even with me. Mind you, he has to sit down with a ten year old who's already devastated by what happened and explain that martial arts require restraint, control, and responsibility. He needs to reassure him without minimizing what happened, and correct him without making him feel like a terrible person. And somehow, he has to accomplish all of this without accidentally asking: "Okay, but how was your technique?" And then, of course, he has to deal with me. The woman who received the phone call, apologized to a teacher for getting punched at work, and would very much appreciate it if her husband's hobbies stopped generating unexpected parenting challenges. Because I really want to know how a man manages to reprimand his son for doing something he spent weeks enthusiastically teaching him to do. And, more importantly, can he get through the conversation without accidentally congratulating him? I have absolutely no idea. But I'm very interested in finding out. My husband taught our son how to throw a punch. Now he has to teach him when not to. And I suspect the hardest part of this lesson is going to be keeping a straight face. Further developments pending. #ThinkLikeATrashPanda

It's fine. It's just a new feature. People will get bored of posting GIFs for clicks. It's going to pass. Everything is going to be okay. Just breathe. Anyway, here's a GIF.

Yeah, which is precisely why Epstein and I didn't kill ourselves just yet.