39)

“Dad! Don’t tell him that.”

My Dad grinned while keeping eye contact with Neal, but then rolled his eyes at me. “Kidding, I’m planning on putting up some foam mats on those walls before we start doing throws. I still plan on telling the student the same joke about the blood stains. But in all seriousness training here is going to get rough.”

He walked over to us to get into conversational distance. "If you ever have to use my training in a real fight, chances are it will be with someone who is not only capable of killing you but will be actively trying to do so, or worse."

My father, who had spent a lot of his last forty years doing things he had only hinted at to me about, glanced off to the side. "My goal is to develop a martial art that my family who are werewolves can use to protect themselves against a world full of dangers that I can’t allow myself to hope will never come for them.”

He looked at Neal again and reached out to pat him on the shoulder. "And if some of my students can end those dangers if they come to them first, well, that’s one less danger to come after my family.”

Leaning forward, he almost gently pushed Neal back hard enough that my friend had to shuffle his feet a bit to keep from falling over. With practiced steps to keep his legs from catching on each other, or to be vulnerable to a side kick to his knees.

He’d been trained.

My Dad nodded to himself. "Who taught you?"

Neal straightened up. “My Grandfather, and my Uncle.”

My Father got a big grin on his face. “Marine Corps Martial Arts. Old school before the Line System where they turned it into cookie cutter training that relied on the other guy not knowing how to fight. It’s a great foundation if you want to come here to learn more.”

Me and my Father would be having a talk about how he knew Neal's family members had been in the military. Not because he had investigated my friend but because he hadn't shared what he had learned.

My friend backed up nervously. "Ah, no offense sir. But you seem to disapprove of me hanging out with your daughter, so I don’t think I want to give you a free chance to beat up on me. But Uncle Rich and my Grandpa would probably love to throw down with you.”

Dad seemed to brighten up. “I would love to spar with your relatives Neal, but don’t worry about training with me. I would be more likely to take it too easy on you so Sara doesn't get mad at me rather than single you out for abuse."

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He looked at me and shook his head sadly. “She tends to be protective of the people she likes.”

Neal blushed. I glared. "Is that paint dry enough to take a few hits old man?"

My Dad gave me an exaggerated look of surprise. "I thought your Grandfather was Old Man?”

I clenched my teeth. “He’s the old, old man now. You’re over fifty, that’s old.”

My Father nodded grimly. "Yeah, I'm old enough to be a grandfather." Then he turned to Neal and gave him a slow exaggerated wink.

I threw my book bag at his face and shouted, “Get him!” at Neal.

Sparring with Uncle Dave was always serious, with Dad it was more playing so my guy friend would be welcome to jump in. And it gave Dad a chance to see his moves as well.

Which as far as I could tell was pretty much a grab bag of mainly Japanese Karate, Ju Jitsu, and Judo, as well as regular boxing.

Dad was grinning like a maniac as he pulled the top set of mats from under me and Neal’s feet, I jumped clear while my friend half fell, half rolled onto the floor, and then back up to his feet. My Father cheered him on. "Good recovery, now stop holding back. I'm not a baseline human, I can take a harder hit. Less control, more wild swing, put some power into it. Not you Sara!”

I had assumed the paint can lid would be more secure when I kicked the can at his legs, but his attempt to stop it with his foot and the resulting near explosion of red paint coating the floor around him, and under his foot as he set it down to get his balance, did something I had been trying to do for as long as I remember.

I had put my Dad down on his butt.

Arms in the air, I hooted as I did a victory lap around my sighing father, ending with a hug for the bemused teenage boy who still had the wherewithal to hug me back tightly enough to lift and spin me around with enough force for me to kick my legs back.

I picked up Wherewithal last Sunday. The money or other means needed for a particular purpose.

As he set me down I realized I was a little out of breath, from the fight of course. Short as it was.

My Dad stood up and began sliding his hands down his legs to push the paint off. "It didn't count. You had help. Did my Mom teach you anything to clean off the paint?"

I shook my finger at him. “Not yet. And you never said I couldn’t have help. If I can knock you down before I’m sixteen, you’ll buy any car I want after I want for the first birthday I’m old enough to drive. No takebacks, and it’s not like I had Uncle Dave or Mom helping me.”

Turning to Neal, I gave him a smile. “No offense, you got some good moves, but they’re professionals.”

Looking back at my Dad, I began to point around the sides of the room with doors to other parts of the building. "Are there towels or something in here I can get for you? And I was thinking of a convertible, emerald green, and only a two seater so you can’t stick me with driving Ami and a bunch of her friends everywhere.”

Neal called his parent to tell them he would running late and helped us to clean up the mess. As well as to bring up the sections of the old fireman’s pole which had been tarnishing in the basement for the last fifteen years. My Dad had hopes that he could restore it well enough to reinstall it, just because he wanted to slide down one. Not because it had any use in a martial arts school.

He also showered off the paint in the locker room while I tried to rinse out as much paint as I could. Fortunately, they were some older clothes he had changed into to paint in, so he had some other stuff to change into.

Neal got invited over for dinner when I called to let my Mom know me and Dad would be running late, which resulted in my Dad teasing me that, “You can have your little friend over for dinner, but he can’t stay over for the night.”

I rolled my eyes at him while Neal finished up calling his parents. “Yeah Dad, I read that on your face, oh wait, that's a spot of paint you missed.”

We ended up watching an old movie with marines that Dad said had a good example of old school Marine Corps Martial Arts in it and then he got Mom to drive Neal home since “I figure Neal has had enough of me for the day.”

Neal nodded at that as he got into the car with my Mom.

Poor fool, he didn’t realize that was just my Dad tagging my Mother in for her turn.

At least she fed him first, and considering how much he praised her food, she'll probably take it easy on him.