Proof That We Don't Love Her

Girl X has been begging for a year now to take some form of martial arts.

"Come on Dad! I'll be able to kick boys' butts when they try to hold my hand!"
"But Mom, it will be good for me to have that..... (Quickly scans paper) dis..eh...p.lll.in.... discipline! Yeah."
Damn. She really knows the right thing to say!
So, despite the fact that she frequently, unintentionally, kicks herself in the head, we acquiesced.
$87 later and she's standing in the grass with a new t-shirt and white belt kicking herself in the head (much to the dismay of her sensei) and imagining herself as the next Jackie Chan (I feel bad that I will have to tell her that Jackie is a man and not a woman as she firmly believes).
I sat off to the side and watched her kick, chop, bend and 'HIE!' for an hour. I thought about how she would be at the end of the 8 weeks and if maybe I shouldn't be teaching Hurricane some new form of self defense for when she begins to use him as her practice dummy.
And then it happened.

She bent to the reverse horse stance and fell over. Flat on her face.

Sorry kid. That's certainly an inherited trait.

Adding to my fear, the instructor (an entirely too enthusiastic man who enjoys exposing his chest hairs) informed us that the kids would eventually begin learning sword play.

My girl with a sharp object?

Someone is going to lose a limb!