Patty is a formidable Aikidoka. She is as tough as a bantam gamecock, sixty pounds lighter but ultimately more effective than I am. Still, strong and skilled as she is, it went only so far in recovering from her cancer. Even a year after her surgery, I saw her grimace in pain at every meal that we shared. She would eat, and then she would be unable to digest some part of her food. She would leave the table and go somewhere by herself to recover, and then she would come back to company with a fierce cheerfulness that defied anyone present to even hint that she might go easier on herself. I remember thinking: "What if Patty gets sick? She could die. Do I want to be there if that happens? Would I stick around?"

The honest answer was "No." I didn't want to be there if it happened. But I decided that, if it did, I would at least try to see her though.

Here is a revealing question: Do I consider Patty my friend?

The revealing part is that the question even occurs to me.

Here is the honest answer.

Patty and I don't have a natural sympathy. We do respect each other. I know how she thinks and why. I believe that she knows the same about me. I have, I do and I will help her without her having to ask me; I don't feel any need to explain when I do. I believe that she has, does and will help me--though we don't talk about it.

Yes, we are friends.

I'm not sure that Sensei ever really considered that I might not say yes. He also asked John, another one of his students, to live with us. John is my age but he is a serious student of the martial arts. He studied with Sensei in Florida, and he had left his home and job to come and study with Sensei. He had been in Washington for four months. Unlike me, John was a good candidate for apprenticeship.

We all moved in together.

To this day I am not sure why I was asked.

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