Data point one: a few months ago, a young man of about 16 started fencing at my club. He was arrogant, superior, with the half-closed eyes and lift to the chin designed to communicate "I already know something about anything you could possibly say" -- and proved it by trying to top whatever anyone happened to mention. He wasn't talent-free, mind you; nor was he particularly rude or nasty. Just kind of obnoxious, in a pathetic way.

Over the last two or three weeks I've noticed a change: his face has an open, cheerful expression. He talks a lot less, and when he does, sometimes he even asks a question. He bouts with focus and courtesy. He takes feedback and learns from it. He's *nicer*. Stronger.

Data point two: the littlest kid at the club started bouting last night. (By "little" I only mean physically -- he's a VERY focused and mature kid.) His whole family came along to watch on this important night, which was fabulous, as far as I was concerned. But my data point is this: I was chatting with the mom, and I could see in her eyes she was more than merely proud of her terrific kid. She was intrigued with fencing in and of itself. I urged her to start next week -- "Every woman should take up the sword," I told her. I turned to her husband. "Plan on it. Next anniversary present, fencing gear." We all had a chuckle, but as we were leaving at the end of the night, I heard my coach tell her, "So we'll plan on your having your first lesson next week." Yay!

And that's why I love fencing: it makes people bigger and braver and kinder and more focused. There are other things that do this too, no doubt, but my point is that it's a quality of fencing that those who fence, grow.