TMNT are Mirage's property, not mine. Sadly. No, really, SADLY!

One

I had tried to remember the routines of my beloved Master Yoshi.

As a rat in a cage, I had learned to mimic his movements-- I often wondered why his friends were so amused; surely other rats did these things?

It was not until much later that I had discovered that I was considered "special" for a pet rat.

My new body needed exercise. I found it increasingly hard to go about as I had used to, and so had adopted the "human" way of walking and such. My sons, still on their four legs (which daily were slowly turning into what would become their hands and feet), followed me everywhere, and it was no surprise that soon they began to mimic my movements as their mutations took hold.

I had started practicing the moves I remembered my master doing, finding them easier to do in my new form. Indeed, the action of these moves helped to not only strengthen my body, but to improve my abilities to gather food safely for my little ones! Soon, heavily disguised, I could "pass" for a human-- dangerous, and rarely done except for important things like milk and certain foods that I could not get by scavenging.

One of my trips led me to an out of business sporting good store, where the owners were waiting to "liquidate their inventory"-- I have no idea what that means, but that was what the sign said on the window. I found a few items in the dumpster in back that the owners apparently thought were not worth selling, though they appeared to me to be in fine condition; getting them from that location down into the sewers and then home, however, was quite a feat in itself, but I managed. I am ashamed to say that I also found a convenient way into this apparently "deserted" establishment, where a few more items that were easier to carry became my unpaid for property; but after a time, my "dojo" was ready, and I began to train in earnest. I must be able to protect my sons.

By now we were living in our new home, and the children had so forgotten the old place that once, when Raphael managed to get out of the door, he immediately became lost-- it was as if he had forgotten the sewers that as mere infants they had been used to traveling through.

At any rate, I had now equipment to train upon. Beginning once a day for an hour, and then increasing my time (between scavenging for food and supplies as well as caring for four active toddlers) I gradually began to see progress in my self-set lessons.

And the more I improved, the more I wished to learn.

Drawing on everything I remembered was enough to start with; I soon realized that I would need help.

Books became my "sensei", along with my memories of Yoshi. The books that I was able to "find" (I trust that no one really missed them from the libraries, book stores, and martial arts schools I soon learned to visit) helped to clarify to me what I was remembering, and to improve upon my techniques, which served me well!

One fateful night, when a large, evil fellow "scavenger" decided that I looked small enough for him to easily liberate my large bag of food from, I was able to "defeat" him quickly with a few punches, kicks, and a really good throw-- and then, before he could recover, before his friends could come to his aid, I had vanished (into the manhole, naturally, but he never thought to look there)!

As I lingered at the bottom, waiting to see if I would be followed, one of the friends of this would-be stealer of my children's nourishment whistled in awe.

"That fella! He was a NINJA! I seen them movies! Ninjas are small and stealthy and can beat the crap outta ya and vanish like nothin'! What was that sayin'? Oh, yeah, they strike hard and fade away..."

"Jim" told this person exactly what he thought of this theory-- I will not use such language here-- but his friend's words rang in my ears as I made my way home.

Ninja-- I remembered this word-- I remembered that Yoshi and his friends used this word-- he was Ninja-- but also a Guardian--

Ninja! Yes, more of it was coming back to me. They were warriors of old, trained in the art of "ninjitsu"-- trained assassins or trained spies, depending upon whom one believed. I remember Master Yoshi and his friends having a friendly argument over the true history of Ninja. They were skilled in the art of being undetected, of surprising their enemies, of gathering information, always one with the shadows...

That was it! I would become Kage! I would become Ninja! I would train my sons up in the art of ninjitsu, so that they would be able to protect themselves.

And if I ever came across the evil person who took my master from me, then I would avenge him-- and perhaps my sons would play a part as well!

I began to train more; I learned weapons katas and studied far into the night when my boys were asleep. I scavenged, I raised them, and I trained myself as well as I could. Weeks like this passed the same. It became a regular routine, one that I grew to love.

My sons were bright, inquisitive, and full of mischief. They would see me training, but usually they played amongst themselves, ignoring what "father" was doing. They had more important things to do than busy themselves with my activities.

I brought my first bokken into the dojo and began to train myself in the use of the "sword". I recalled that Yoshi had used a sword-- if only he had access to it that night! Alas, the past cannot change with a wish... At any rate, when I started to learn how to use it, Leonardo began to sit and watch, facinated by it all. But once I would put the bokken away, he would return to whatever game his brothers were playing.

But it was Michelangelo of all of them who first began to try to do what I was doing!

I was so wrapped up in mastering this one particular lesson that it was some minutes before I realized that I had a "shadow"-- turning, I found my "youngest" standing behind me, mimicking me move for clumsy move!

"KYA!" he shouted at me when he noticed my watching him, and he performed a three-year-old version of a double punch, followed by a kick!

"What are you doing, my son?" I could not help but smile. His little face grinned up at me, as proud as anything.

"I's a Ninja, like you! I's trainin'!"

"Child, what do you know of ninja?" I asked, wondering how he had learned the word. I was sure I had not used it around them.

"You's a ninja, like inna book!" he asserted, and before I could question him further, his chubby little legs carried him out of the dojo, into his room, and back again, carrying one of the many comic books I had brought back for their amusement.

Sure enough, there was a martial arts theme to the story-- and several black-clad warriors, attacking the hero (who evidently was the greatest warrior in all the land, as he could beat them all with just his bare fists).

Still, that did NOT explain the use of the word.

"See? You's a ninja like him!" he insisted, pointing to the "hero".

"But Michelangelo, where did you hear that word?"

"Dontello telled me! He's reads the word to me."

That Donatello was learning to recognize words before the others did not surprise me. That he had managed to decode "ninja" however...

I looked again with awe at this other son-- he was constantly demonstrating his intelligence to me, but this!

Michelangelo, however, did not give me a chance to question his brother.

"I's wanna learn! I's wanna learn! Will you teach me?"

He was so in earnest; true, I had planned on training them, but I had thought to wait a few more years, when they were older and would appreciate it more-- but he seemed so eager, and so in earnest, that I picked him up and looked him in the eyes, just as seriously as he was gazing at me.

"All right, my son. I will start training you tomorrow. But it is hard work. Are you sure you want to do this?"

"YES!" he insisted, nodding his head vigorously for emphasis. I smiled. Tomorrow he would forget, and be playing with his brothers or himself. But for now I would humor him.

"Very well. You and I will train to be Ninja."

He cheered and clapped his hands, and when I put him down, he bragged to his brothers about the special thing that was going to happen to him tomorrow.

I thought no more of it that night. I went about fixing our supper, and checking our supplies. We were well-off for food for the next few days, so I could afford to stay home tomorrow. Usually I would try to teach them a few things like their alphabet, and some basic reading and math, but I felt that perhaps a play day was in order. We would just take the day easy-- and I would "train" Michelangelo.

I chuckled to myself again later, just before they went to bed, as this eager little turtle kept asserting to his skeptical brothers that "tomorrow I's gonna be a NINJA! Just like inna book!" and he would insistently point to the tattered comic as if it were the gospel truth. "Father 'n me is gonna fight and be Ninja an' safe the day! We's gonna be a team!"

"Now, Michelangelo," I interrupted him. "We are going to start training. You will not be a true ninja for some time."

But he would not be put off. As far as he was concerned, it was set in stone and not to be gainsaid.

I spoke no more of it. Besides, I thought, as I read them all a bedtime story and then prepared for our nightly ritual of trips to the bathroom, drinks of water, and much tucking in of sleepy turtles, he would forget it as soon as his head hit the pillow.